Chapter 55: Brain Damage

Chapter 55: Chapter 55: Brain Damage

"I want you."

Nero stared at him.

For several seconds, his mind produced absolutely nothing useful.

It was not that he had misunderstood Sebastian. The words had been painfully clear, spoken while Sebastian stood directly in front of him with damp dark hair curling slightly around his temples, one hand wrapped around Nero’s and a deep green shirt hanging over a body that had only recently stopped trying to collapse.

Sebastian Fitzgeralt had just told him that he wanted him.

Nero blinked.

A faint crease appeared between Sebastian’s eyebrows as the silence became long enough to turn awkward.

Nero had negotiated ceasefires while buildings burned behind him, addressed hostile councils without notes, stood beside Dax through assassination attempts and once convinced an armed separatist to surrender while blood soaked steadily through his own shirt.

Apparently none of that qualified him to respond intelligently to four uncomplicated syllables.

"I’m sorry," he said at last.

Sebastian’s expression flattened. "For what?"

"Could you repeat that?"

"No."

"That seems unnecessarily cruel."

"You heard me."

"I believe I did, but the bath was very hot, so neurological damage remains a possibility."

Sebastian stared at him.

Nero stared back.

Then, because whatever remained of his judgment had evidently abandoned him entirely, Nero reached forward and pinched Sebastian sharply on the upper arm.

Sebastian slapped his hand away.

"What the hell?"

Nero looked at the fingers Sebastian had just struck, then returned his attention to him.

"You’re real."

"Do that again and I’ll demonstrate it more violently."

Relief burst through Nero so suddenly that he laughed.

It was nothing like the measured sound he used at receptions or the amused little exhale he gave when someone said something particularly stupid in council. This laugh escaped from somewhere beneath his ribs, startling enough that Nero found himself barefoot in the middle of his bedroom, wet white-blond hair dripping across his shoulders while Sebastian watched him as though the suspected brain injury might actually be genuine.

Then Sebastian’s irritation cracked.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

Nero stopped laughing.

He had seen Sebastian smile thousands of times over the years, although increasingly few of those smiles had been meant for him.

This one was.

Something inside Nero lurched hard enough to make his pheromones surge beneath his skin, instinct rushing toward Sebastian with enough force that he had to contain it consciously before the bedroom filled with fire, smoke, heat, and every other expression his enigma considered appropriate for claiming something precious.

Sebastian noticed the effort.

His pupils widened slightly.

"Nero."

"You cannot say something like that and expect normal behavior afterward."

"I have never expected normal behavior from you."

"That is fortunate."

Nero dropped his gaze to where their hands were still joined.

Only minutes earlier, he had been sitting in the bath contemplating a hidden seer and whether fate itself could be bullied into cooperation if approached with sufficient preparation.

Sebastian had somehow walked into his room and made all of that disappear from Nero’s immediate thoughts with four words.

The realization snapped whatever remained of his restraint.

He tugged Sebastian toward him.

Sebastian stumbled with a startled breath, and Nero caught him before his balance had any opportunity to become a medical issue, one arm wrapping around his back while the other secured him beneath the shoulders.

"Nero—"

The complaint disappeared against Nero’s chest.

For one reckless instant, he held Sebastian exactly as tightly as his instincts demanded.

Then memory supplied blood soaking through fabric, physicians shouting numbers, and Sebastian barely conscious in his arms.

Nero loosened his grip immediately.

Not enough to let him go.

Only enough to keep from aggravating ribs, glands, restructuring receptors, or any of the other fragile pieces of Sebastian that the medical team had spent days teaching Nero to treat like volatile royal property.

Sebastian’s palms rested against his bare chest.

"You nearly broke me."

"I corrected the pressure."

"After nearly cracking my spine."

"I became excited."

"You’re twenty-five."

"I waited seven years. Temporary developmental regression seems medically defensible."

"It absolutely does not."

The answer came with the faintest trace of amusement, and Nero lowered his face into Sebastian’s hair before Sebastian could see how much that tiny change affected him.

He inhaled.

For days, Sebastian’s scent had carried too much sterile disinfectant, medication, and the bitter metallic edge of pain.

Now Nero could find him beneath it again.

Warm skin, familiar pheromones, damp hair, and traces of Nero himself from hours spent maintaining the field physicians insisted Sebastian needed.

His eyes closed.

Sebastian was standing in his arms voluntarily.

There had been no collapse that forced Nero to catch him, no stabilization procedure, no emergency, and no political condition attached to the contact.

Sebastian had left the medical wing, crossed the villa, and come searching for him.

Then he had said he wanted him.

Nero’s fingers spread over his back.

"You’ve gone suspiciously quiet," Sebastian murmured.

"I am making an effort not to frighten you."

Sebastian leaned back far enough to look at him.

"That may be the most frightening sentence you’ve said tonight."

Nero smiled before he could stop himself.

Sebastian froze.

The reaction was tiny, little more than a pause beneath Nero’s hands, but Nero caught it instantly.

His smile faded at the edges.

"What?"

Sebastian continued looking at him.

"What?" Nero repeated.

"Nothing."

"That was very clearly something."

Sebastian tried to turn his head.

Nero caught his chin lightly between his fingers before he could escape.

"You walked into my bedroom and announced something capable of altering the course of my entire life. You cannot become mysterious three minutes later."

"It has not been three minutes."

"Emotionally, several months have passed."

That earned him another twitch at the corner of Sebastian’s mouth.

Nero watched it closely.

The strange expression Sebastian had worn earlier returned, except now Nero was near enough to see all of it: surprise softened by something almost wistful, with an ache underneath that had nothing to do with his current physical condition.

Before Nero could ask again, Sebastian raised one hand.

His fingertips touched the corner of Nero’s mouth.

Nero’s thoughts stopped for the second time that evening.

Sebastian seemed briefly startled by his own action, yet he left his hand there.

"There," he murmured.

Nero barely trusted himself to speak. "There what?"

"That."

"That is exceptionally informative."

"Your smile."

The answer stole whatever clever remark Nero had been preparing.

Sebastian’s thumb brushed once across his cheek.

"I wanted to see it."

Something inside Nero gave way so quietly that he almost failed to recognize the damage.

He caught Sebastian’s wrist, keeping his palm pressed against his face rather than pulling it away.

"You need to stop saying things like that."

"Why?"

"Because at some point I’m going to conclude you are deliberately trying to kill me."

"You seem healthy enough."

"I am currently experiencing severe neurological symptoms."

"That started long before tonight."

Nero huffed a laugh, turning his face slightly into Sebastian’s palm.

Warmth spread through the contact.

His enigma reacted immediately, but the instinct no longer felt purely violent. Something possessive still prowled beneath his ribs, impatient and hungry after years of refusals, yet Sebastian’s touch had changed its direction.

Instead of demanding Nero take, it urged him to keep.

Carefully and very permanently.

That distinction was probably not reassuring.

"What exactly did you mean?" Nero asked.

Sebastian sighed.

"I knew this was coming."

"You should be grateful I waited this long."

"You waited approximately five minutes."

"Seven years and five minutes."

Sebastian lowered his hand, though Nero reluctantly kept hold of his wrist for another second before letting it go.

"I meant what I said."

"I need slightly more specificity."

"You always do."

"Yes."

Sebastian glanced down between them, where they were still standing close enough that his shirt brushed Nero’s stomach whenever either of them breathed.

His voice became quieter.

"I’m tired of treating wanting you like some kind of mistake I can correct if I ignore it long enough."

Nero went completely still.

Sebastian continued before he could interrupt.

"But, this does come with conditions."