A Leather and Tea Morning
By K.L. Noone
In the onyx crevices of night, surrounded by satin-stripe sheets and pillow-mountains and bed-coziness, Ben Smith, former Agency operative and currently delightedly married Academy instructor, attempted poking his husband in the ribs. For the second time. “Simon. Simon.”
“Completely asleep. Go away.”
“You love me.”
“Wholeheartedly, indubitably, and eternally. Also sleepily.” But a hand curled up and found Ben’s, fingers lacing together in the dark. The touch held the usual unspoken question: was it a nightmare, whose face did you see, which memory of a mission performed too well, can I hold you, let me help.
Simon permanently wanted to help. Simon existed as a petite blond whirlwind of misplaced umbrellas and leaning book-towers and optimism he
