04-21-2022, 06:18 PM
If nothing else, at least the detective did not cast such a judgmental look upon him now. Caught him looking a bit too closely, but it wasn’t as if Malachi was doing anything different to him, narrowed gaze scanning that pretty face for an answer.
Which, the one he gave – not so comforting to hear. It lifted some small measure of suspicion from his vaguely concerned expression, but not all of it.
Teeth worried at the inside of his cheek, craving something to distract his anxiety.
“How reassuring,” the priest gave, monotonous as ever.
Nettie was not this man’s concern. Unless… he was suggesting that he was the one that might endanger her, should Malachi not keep her away. He turned over the words, considered what they might have meant, but any potential discoveries flew away once the other stepped close. Too close. Malachi wanted him even closer.
That glint in his eyes hadn’t faded by the time he touched his jaw, and left the priest peering down with the thinnest of veils to hide the heart of his suspicions. Would he threaten him here? Call the other chaperons in and have him beat for good measure?
(God, he wished he’d kissed him one last time before he’d left, as if that would have lessened his need now to kiss him again.)
Cold glass met his lips. Malachi’s fingers coiled about the stem, keeping it in place while the detective made his show of touching a stark white collar.
“Did you?” he returned, mirroring the other’s lowered volume. He hoped his bed smelled of lavender, strong enough to infiltrate his dreaming mind too. Malachi tipped the glass back, downing some of the water to soothe his sore throat. It didn’t, though. It only drew attention to the ache.
“I don’t know,” he said. Less than half-full, he held the goblet between them. “I rather like the way you call me Father.”
Not to mention all of the other, more pressing issues that he’d be faced with if he actually left this path. This lonely fucking path that at least provided a home and work for him in Whitby.
Flippantly, he added, “I’d likely have to move back to London, and I doubt I'd have the pleasure of running into you there.”
Which, the one he gave – not so comforting to hear. It lifted some small measure of suspicion from his vaguely concerned expression, but not all of it.
Teeth worried at the inside of his cheek, craving something to distract his anxiety.
“How reassuring,” the priest gave, monotonous as ever.
Nettie was not this man’s concern. Unless… he was suggesting that he was the one that might endanger her, should Malachi not keep her away. He turned over the words, considered what they might have meant, but any potential discoveries flew away once the other stepped close. Too close. Malachi wanted him even closer.
That glint in his eyes hadn’t faded by the time he touched his jaw, and left the priest peering down with the thinnest of veils to hide the heart of his suspicions. Would he threaten him here? Call the other chaperons in and have him beat for good measure?
(God, he wished he’d kissed him one last time before he’d left, as if that would have lessened his need now to kiss him again.)
Cold glass met his lips. Malachi’s fingers coiled about the stem, keeping it in place while the detective made his show of touching a stark white collar.
“Did you?” he returned, mirroring the other’s lowered volume. He hoped his bed smelled of lavender, strong enough to infiltrate his dreaming mind too. Malachi tipped the glass back, downing some of the water to soothe his sore throat. It didn’t, though. It only drew attention to the ache.
“I don’t know,” he said. Less than half-full, he held the goblet between them. “I rather like the way you call me Father.”
Not to mention all of the other, more pressing issues that he’d be faced with if he actually left this path. This lonely fucking path that at least provided a home and work for him in Whitby.
Flippantly, he added, “I’d likely have to move back to London, and I doubt I'd have the pleasure of running into you there.”
