The Queer Principles of Kit Webb

“Sorry,” Percy said after a few moments, unsure what he was apologizing for but aware that he was taking up Kit’s time.
“Shut up,” Kit said, and kissed him.

When Collins left, Percy considered what to do with himself for the rest of the day. It had been some time since he visited Kit’s wearing anything respectable. He could stop by now and give Kit a small thrill by allowing the man to surreptitiously ogle his ankles. But Kit had behaved abominably yesterday, and Percy was not in a frame of mind to reward the man.

He had reconciled himself to the loss of his least favorite snuffbox, but what about the other five? He didn’t even like snuff. And how many rings did a man need? He had a dreadful certainty that the answer was zero.

He did not like watching Percy insult anyone who wasn’t him, which was probably a mad thought, but if insults and flirtation weren’t synonymous for Percy, then Kit was very much at sea.

There were rich men who didn’t use their money and power as cudgels, but they still always knew that they had a cudgel ready at hand. They got so used to it, they probably thought they were doing a grand thing by not wielding it.

He wondered if rich men took their wigs off while fucking, and then got very annoyed with his prick for not finding wigs sufficiently unattractive. His prick didn’t understand anything. Bringing himself off to an aristocrat in a goddamn wig would be a humiliating end to a foul day.