“Can you believe Zaiden?” Quentin asked as they left the restaurant. He’d expected Ian to laugh, but there was something in the slant of his shoulders that didn’t sit well with Quentin.

“I can believe they’d fall in love with the house,” was Ian’s subdued reply.

“It’s our house.” Quentin had an inkling of what might be upsetting Ian. “Did they think they’d wave a million credits and we’d jump?”

“It’s worth eight-hundred thousand. We’d turn a profit.” His husband’s gaze wouldn’t meet his, fixed somewhere on the floor as they made their way to the car. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to take them up on it.”

Quentin stopped and turned, letting go of Ian’s hand to cup both his cheeks. He’d been right. “That’s our home. I know that’s not what you want.”

“I’m saying that we made a huge investment, and you might not—”

“Stop worrying.” It’d be criminal to be this close and not indulge in a kiss. “You’ve been this way since we got it. I love it too.”

“I just... I don’t like to think that I made you jump when you weren’t ready.”

“I thought you said you could read me? I’ll jump anywhere with you. We’re not selling.” He paused, then added, “Well, if they offer five mil I’ll reconsider.”

Ian laughed. “For five million credits, I’ll do the move for them and be their cleaning bot for a year.”

“Well,” Quentin quipped, wagging his eyebrows, “just as long as you don’t offer to be their sex bot.”

Ian’s facepalm was expected; he did it to hide his embarrassment whenever Quentin pushed his buttons. “There’s no danger of that. On that topic,” he said through his fingers, “you had that face all throughout dinner. You don’t need me to tell you they noticed.”

Quentin pulled Ian’s hand away to taste his lips again. The man had been living on a knife-edge for twenty years; Quentin relished that he could make him blush like a schoolboy, regardless. “If you mean the quickie the car before going in the restaurant,” Ian’s faced warmed further as Quentin’s voice dropped. “That was just the appetiser. Also: is there anything wrong with the world knowing you’re keeping me this satisfied?”

“I’m trying to berate you and you turn and compliment me.” Diffident, but pleased. “That’s not fair at all.”

He whispered his next words into Ian’s lips. “Then I guess It’s a good thing I never had any intention of playing fair, husband. Now, tell me,” another kiss, “did you really think I would?”

For a while he thought Ian wouldn’t answer, too busy making Quentin’s head spin. When he did, it was with a muttered, “You’ll be the death of me.”

Quentin’s good mood fled, the earlier nexus broadcast replaying uninvited in his mind. “Better me than a BioSynth.”

Ian grazed his cheek with his knuckles and stared as if he were trying to read Quentin’s soul. It took him a long time to find words but, when he did, Quentin’s world tilted sideways. “Best-case scenario, ten years. Worst case, fifteen. Max. I’ll stop Tracking then.”

That was... He’d never committed to a date before. Quentin had often feared he’d keep Tracking well into his seventies, if he hadn’t gotten himself killed before. Fifteen years might be a long time, but it was a specific moment to look forward to, and Ian wouldn’t have mentioned ten if he didn’t think it could happen. Quentin felt too overwhelmed to even smile, his heart racing. “Is that a promise?”

“It’s a promise.”

The wave of happiness bubbling up inside him would have lasted for days, if he hadn’t found himself struggling for breath in a capsized car, barely twenty minutes later.