It was strange that Macnair could still kiss him the same way, now that everything was different. Except it probably wasn't any different, from Macnair's point of view — it wasn't as though he had been blindsided by the announcement of the engagement in Saturday morning's paper. At the very least he would have already expected that it would happen when he was first writing Ford, and maybe he'd already been engaged. The idea was unsettling for Ford. He found himself wrapping his arms around Macnair's waist, as though the realization had made him physically off balance and not just mentally. He didn't want to be thinking about this, and Macnair didn't want to talk about it either... but Ford didn't know how he could not think about it, with Macnair kissing his neck. He took a minute to try to lose himself in just the physical sensations: he nuzzled his nose down against Macnair's collarbone, closed his eyes, kissed Macnair's neck, slid one hand to the other man's backside. He tried not to think about it, and for a few seconds it worked — then a thought occurred to him that made him freeze, shoulders tense again.
"You got this house for her?" Ford asked, though he already knew the answer. Of course he had. It had been silly for Ford not to have thought of that before, or not to have asked about it the first time he'd been here. To his credit, Ford had never entertained the idea that Macnair had acquired a whole other residence just to have a convenient location to seduce him, but on the nights where they'd cuddled together under the sheets in Macnair's room it had been easy to assume the thought had at least crossed his mind when he was weighing whether or not to get another property. Maybe this was a good house to have because it was an investment, or because Macnair needed a London residence to be closer to work, or for any number of reasons, but it was also sort of theirs, because Ford had been here before there was even furniture in it and had expected to be here often moving forward. Now Ford felt quite keenly the loss of something that had evidently never been theirs at all — just hers.
Layered on top of that were other emotions, too — he was disappointed at himself, and a little annoyed, that he'd even let himself start to think of it that way. He'd never done so consciously, so this was the first time he was recognizing that sense of possessiveness over this still-mostly-empty house — over Macnair's bedroom upstairs — and he couldn't help but feel frustrated by it. He'd been here twice, and it had only been a week since the first time, and he had no right to be this invested in this already — in the house or in Macnair, even. This was clearly far more casual for Macnair than it was for Ford, and wasn't that to be expected? Macnair was from a different world. He'd clearly done this before. He'd probably do it again, whenever he was bored of Ford and moved on to someone else, since he evidently didn't love his fiancee or have any desire to consider her when thinking about who he'd like to take to bed. So it all came back to what he'd told Lestrange an hour ago in the club: he had no one to blame but himself, for caring when he shouldn't have, and for being stupid enough to think Macnair might care, too. Those things Macnair had said on Monday night had just been pillow talk, and Ford had been so receptive to them because he'd been in the afterglow himself — or maybe because he was just stupid and inexperienced and too eager to latch on to the idea that someone might really like him in that way.
Fuck, was Macnair going to sleep with Tatiana Lestrange in that bed? Ford suddenly felt sick, but had no words to express this sentiment to Macnair. Macnair didn't care, he didn't think this was a big deal, apparently, so what reason did Ford have to feel so nauseated about it? But he certainly wouldn't have done it if he'd known, prior to Monday, that this house was for her.
(Maybe that was why Macnair hadn't told him).
"You got this house for her?" Ford asked, though he already knew the answer. Of course he had. It had been silly for Ford not to have thought of that before, or not to have asked about it the first time he'd been here. To his credit, Ford had never entertained the idea that Macnair had acquired a whole other residence just to have a convenient location to seduce him, but on the nights where they'd cuddled together under the sheets in Macnair's room it had been easy to assume the thought had at least crossed his mind when he was weighing whether or not to get another property. Maybe this was a good house to have because it was an investment, or because Macnair needed a London residence to be closer to work, or for any number of reasons, but it was also sort of theirs, because Ford had been here before there was even furniture in it and had expected to be here often moving forward. Now Ford felt quite keenly the loss of something that had evidently never been theirs at all — just hers.
Layered on top of that were other emotions, too — he was disappointed at himself, and a little annoyed, that he'd even let himself start to think of it that way. He'd never done so consciously, so this was the first time he was recognizing that sense of possessiveness over this still-mostly-empty house — over Macnair's bedroom upstairs — and he couldn't help but feel frustrated by it. He'd been here twice, and it had only been a week since the first time, and he had no right to be this invested in this already — in the house or in Macnair, even. This was clearly far more casual for Macnair than it was for Ford, and wasn't that to be expected? Macnair was from a different world. He'd clearly done this before. He'd probably do it again, whenever he was bored of Ford and moved on to someone else, since he evidently didn't love his fiancee or have any desire to consider her when thinking about who he'd like to take to bed. So it all came back to what he'd told Lestrange an hour ago in the club: he had no one to blame but himself, for caring when he shouldn't have, and for being stupid enough to think Macnair might care, too. Those things Macnair had said on Monday night had just been pillow talk, and Ford had been so receptive to them because he'd been in the afterglow himself — or maybe because he was just stupid and inexperienced and too eager to latch on to the idea that someone might really like him in that way.
Fuck, was Macnair going to sleep with Tatiana Lestrange in that bed? Ford suddenly felt sick, but had no words to express this sentiment to Macnair. Macnair didn't care, he didn't think this was a big deal, apparently, so what reason did Ford have to feel so nauseated about it? But he certainly wouldn't have done it if he'd known, prior to Monday, that this house was for her.
(Maybe that was why Macnair hadn't told him).
The following 3 users Like Fortitude Greengrass's post:
Angelica Selwyn, Cassius Lestrange, Valerian Macnair
Angelica Selwyn, Cassius Lestrange, Valerian Macnair
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