It was about an hour’s drive from the cottage down to York. Sebastian had made the mistake of putting the radio on while he drove; the music programme he’d been listening to was fine, but that had ended a few minutes ago in favour of an interview with somebody named Reginald Bailey.
Bailey had failed to win a parliament seat in the general election, was intending to stand in the local elections next year, and was also—as Sebastian had quickly gathered—a fucking cunt.
“And what this really is, is colonisation,” Bailey was saying, in a plummy accent that suggested his Yorkshire roots weren’t nearly as deep as he claimed. “These immigrants have no respect for our culture or our laws. They’re bringing in drugs, they’re trafficking, and they’re stealing from honest British citizens. And it’s going to keep happening until the government does something about these boats—”
Sebastian killed the radio with a muttered, “Fuck off.”
“I’m a little insulted,” Jay said dryly, curled up in the passenger seat with his feet on the dashboard. “That was some one hundred percent British home-grown crime, and they’ve given all the credit to someone else.”
Sebastian huffed a laugh. The drive to York was mostly a straight shot along the A64, trees and green fields to either side of them, and didn’t demand a huge amount of his attention. “So,” he said, “how does an antique Sudanese sword end up in York, anyway?”
“Well, it starts by getting looted from a museum in Omdurman,” Jay replied, checking his notes on his phone. “Then it gets put up for auction online and bought by a Mr. Brody Howe.”
“And who’s he?”
“Runs a crypto holding company.”
Sebastian glanced briefly away from the road, giving Jay a confused look. “A what?”
“Basically, it’s a company whose only asset is a reserve of cryptocurrency,” Jay explained. “You buy up some coins and sell shares in the company based on their valuation. When the coin price goes up, the value of the reserve does too. You sell more shares, and just repeat that whole process to keep generating money.”
Sebastian considered the maths of it for a moment. “Wouldn’t that mean the whole company collapses if the coin price goes down?”
“Well, yes.” Jay shrugged. “But by that point you’ve been paying yourself a generous salary as CEO for a few years, so you just zero out, fold the company, take the money, and run.”
Sebastian’s hand on the steering wheel tightened, twisting it in his grip. His army career had taken him to north-east Africa more than a few times, and what always struck him about the place was the vast sense of continuity. People had been there, just living their lives, for longer than anywhere else on Earth—a span of time so huge it felt incomprehensible.
And now a piece of that immense history was adorning the wall of some jumped-up scammer.
Traffic picked up the closer they got to York, roundabouts and other cars eating up more of Sebastian’s focus. The trees and fields were replaced by degrees with manicured hedges and residential neighbourhoods. Approaching the city centre was like travelling back in time, from red-brick new builds to Victorian rows to Georgian market streets and Gothic churches.
Despite the short drive, Jay had booked them into a hotel—a Palladian building that was, apparently, once a bank. Its interior was dark and moody, lit with colourful neon strips and ambient lamps; their room followed the same theme, exposed brick decorated in shades of red and black, with a huge canopy bed. The bathroom was up on a curtained-off loft at the far end of the room, and Sebastian couldn’t help noting the massive bathtub—twice as wide as usual, and clearly intended for more than one occupant.
“Jay,” Sebastian said slowly, “is this a sex dungeon?”
“No,” Jay replied with a defeated sigh. “It just looks like this.” After a second, he added, “They were offering a room called ‘the Dungeon,’ though.”
“And you didn’t book us into that one because …?”
“Too small. And there weren’t any windows.” Jay rolled his suitcase to the foot of the bed and left it there. “Come on. If we don’t get all the sightseeing in now, we won’t have time before everything closes.”
Sebastian checked his watch. “It’s only two in the afternoon.”
“Yeah,” Jay said, unmoved, “and everything closes at, like … six.”
Sebastian stared at him, appalled. “You can’t be serious.”
Jay shifted in the passenger seat of the car, hoping to find a position that would ease the ache in his feet and legs. Sebastian had dragged him across what felt like the entirety of York; they’d walked along the city walls, browsed through the Shambles, taken in the sheer immensity of the York Minster, then diverted to a bookshop down the street that caught Sebastian’s notice. The place was about the size of a postage stamp, but it went up four floors; books were piled on every available surface, including the landings of the steep, narrow deathtrap that passed for the building’s staircase.
