CHAPTER 260: CHAPTER 260: FRY STEALER

Lucas swatted at his hand. "That’s mine. You can have those fake ones from Windstone."

Trevor popped the fry into his mouth anyway, chewing like it was a matter of principle. "No thanks. I prefer these, especially when they come with the bonus of stealing them from you."

Lucas gave him a look that was half exasperation, half fond. "You act like I was plotting with Mia to overthrow you."

"Were you?" Trevor asked, leaning back and stretching his legs out until his knee brushed Lucas’s.

"No," Lucas said plainly. "I just wanted her company. I can’t spend all my free time with you and your royal friends, sometimes I need people my own age who don’t call me ’Your Grace’ every other sentence."

Trevor’s mouth curved, though the glint in his eyes didn’t soften. "And you picked her because she’s easy to charm into doing whatever you want?"

"I picked her because she’s good company," Lucas said, tone deliberate. "Not everything I do is some political maneuver."

"Mm," Trevor hummed, unconvinced but clearly enjoying himself. His hand lingered near the fry box, and Lucas nudged it back toward him without looking.

"You’re impossible," Lucas muttered.

"And you’re mine," Trevor replied easily, stealing the box without shame.

Lucas leaned back, watching as Trevor made a show of inspecting the fries like they were some delicate diplomatic gift. "You’re ridiculous."

"Occupational hazard," Trevor said, selecting another fry with exaggerated care before eating it. "Spend enough time dealing with idiots who think shouting is a strategy, and you start valuing the small victories. Like this." He gestured with the fry box. "Taking what’s yours."

Lucas arched a brow. "That’s not a victory. That’s theft."

"Semantics," Trevor countered, settling more comfortably in the chair beside him until their shoulders brushed.

Lucas pretended to focus on the muted movie playing across the theater screen, but Trevor’s attention was firmly elsewhere, his gaze sliding over him with the kind of lazy ownership that made it clear he had no intention of sharing, whether it was fries, company, or anything else.

"You could at least pretend to be interested in the plot," Lucas said dryly.

"I am," Trevor murmured, his tone dropping to something warmer, quieter. "I’m just watching my favorite part."

"Please get out and send Mia back; at least she had interesting gossip."

Trevor’s head tilted, the corner of his mouth curving in something far too smug to be harmless. "Interesting gossip?" he echoed, as if the words were a stone he could turn over until they gave him the answer he wanted.

Lucas’s expression was all innocence, which Trevor trusted about as much as a smiling viper. "Mm. She’s good at it. Knows all the staff drama."

Trevor’s gaze narrowed just enough to betray the shift from amused to assessing. "Staff drama," he repeated slowly, like he was filing the phrase away for later dissection.

Lucas popped a fry into his mouth, chewing calmly. "You’d like her stories. She knows which security guards are stealing roses, and apparently Windstone has declared war on the vending machine."

"I can buy you roses," Trevor said, deadpan. "And the vending machines are free for the staff."

"That’s not the same," Lucas countered, lips twitching. "That’s bribery."

Trevor leaned in, shoulder brushing his, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around the edge of Lucas’s space. "Then I’ll bribe you better." His voice was low, all quiet possession. "Enough to make you forget you ever wanted her company."

Lucas gave him a long, unimpressed look. "You’re sulking because I ate fries with someone else."

Trevor’s mouth curved like he’d been caught and didn’t care. "I’m sulking because you smiled at someone else."

Lucas let the silence hang for a beat, the faint flicker of the theater screen throwing pale light across Trevor’s face. Then, without warning, he shifted, sliding out of his chair only to drop onto Trevor’s lap like it was his rightful seat.

Trevor’s hands came up automatically, one bracing Lucas’s hip, the other curling around the back of his thigh. His gaze dipped once, just once, to where the hem of Lucas’s shorts had ridden up, baring more skin than any reasonable man could be expected to ignore.

The burn in his eyes was immediate, sharp, and unhidden.

Lucas, of course, noticed. He always noticed. "You’re staring," he murmured, the words feather-light but threaded with smugness.

"Of course I’m staring," Trevor said, though his voice was rougher now, his thumb brushing idly against the warm strip of skin just above Lucas’s knee. "You climb into my lap dressed like this, and I’m supposed to look away?"

Lucas’s mouth curved into the kind of slow, deliberate smile that meant trouble.

"I don’t recall asking you to be polite," he said, fingers sliding up to the first button of Trevor’s blazer.

Trevor’s grip on his hip tightened, but he didn’t stop him. Didn’t even try. He just sat back, watching with that hooded, unblinking gaze as Lucas worked the buttons open one by one, the faint rasp of fabric on fabric far too loud in the dim, hushed theater.

The blazer slipped apart, revealing the tailored waistcoat beneath. Lucas’s fingers trailed briefly down the smooth line of it before they moved to the next set of buttons, flicking them open painfully slowly.

Trevor’s breathing had shifted, not heavier, not yet, but deeper, as though each breath was a choice.

By the time the last button gave way, Lucas was close enough that Trevor could feel the faint brush of his hair against his jaw, his scent mingling with the sharp, clean notes of Trevor’s cologne.

"You’re making a mess of my uniform," Trevor murmured, though his voice had dropped into something warm and dangerous.

Lucas tipped his head, feigning innocence. "Consider it... rearranging the packaging."

Trevor’s laugh was quiet, low in his chest, and entirely unamused in the way that meant he was enjoying this far too much. "Keep going, and you won’t be watching the rest of this movie."

"Now, this is the kind of promise I like."

Trevor’s eyes darkened, the lazy amusement in them sharpening into something far more focused.

"Careful," he said, his thumb tracing an idle circle against Lucas’s thigh, the heat of his hand a silent reminder of just how close that promise was to becoming reality.

Lucas’s fingers lingered on the open edge of the waistcoat, dragging lightly down the crisp shirt beneath. "I thought you liked it when I wasn’t careful."

"I like it when you know exactly what you’re doing," Trevor countered, his tone low enough that the words seemed to settle between them rather than pass through the air.

Lucas leaned in until his lips were a breath from Trevor’s ear, the faintest ghost of a smile in his voice. "Then you must be having a very good time."

Trevor’s answering hum was dark and approving, his other hand sliding to the small of Lucas’s back, keeping him firmly in place. "Better than you think."