Joss did not bother to look up as he heard someone enter his office. He didn’t need to, because only one person insisted upon closing the door every time he entered – and that same person always made his heart speed up, even sight unseen.
“Darling,” Sorrel drawled in his ‘I am bored and you will amuse me’ tone. “You have to interview me.”
That statement caused Joss’ hand to jerk in surprise, and he frowned at the ruined word in his letter home. Setting the pen aside, he finally glared at Sorrel. “What?”
Sorrel’s eyes flashed in a way that spelled trouble. “Michael was telling me all about his interview with you, way back when. He said you had warned him of a particular line of questioning you may have to follow.”
“Ah,” Joss said, and rolled his eyes. “I am not interviewing you as to your sexual tastes, Sorrel. Go bother someone else.” He looked back down at his letter, but the sound of movement drew his head up again – to find himself practically nose to nose with Sorrel.
“Don’t ‘darling’ me, you insufferable brat,” Joss cut in. “I am too busy to stroke your ego by asking about all your sexual experiences and tastes. I think we can safely assume you and your lover are sexually compatible.”
That aside, he did not want to be reminded of Sorrel’s vast sexual experience – bad enough three quarters of the palace were poking their noses into their affair, and making guesses as to when Sorrel would revert to his old ways.
“Oh, but we’ve hardly been adventurous,” Sorrel pressed, refusing to back down. “We can’t have everything falling apart if I were to suddenly tie you up, hmm?”
Carefully not picturing that image, shifting in his seat to make himself more comfortable, he covered Sorrel’s face with his hand and pushed the insufferable bastard away.
Or tried, anyway. Sorrel grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away, then tangled their fingers together and kissed the center of Joss’ open palm. “See? We should discuss these things.”
“I think I’d rather just tie you up, gag you, and leave you to suffer so I can work in peace,” Joss retorted, and pulled his hand away. “Tell Michael to stop telling you things that are only going to cause me more headaches.”
Sorrel resumed his seat, grinning like a cat who knew it had the mouse right where it wanted. “How often do you conduct such interviews? I do not think I could – bedding someone is one thing, but to have to ask gods know how many people how they like to fuck or be fucked…” He shook his head. “What was the most difficult question you ever had to ask?”
“The Prime Minister of Kevie if he liked to be spanked,” Joss replied, and ducked his head to hide his own grin at the look of shock on Sorrel’s face.
“You did not.”
“Not in those precise words, but it did come up,” Joss replied. “I think finding out the Princess I knew since childhood liked it rough was almost more than I could take.”
Sorrel looked as though he did not quite want to ask his next question, but could not help himself. “Did you have to ask Marianna such questions?”
Joss shook his head. “No, nor any of the others. I probably should have inquired, before she married Michael, but decided I could leave that much to chance.”
“I should bloody well hope so,” Sorrel asked. “I think you may know more about such things and people than I.”
“That would be difficult,” Joss said tartly.
Sorrel smirked. “Now, now, darling…”
“Shut up,” Joss said.
Sorrel laughed, and stood up again, moving around the desk to lean against it, close enough Joss could smell him, or reach out and touch him. “So, after all those risqué interviews – how many things did you rush out to try, to soothe your curiosity?”
Joss rolled his eyes. “None.”
“Liar,” Sorrel said, grinning with infuriatingly smug triumph.
“I’m not lying,” Joss retorted. “I am intelligent enough not to act on my curiosity—” He swore as he realized he’d walked quite neatly into that well-laid trap.
Sorrel crowed his victory. “So what piqued your interest, darling?”
“None of your business,” Joss said firmly. “This is my office, not yours, and I insist you take yourself off somewhere and stop hounding me with all this nonsense.”
“Oh, no,” Sorrel said. “You’ve raised my interest now.”
Joss could see that, and it did nothing to cool his own interest. “We are not having sex in my office.” Again.
“If we’ve done it before, darling, there is no reason not to do it again.”
Ignoring him, Joss carefully put the letter he’d been writing home in a drawer, pointedly not noticing the way Sorrel moved various things on his desk out of the way.
“I said we are not—”
Sorrel cut him off with a kiss, and though he tried to put up at least a token protest, they both knew it was mostly for show.
“One of these days,” he muttered, fingers going to Sorrel’s jacket, eager to find skin, “you are going to let me work through the day uninterrupted.”
“I sincerely doubt it,” Sorrel said, and pushed him so Joss was sitting on the desk, spreading his legs to stand between them, taking a ravenous kiss to prevent further protests.
Joss bit his lip, then attacked his face and throat with short, nipping kisses. “I should conduct a formal interview, just so you have to sit in that chair in agony for the two or so hours it lasts.”
“Darling, I would have us both stroking ourselves before it was half over,” Sorrel replied, and shoved a hand into Joss’ pants to do some of that stroking.
“You drive me mad,” Joss muttered when he could form words again, and kissed him to prevent the infuriating response he knew was coming.
Sorrel laughed into his mouth, and pulled harder, opening his breeches to better stroke him, entirely too good at it.
Joss fumbled with Sorrel’s breeches for a moment, before finally getting a handful of his own, shuddering and gasping as they stroke one another, wondering hazily what time it was and hoping fervently his four o’clock interview showed up a few minutes late.
He kissed Sorrel hard as he came, muffling his scream, swallowing Sorrel’s, holding tight until they finally calmed. “You—”
Sorrel kissed him, long and slow and lazy. “I rather approve of these interviews. Shall we continue after supper? I’ll bring my silk cords, and you can interview me at length on being tied up.”
Joss rolled his eyes and fumbled for a handkerchief to clean them up – but Sorrel had beaten him to it. “You are insufferable. And unbearable. And intolerable.”
“Yes, darling,” Sorrel said in his most patronizing tone, and moved out of the way before Joss could hit him. “I’ll see you this evening.” He threw the door open with a flourish, and smiled at the man outside – Joss’ four o’clock, who looked distinctly red-faced.
Scowling at his departing lover’s back, Joss then turned and politely invited the poor four o’clock into his office, ignoring that it still smelled like sex, and silently plotting revenge.