Will tugged him through to the bedroom. Kim didn’t talk, which wasn’t usual, but sometimes there was nothing to say. Will took that cue and put his mouth to better use, licking and sucking Kim to hardness. He’d intended to bring him off that way, but Kim caught his hair and tugged, bringing him back up so they could kiss, and they ended up as they often did, Will fucking between Kim’s lean thighs, feeling the friction of Kim’s cock against his belly, bodies close enough to leave no room for thought. He didn’t shift off once they’d both done, just heaved his weight a bit sideways to make sure Kim could breathe, and they lay there in silence, heads together, arms and legs tangled, not letting go.

***

WILL WAS FIRST AWAKE the next morning. Kim was still fast asleep, which generally meant he’d had a bad night, so Will eased himself out of bed very carefully indeed, and helped himself to a dressing gown. He padded out through the flat barefoot, intent on tea, walked into the kitchen, and realised too late that Peacock was sitting at the kitchen table.

“Good morning, Mr. Darling,” Peacock said, unruffled as ever. “I hope you slept well.”

“Morning, Mr. Peacock.” Will had bumped into the manservant a couple of times in the early hours, but he’d always been fully dressed before. He felt exceedingly conscious of his bare legs. “Uh—”

“Would you care for tea?”

“Not to put you to any trouble.”

“Not at all. Is Lord Arthur awake?”

Will shook his head. Peacock lit the gas under the kettle. “I ask because there are several telegrams and a number of telephone messages, and the early newspapers are out.”

“Ugh. What are they saying?”

“No arrests so far but the mood is strongly against Lord Chingford.”

“Anything about Lord Arthur?”

“Not yet.”

Will considered his position. He was the master’s guest, but the kitchen was Peacock’s domain. He compromised by leaning against the doorframe, neither out nor in. “What do you reckon to all this, Mr. Peacock?”

Peacock gave him an assessing look, then went to spoon tea into the pot with a lavish hand. “Lord Chingford is a very difficult gentleman by all accounts. Exceedingly plain-spoken, not to say rude, and with a high opinion of himself. Not popular.”

“Nor’s Lord Arthur.”

“Lord Arthur is often the object of censure,” Peacock granted. “But his manners and his intelligence are beyond dispute.”

“How long have you been with him?” Will asked curiously.

“Five years. I believe his previous gentleman’s gentleman took exception to his political views.”

“Don’t we all. Or do you not?”

“Not my affair.” The kettle whistled; Peacock filled the teapot. “Service to Lord Arthur suits me very well. I mind my own business and he minds his.”