Sebastian was clearly delighted, and so Jay had offered only token complaints.
Their car was now parked next to a sleek glass office block a little outside the city walls, surrounded by contemporary apartment buildings—a far cry from the medieval charm of the city centre. Sebastian had already identified a few potential points of entry, but Jay was determined to try out his new toy.
It was a little after five o’clock, and most of the building’s workers were on their way out. There was a side exit that let out into the car park, where Sebastian had claimed one of the spots closest to the door. Jay watched through the glass as a woman approached the exit.
“The button,” he muttered aloud. “The button, press the button—”
The woman passed by the big metal button on the wall without even glancing at it, pushing the door open as she stepped outside.
Jay groaned and slumped back into his seat.
The side door had a button-activated opening mechanism, for accessibility purposes; the button was wired for power, but transferred signals to the doors via radio. As an early Christmas present to himself, Jay had bought a Crunch Whistle: a digital multitool small enough to fit in his palm. Like his RFID emulator, it could clone and replay signals from keycards and the like; unlike his emulator, it could also do the same with just about any wireless signal.
If Jay could capture a signal from the access button, he could replay it and open the door whenever he liked—but somebody had to fucking press it first.
“All right, so the museums make sense,” Sebastian said. “All the museums in London close early, too. But the shops?”
Jay fiddled with the Crunch Whistle; it would be just his luck if someone finally pressed the button and he’d neglected to put it in read mode. “The council doesn’t want anybody hanging round the city centre at night.”
“Why not?”
“I think ‘cause they’re worried about crime.”
“It’s York,” Sebastian pointed out. “What crime?”
Jay stared at him, then gestured broadly to encompass literally everything they were doing.
Sebastian sighed, conceding the point for now.
Another one of the office workers—a man, this time—approached the exit.
“Press the button,” Jay hissed, glaring him down as if to impose his will on the man from a distance. “Press the button, press the button, press the fucking button—”
The man casually thumped his fist against the button, and Jay stifled a shout of triumph. The Crunch Whistle flashed an alert, informing him it had detected and recorded a signal.
“Got it?” Sebastian asked.
“Got it,” Jay confirmed, with vicious glee.
“Good.” Sebastian started the car, then gave Jay a worried glance. “The restaurants are still open, right?”
“Yeah,” Jay replied—then, unable to resist, added, “’til nine.”
Sebastian made a noise of utter disgust.
They returned to the office building much later in the evening, parking the car further down the street and approaching on foot. In lieu of his laptop bag, Jay had brought a long, soft-sided sword case.
Jay didn’t use the word “festooned” lightly, but the restaurant where they’d eaten dinner was indeed festooned with greenery. It couldn’t possibly be sanitary, but Sebastian had seemed to enjoy himself; he’d even ordered one of his ridiculous wanky cocktails.
For the past few weeks, if Sebastian drank at all, he’d been drinking straight whisky or vodka.
Once they’d reached the side exit, Jay pulled out the Crunch Whistle and replayed the signal he’d caught earlier. There was a click from the door, and it swung open.
The building was a fairly low-rent operation; there was no security guard on patrol after hours, and the cameras weren’t monitored live. Jay took a few steps toward the lifts before Sebastian threw an arm out to stop him.
“The lifts will be shut down this time of night,” he said.
“But you have keys for that,” Jay reminded him, “right?”
“I didn’t bring them on holiday with me.”
Sebastian made for the stairwell, and Jay groaned.
Brody Howe’s holding company had an office suite on the fourth floor; by the time he and Sebastian reached the third, Jay was completely winded. “I’ve changed my mind,” he managed to pant, doubled over with his hands on his knees. “This isn’t sexy anymore.”
“It’s good exercise,” Sebastian replied, failing to hide his amusement.
Jay glared up at him. “Not if I have a fucking heart attack.”
