Love is a doing word

After depositing Selwyn on the bed, Shylock had turned his back to put away his work parchments and draw the curtains across the window above the desk. They were flimsy lace things, not designed to block out the light so much as any intruding gazes, so instead of being plunged into darkness the two men were given their own private dusk.

He took his time going through these motions and lighting the lamps in the sconces by the door before returning his attention to Selwyn.

"It's not just the glamour," he replied, voice low as he leaned against the door.

He made no attempt to hide his gaze as it wandered over Selwyn's form. That was, in fact, the point.

"Objectively speaking, you have bone structure models would kill for," he observed.

"But I won't call you Gorgeous if you'd prefer me not to," he added, approaching the bed. "Do you have any suggestions of what to call you instead?"

It wasn't as though Selwyn didn't know he could turn heads, but usually when people watched him they tried to be discreet.

Shylock, on the other hand, was blatant. Deliberately so, Selwyn suspected. Like he was committing every inch of skin to memory. And though it was uncomfortable, it was strangely rousing at the same time.

Shylock had pushed away from the door, drawn closer to where Selwyn was sat on the bed, though he continued to stand just out of reach. So, it was going to be this game again.

Selwyn leant forward and dropped his chin to the palm of one hand.

"Lose the shirt and we can talk," he said, seeing an opportunity.

Shylock smiled as his hands drifted to the hem of his shirt. Touching, fiddling, but not lifting it. Not quite yet.

"Are you trying to order me around, Thorfinn?" he asked. "I thought we'd established what happens when you do that."

This was what he'd missed out on with Kaiden. They'd met up, got off and gone their separate ways without there ever being any meeting of the minds.

Selwyn watched Shylock's fingers toying with the thin fabric.  Halfway there.

"If you'll recall," he drawled, "we didn't actually establish anything."

He glanced up at Shylock and very deliberately used his tongue to pull his lower lip between his teeth.

"Will you not do it even if I ask especially nicely?"

"Hmmm, especially nicely," Shylock mused.

He stepped a little closer to his partner in crime as he wound the shirt between his fingers. Even letting it ride up enough to reveal a thin sliver of skin.

"The thing is, Selwyn," he said, and that sought after smile may have taken a slightly more wicked turn at the corners.

"The thing is that for all your pleases and thank yous, we both know where your mind is when you do that. We both know what you're after."

"What do you think your grandmother would do if she knew your mind's in the gutter whenever you use those words?"

Selwyn couldn't help but giggle.

"My grandmother's a veela, darling," he reminded Shylock. "She'd be proud."

He reached out to trail an index finger along Shylock's exposed midsection, careful not to touch the shirt at all.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have asked," he said, finger tracing over the zipper of Shylock's fly.  "Maybe I should just promise that I will be enthusiastic in my expressions of gratitude."

Shylock only needed to take one more step forward before he was standing between Selwyn's knees. He leant forward to brace his weight with one hand either side of Selwyn's torso.

"I think you'll be enthusiastic anyway. Darling."

He kissed Selwyn, then pulled back.

"Besides, I said I don't want you passing out. How're you feeling?"

Selwyn scooted backwards, making room for Shylock's knees as he leaned over him. Damn the dancer side of him, Shylock must have forgotten that some people couldn't bend backwards so far.

Selwyn managed to sneak an arm back to take part of his weight as he tilted his head back to receive a kiss that was over too soon.

There was silence for a moment, while Selwyn actually considered the question. Boldly, he didn't pause in his attempt to undo Shylock's fly as he thought.

"I'm fine," he said eventually. "I'll let you know if it gets too much."

"You do that," Shylock agreed.

He batted Selwyn's hand out of the way and pulled his shirt off. He could've taken care of his pants at the same time, but Selwyn seemed like he was having fun trying to get rid of those personally.

"Shove over. I don't wanna feel like I'm about to fall on the floor all night," he said.

"Ah hah! I win!" Selwyn cried as he moved to the other side of the bed.

In the couple of weeks since he'd seen Shylock's bare flesh, the other man had managed to put on more weight than Selwyn would have thought possible. Or at least possible without the intervention of magic.

"I guess whatever St Mungos has you doing is working," he observed.