He let his eyes slip nearly closed, watching as they talked in the hazy lantern glow of the room. The wood seemed burnished gold, darker than Kennedy's hair, though not by much. He had his head bent toward Hornblower's both of them leaning in over the book in front of Kennedy.

He read something, his voice pitched low so as not to disturb the sleeping Bowles and Bracegirdle, and no doubt out of deference to him. It was also, Edrington noticed, a reason for them to sit close, their bodies at angles to each other, Hornblower's head tilted to watch the movement of Kennedy's lips, his long fingers spread across the polished table so near to Kennedy's own hand.

Edrington allowed himself a small smile. It cost him nothing and there was little chance the other two men would see it, so caught up in each other. It seemed quite clear that, whatever fancy Hornblower had taken to the girl, it was derived from vaunted heroics more than passion. Quite clear as his hand lifted and he brushed a finger over the words Kennedy had no doubt just read, grazing against Kennedy's fingers on the page.

Kennedy's soft laugh echoed around the room, but Edrington was careful not to react, careful to give nothing away as Hornblower glanced quickly in his direction, turning back to Kennedy to stifle the infectious sound. Kennedy let his eyes move over Edrington for a moment before turning back to his book, to Hornblower.

Edrington waited until their attentions were caught in each other again and shifted, eyes narrowed like a snake watching its prey, waiting to strike. Archie turned the page of his book, his hand caressing the paper like a lover. He cleared his throat softly and traced a few of the words before he began reading again, the soft lilt of words not quite reaching Edrington's ears, though the low sentiment of love and desire came through.

Hornblower closed his eyes for a moment and smiled, the sudden lack of any reserve on his face, the absence of all save emotion caught at Edrington's breath and he watched the slow curve of Hornblower's smile. Kennedy's words faltered and Edrington cut his gaze to the other man, watched him fall enraptured into Hornblower's look as well.

Kennedy swallowed hard and licked his lips, the poem or play forgotten as his eyes focused on Hornblower's lower lip. Edrington could easily imagine that, were they alone, Kennedy would lean forward and catch that plump flesh between his teeth. Hornblower's slow smile invited the nip of teeth, the slide of tongue. Kennedy swallowed again, his blue eyes trained on Hornblower's mouth, his breath visible in his chest.

Hornblower opened his eyes, curiosity bright in the darker depths. He laughed softly, tapping the page in front of Kennedy, drawing his attention back to the words. Kennedy's laugh was even softer still, husky and warm as he let his eyes fall back to the book, though his voice remained silent as Hornblower's fingers touched the back of his, light and graceful and barely there.

Edrington watched the slow movement as Kennedy turns his hand, his palm exposed to Hornblower's fingers. Hornblower grazed the palm on a trail down to the book itself, turning it toward him, scanning the words to where Kennedy had left off. Kennedy's hand didn't move, open and exposed as Hornblower shifted his hand on the book and touched Kennedy once again, this time allowing his fingers to move up to the exposed skin of Kennedy's wrist, the curve of Kennedy's fingers hiding the actual touch, though Edrington knew the moment contact was made from the falter in Kennedy's breathing, the hitch of Hornblower's words.

It was easy to picture those hands unfastening buttons, easing away fabric to find flesh, firm yet delicate strokes on Kennedy's skin, pushing him back and exploring, discovering the line of muscle and sinew, stroking skin and discovering the marks of pleasure that would reduce Kennedy to a mass of emotion, of need.

Hornblower bowed his head closer, turning it so his queue fell off the back of his neck, casting a shadow from the lamp, his expression shielded from Edrington's eyes. Kennedy responded, shifting closer in his chair, and Edrington could see the tangle of light and dark hair on a single pillow, the colors streaked darker with sweat. The soft glow of the lantern playing across bared skin, incandescent in the tawny gold of Kennedy's chest hair.

Those easy, slow strokes against Kennedy's palm stretching to long caresses of his chest, the tracing of his hips. The sly, promising curve of Kennedy's smile stretching, widening and closing, curving instead around Hornblower's cock. Both of them naked and wanton, damp with perspiration, hair loose and clinging in sweat damp tendrils, mouths swollen and pink from desperate kisses, cocks hard and captured between the press of bodies. Dark and light and lithe and sturdy tangled together like opposites and perfection all at once.

"So sorry to interrupt, my Lord, but perhaps you'd like more wine?"

His gaze shot up to Kennedy's, took in the knowing smile and the shift of his eyes down to the indistinct but no less noticeable shift of Edrington's trousers. Edrington smiled in return, equally knowing and full of daring as he met Kennedy's eyes. "Something to whet my lips would be welcome, Mr. Kennedy."

Kennedy poured the wine, not looking away. His bright eyes met the challenge in Edrington's easily. "Then allow me, my Lord." Kennedy ran his finger along the edge of the decanter, stealing the drop that clung to his finger with his tongue. "Perhaps, my Lord, you would like to join Mr. Hornblower and myself? I think, perhaps, you would find the company quite enjoyable."

Edrington licked his lips and smiled, warm and wicked and promising, as he stood, his body in close proximity to Kennedy's, the low level heat between them firing his gaze toward Hornblower, sitting at the table, watching them with no hint of expression save the slight curve of his lips. "Of that, Mr. Kennedy, I have absolutely no doubt."