Once Jay had caught his breath, they made their way up the last flight of stairs to the fourth floor. Sebastian nudged the door open, giving them both a look at the security camera mounted above it—facing away from them, toward the interior of the office.
An exposed cable emerged from the back of the camera and disappeared into the ceiling. It would be easy enough to cut, if it weren’t slightly out of even Sebastian’s reach.
Sebastian seemed to come to the same conclusion. He reached into his pocket for his knife—then, for some reason, handed it to Jay.
Jay blinked down at it. “Why are you giving me this?”
“I’ll boost you up.” Sebastian sidled through the door so he was up against the wall, directly beneath the camera and safely out of its field of view. “You cut the cable.”
He dropped to one knee, and Jay could only stare.
“Step onto my hands.” Sebastian interlaced his fingers over his knee, palms up. “Then put your other foot on my shoulder.”
“You’re sure?” Jay asked, for lack of anything more intelligent to say.
“I’ve done this before,” Sebastian replied, with a reassuring smile. “Come on.”
Jay set the sword case down at the base of the wall. Putting his foot on Sebastian’s hands was unnerving—stepping up onto his shoulder, as if Sebastian were a stepladder, even more so. Jay braced his hands on the wall in front of him as his balance wobbled.
“When I lift up your foot,” Sebastian said, “put all your weight on my shoulder.”
“Okay,” Jay replied, a little breathless, and couldn’t suppress a gasp of surprise as Sebastian boosted him up into the air.
He was smaller than Sebastian, and quite a bit lighter, but it still couldn’t be comfortable to have all a grown man’s weight bearing down on one part of your body. Jay quickly flipped the knife open and folded the cable over it; the blade was sharp, and it only took a few sawing motions to cut through. “Done.”
Sebastian lowered him again, and Jay hurriedly stepped down off his shoulder. As he set his other leg back down on the floor, Sebastian slid his hand up the back of his calf, the touch warm and firm through Jay’s jeans, looking up at him with a small, encouraging smile.
God, Sebastian looked beautiful on his knees. Close as they were, Jay could easily tangle his fingers into Sebastian’s hair, pull him close, fuck his mouth—
He flinched away from the thought and took a step back, giving Sebastian room to stand as he snatched the sword case up off the floor.
The office was open-plan, with white walls and grey carpets and the occasional splash of orange or lime green to imply a fun, inventive, cutting-edge atmosphere. Near as Jay could tell, the place was mostly used as a call centre—its employees tasked to ring up potential investors and keep the cycle going.
Howe’s private office was against the far wall, along a row of floor-to-ceiling windows. Its decor was a mess of influences, with no unifying theme except monetary value; there was a Warhol print on the wall next to a signed football jersey, itself next to a display case crowded with antiques and collectables.
Behind Howe’s desk hung the sword, nearly a metre long in its embossed leather scabbard.
“He didn’t even put it under glass,” Sebastian lamented.
The sword looked to be in fairly good condition, but the leather of the scabbard was discoloured and cracked in places, as were the wrappings around the hilt. “How old is it?” Jay asked.
“It’s a kaskara,” Sebastian said, looking it over as he approached the wall. “They’re supposed to date back at least seven hundred years, but this one looks nineteenth-century.”
There was a look of reverence on Sebastian’s face that Jay couldn’t quite figure out.
“Come on.” Jay set the sword case on the desk and unzipped it. “Let’s get it out of here.”
Sebastian nodded and gingerly lifted the sword off the wall, placing it in the sword case.
Jay zipped it shut, and they made their way back outside.
They got back to the hotel just after midnight. Anticipation thrummed under Sebastian’s skin as they headed up to their room, a jolt going through him every time Jay’s arm or fingers brushed his.
It was entirely possible they’d conditioned themselves—or conditioned each other. Ring a bell every time you feed a dog, and the dog drools at the sound of the bell. Shag whenever you commit crimes together, and …
Jay paused a few steps into the room and turned to face him. He was flushed, lips parted a little, his gaze flicking from Sebastian’s eyes to his lips and then down the length of his body—but he stayed where he was.
