Bernard was on his stomach, shirt off, lost in the hallway, or maybe on the floor by the bed, or maybe that was Sir Humphrey's – he couldn't remember. His eyes were closed and he could feel a warm mouth at the base of his neck, sucking gently as a hand thread through his hair. He could remember Sir Humphrey saying something about getting it over with, that perhaps it would stop once they had – Something about wanting it to stop, needing it to, Bernard had never seen him look the way he did. Sir Humphrey was never vulnerable. Even when looking vulnerable he wasn't vulnerable. Bernard was sure of this.

A brush of fabric on his back and he knew it was his shirt on the floor by the bed, that the hallway was empty, and that Sir Humphrey was far too clothed but there was very little he could do about it. The hand in his hair was gone, suddenly on his hip and very warm, too warm almost. And the silence in the room was crushing, even as he was rolled over, their lips against each other again, fingers undoing the belt and cool air was on his thighs. There was the silence. Pressing as Sir Humphrey kissed along his jaw, pressing as he gasped softly his own fingers racking through hair before returning to the bed, knuckles as white as the sheets. The back of his mind was telling him that he really ought not to be doing this, that he really ought to stop Sir Humphrey, that he really ought to remind him that they work together, that they're married, that they have careers, that they work for government, that -

"Stop thinking," was mumbled against his neck, he could feel a hand cupping the back of his head.

"Sir Humphrey?"

"You're thinking, Bernard," the older man murmured as he pulled back. Their eyes met for the first time in the evening. "As much as I appreciate the effort, this is not the time for it."

"Sir Humphrey," he paused, aware that their chests were touching, that the older man's thigh was between his, that the had four buttons undone and hanging loose so he could see down – "Is this right?"

"Your conscience bothering you again, Bernard?"

"Er, yes." He tried to smile, he didn't think t worked.

The air was still and Bernard looked away, pulling a face, waiting for the rebuttal he knew would come. A minute passed and he looked back to find Sir Humphrey watching him, expression unreadable.

"Sir Humphrey?" He whispered, afraid to move.

"No, Bernard," the older man drawled, sitting back on Bernard's hips.


"You're going to have to figure that one out yourself."