“Good evening, Mr. Kenzie,” he said, as he held the door. Rory’s too-small cap sat awkwardly high on Arthur’s head, but if the doorman noticed he was too polite to say it. “Welcome back to New York. Your trunk was delivered to your apartment earlier this evening.”

“Thank you, that’s appreciated,” Arthur said magnanimously, adding, “Come along, nephew,” as Rory tagged close behind. He didn’t think he’d seen this doorman before, but just in case he kept his head down and his trap shut.

They made it up the elevator and inside Arthur’s apartment. Just the sight of the foyer was enough to loosen the constant tension in Rory’s shoulders. He’d missed this place so much. Even with the dusty scent of weeks of emptiness, it felt more like home than his boarding house ever had.

Emotion welled in his chest, and as soon as the door was shut he pushed Arthur against it and stood on his toes to press their lips together.

Arthur made a surprised but happy noise. “I missed you,” he said into Rory’s mouth, sliding his back down the wall until he was low enough that Rory could come down flat on his feet and keep the kiss going.

“Missed you too.” Rory pulled back, just an inch, with a rueful smile. “I got a lotta things I wanna do to you, Ace,” he said, cupping Arthur’s stubbly jaw in his hands, “but it doesn’t feel right if you’re drunk.”

“Drunk, what? Me? Psht.” Arthur clumsily put his hands in Rory’s hair, knocking the fedora to the floor. “I’m not drunk. And even if I was, don’t let that stop you. Consider it open season on my body, like a fox hunt.”

Rory huffed a line. “That is a terrible line.”

“Shut up, it’s a great line, I’m always terribly eloquent. I really like your curls, have I told you that?”

“Not like I get tired of hearing it,” Rory admitted. He scooped up Arthur’s fedora off the floor, then pulled a heavy, muscular arm over his shoulder again. “I’m putting you to bed. Not like that,” he added pointedly.

He steered Arthur down the hall to the bedroom and the big four-poster bed. After tugging the cap off Arthur’s head, he carefully tossed the hats onto the seat of the bedroom’s one velvet chair. He gently but pointedly pushed Arthur down to sit on the mattress’s edge, then climbed on to straddle his lap.

Arthur’s arms came around his waist. “This is nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” Rory said quietly. More than nice. Rory had missed him so much his untouched skin almost hurt.