He didn’t step back when Sebastian moved closer, so Sebastian bent to press a questioning kiss to his lips. Jay breathed a sigh into Sebastian’s mouth, a sound of quiet relief, and looped his arms around Sebastian’s neck.
It wasn’t quite like last time; the heat was still there, but this time it was patient, undemanding.
Against Jay’s lips, Sebastian murmured, “We should try out that bathtub.”
Jay pulled back a little. “You’re sure?”
His voice was small, almost shy; Sebastian wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Jay this uneasy when it came to sex.
“You don’t want to?” Sebastian asked.
“It’s just—” Jay avoided Sebastian’s eyes, dragging his teeth over his lower lip. “The shower.”
Sebastian shook his head. He wasn’t eager for a repeat of that particular incident, either—which was exactly why he needed a good memory to chase away the bad. “I’ll be okay,” he promised.
Jay looked up at him then, eyes searching Sebastian’s face; he nodded and took Sebastian’s hand, leading him to the loft at the far end of the room.
Sebastian couldn’t help the sharp little scrape across his nerves as they climbed up to the bathroom, but he shook it off and moved to the bathtub, turning the taps. Steam rose gently from the water as the tub began to fill.
In the meantime, Sebastian turned his attention back to Jay—tugging at the zip of his hoodie, drawing it down. Jay shrugged the hoodie off, leaving it crumpled on the floor, and helped Sebastian in turn with his jacket. They undressed each other slowly, carefully, savouring every inch of revealed skin until they were both naked.
Jay climbed into the tub first, settling in at one end, and Sebastian eased himself into the water at the other. He made a contented little noise as the heat of the bath enveloped him, eyes sliding shut; Yorkshire was damp even by British standards, and the cold had seeped into his bones.
When Sebastian opened his eyes, Jay was looking at him again—wanting, but holding back.
Water sloshed against the sides of the tub as Sebastian sat up, moving over Jay to bring their lips together again. This kiss was deeper than the last, more indulgent, and Jay hummed eagerly into Sebastian’s mouth, hands wandering over the wet skin of Sebastian’s shoulders, his back.
Sebastian’s hands wandered as well, stroking down Jay’s sides and hips beneath the water. He shifted position a little, until Jay was in his lap—then hoisted him up by the backs of his thighs.
Jay let out a sharp gasp of surprise as Sebastian hauled him out of the water, bracing himself against the wall behind the tub when Sebastian set him on its edge. Sebastian nudged Jay’s knees apart so he could kiss the inside of one thigh, then the other, working his way upward.
The moment Sebastian’s beard scratched sensitive skin, Jay yelped and shoved at his forehead, pushing him away.
Sebastian let out a frustrated whine and pulled back to kiss Jay’s knee. “Is it really that bad?”
Jay glared down at him. “Let me take a wire brush to your bits and see how you like it.”
Sebastian had no doubt that many people throughout history had let men with beards go down on them, and liked it just fine. But Jay wasn’t most people. “All right,” he decided. “My shaving kit’s by the sink.”
For a moment, Jay stared down at him, uncomprehending—then he caught on to what Sebastian was offering, and smiled softly as he swung his legs over onto the floor, hurrying quickly to the sink.
Sebastian used an old-fashioned safety razor, but there was no hesitation or unfamiliarity as Jay opened up the head of the razor and set a fresh blade inside. When he returned, razor and shaving cream in hand, he nudged Sebastian to lean back into the tub and settled lightly across his lap.
He quickly applied the shaving cream to Sebastian’s beard, then brought the razor to his face. Sebastian sighed and relaxed under Jay’s touch, leaning a little into the hand Jay had braced along the side of his neck, beneath his jaw. Jay’s grip was light, but certain, moving Sebastian this way and that as the razor scraped over his skin.
There was a razor blade at Sebastian’s throat, and yet he had nothing to be afraid of. It was dizzying, that kind of trust.
The question slipped, unbidden, out of his mouth: “Who taught you to shave?”
It was the sort of question he didn’t usually ask. Most of Jay’s life before he’d come to London was a closed book—especially when it came to his childhood, so different from Sebastian’s for so many reasons. Sebastian was normally content to let Jay keep it all to himself, but Yorkshire kept offering him little glimpses of Jay’s past. They were fascinating, and beautiful, and each one made Sebastian want more.
