Henry Bolingbroke is an absurdly youthful jousting champion and a man of few words. But his cousin is King of England, so that has to count for something.
“They'll have to make a few surgical incisions, of course.” With a single finger of each hand, Tsurumi traced two lines, one across each side of Ogata's face, from the corner of his warped jaw to the centre of his cheek. “You'll still look fetching as ever, I'm sure.”
On the one night of their journey that suspends itself in the in-between, not yet Hetao but no longer home, Wang Zhi joins him for dinner.
They were nearly at the end of this bout of fucking, when Sergei gave that damned scarf still looping over his shoulders a playful jerk and whispered in his ear if he would mind if he choked him a little?
The man in black knows the score, but who's counting?
Intrepid ad man Pete Campbell plunges into the twilit homosexual underworld of New York City in search of answers. Bob Benson helps.
He wonders, for all the seconds it takes for Tang Fan to start to move, if he’s fallen asleep again. He’s not convinced it is at all possible for him to have a dream as odd as this, as ominous, as wonderful. The Tang Fan that is trying to kick his bare feet beneath the lifted linens while all the heat Sui Zhou’s body has pressed into them escapes is too wholly fleshed out to be one of Sui Zhou’s fantasies.
If Lan Wangji has learned anything from his atonement for Wei Wuxian’s death, it is that patience is neither simple nor shallow.
Leo allows himself to be escorted home, rather than jumping. Daimler puts the young prince to bed.
Riley Flynn flees Crockett Island, and the priest follows.