Jamie was so close by, and his brain was clamoring simultaneously to shift to close the distance and to back away. He remained, frozen in place.
“Oh, do you think he’ll have any free time?” Jamie turned his head to look at him, and—his eyes were blue as spring skies, which intellectually McCoy had always known, but the fact hit him like a blow to the gut, with an accompanying stab of arousal that he could no longer deny.
“I don’t know,” he said eventually, his voice gravelly. He coughed and looked down. “I would guess that Lady Eve can plan an entire wedding by herself, without his assistance, in a single afternoon.”
“Probably,” Jamie agreed. He uncrossed his arms and rested his hands against the edge of the desk, staring across the room absently. “Nonetheless, I’ll write him and offer our congratulations and assistance.” He made no move to return behind his desk, despite his words.
“Yes,” McCoy said, and took a deep breath. Lightly, almost hesitantly, he brushed the fingers of his left hand over the back of Jamie’s right hand before settling it into place right next to the younger man’s hand.
Jamie sucked in a breath, looked down at their hands, and then back up. “McCoy, don’t—“ He stopped.
Greatly daring, McCoy said, “I know I’m not wearing pink, but would you care to dance, Lord Riverside?” He held out a hand.
Jamie looked at McCoy’s hand, looked back at his face, and laughed joyfully. He took McCoy’s hand and swung into waltz position, a proper society distance between them. “Pink’s not your color,” he said. “Blue, now, there’s your color.”
“Is that why you keep offering to lend me blue coats?” Jamie’s back was warm under his hand, and although his stomach was still roiling, McCoy was—happy.
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Jamie was so close by, and his brain was clamoring simultaneously to shift to close the distance and to back away. He remained, frozen in place.
“Oh, do you think he’ll have any free time?” Jamie turned his head to look at him, and—his eyes were blue as spring skies, which intellectually McCoy had always known, but the fact hit him like a blow to the gut, with an accompanying stab of arousal that he could no longer deny.
“I don’t know,” he said eventually, his voice gravelly. He coughed and looked down. “I would guess that Lady Eve can plan an entire wedding by herself, without his assistance, in a single afternoon.”
“Probably,” Jamie agreed. He uncrossed his arms and rested his hands against the edge of the desk, staring across the room absently. “Nonetheless, I’ll write him and offer our congratulations and assistance.” He made no move to return behind his desk, despite his words.
“Yes,” McCoy said, and took a deep breath. Lightly, almost hesitantly, he brushed the fingers of his left hand over the back of Jamie’s right hand before settling it into place right next to the younger man’s hand.
Jamie sucked in a breath, looked down at their hands, and then back up. “McCoy, don’t—“ He stopped.
Greatly daring, McCoy said, “I know I’m not wearing pink, but would you care to dance, Lord Riverside?” He held out a hand.
Jamie looked at McCoy’s hand, looked back at his face, and laughed joyfully. He took McCoy’s hand and swung into waltz position, a proper society distance between them. “Pink’s not your color,” he said. “Blue, now, there’s your color.”
“Is that why you keep offering to lend me blue coats?” Jamie’s back was warm under his hand, and although his stomach was still roiling, McCoy was—happy.
“Maybe,” Jamie demurred, and they both laughed.