The movement of the razor paused for a moment, then continued. “My mam,” Jay said.
From the corner of his eye, Sebastian gave him a puzzled look.
Jay seemed to find this amusing. “I started shaving my legs when I was twelve,” he pointed out. “Mam and I both had really thick hair, and those little pink razors are absolute shite.”
“So she taught you how to use the safety razor,” Sebastian guessed.
Jay nodded. “Kept nicking my ankles,” he went on. “Once I had that figured out, faces weren’t so hard.”
With one last swipe of the razor, Sebastian’s beard was gone. Jay sat back, and Sebastian leaned forward to splash some water over his face, rinsing off a few remaining bits of shaving cream.
When he cleared the water from his eyes, Jay was looking down at him with a fond expression. He cupped Sebastian’s face, stroking over smooth skin; Sebastian turned into the touch and kissed Jay’s palm, then leaned in to press their lips together.
He wasn’t sure how long they sat tangled together in the bath, trading slow, lazy kisses, but soon Jay made a noise of irritation into Sebastian’s mouth and muttered, “Water’s getting cold.”
Sebastian huffed a laugh and allowed Jay to extract himself from the tub, following a moment later. He grabbed a towel from the rack, drying off just enough that he wouldn’t drip on the floor—then pulled Jay close and hoisted him up by the thighs again.
Jay bit back a shout of surprise, scrambling to hold onto Sebastian’s shoulders, legs clamping tight around his waist. Sebastian carefully steered them down the steps and dumped Jay on the edge of the bed; as Jay struggled to reorient himself and sit upright, Sebastian went to his knees.
Above him, Jay’s breathing hitched.
Sebastian resumed what he’d started in the bath, nuzzling his way up the insides of Jay’s spread thighs. He leaned in close, breathing against Jay’s core for a moment before kissing him there, gentle and reverent.
He looked up to see Jay staring down at him with hungry anticipation, mouth open on a breathy moan.
Sebastian ran his hands down Jay’s calves, petting thick hair nobody expected him to shave anymore, and braced his hands behind Jay’s knees—guiding them up over his shoulders. Then he laid his mouth over Jay again, licking into him.
Jay let out a ragged sigh and fell backward into the bed, sprawling across the covers, arching a little into the attentions of Sebastian’s mouth. His hands drifted to Sebastian’s head, threading through his hair—but not clutching tight like he normally would.
Sebastian redoubled his efforts, working Jay over with his lips and tongue, pulling every trick he’d picked up over the past year. He rested his palm over Jay’s belly, feeling the muscles of his abdomen clench and twitch. He wanted Jay to ride his mouth, the way he had so many times before—the way Sebastian loved.
Jay’s breathing stuttered, needy desperate noises working their way out of his throat, hips rolling under Sebastian’s lips, and Sebastian let his other hand wrap around his own cock, moaning softly as he pleasured Jay, coaxing him toward climax—
And finally, finally, Jay made a harsh, broken noise and clutched tightly at Sebastian’s hair. The sting of it arced across Sebastian’s scalp as Jay dragged him closer, and he came with a groan, ears ringing like he’d been kicked in the head.
“Oh, fuck,” Jay gasped, and then the muscles under Sebastian’s hand tensed as Jay’s climax hit, thighs shivering around him.
Sebastian pressed one last, gentle kiss to Jay’s core and eased back. Jay’s fingers unclenched and slipped from Sebastian’s hair, and Sebastian rested his temple against the inside of Jay’s knee as he caught his breath.
With a grunt of effort, Jay sat up. His fingers stroked the side of Sebastian’s face, thumb brushing his lips. It felt like an apology.
And when Sebastian looked up at him, the expression on Jay’s face looked an awful lot like guilt.
Chapter 4 of “Moriarty & Moran’s North Yorkshire Crime Spree” will be published on May 25! To get it delivered directly to your inbox, subscribe here:
… And if that’s too long to wait, you can also get the completed story as an ebook.
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