Chapter Seven

Dixon was a godsend in more ways than one, especially when it came to emptying Benedict's mind of everything except the silliest of things. As his sexy mate rolled off his body, the pair of them still panting hard, Benedict started to laugh.

"Have I got a weird-shaped spot on my ass or something?" Dixon collapsed flat on his back. "I can't think of any other reason why you'd be laughing after I wore you out. Can you magic us a little less sticky?"

"You relaxed me and maybe I like the sticky." Although Benedict did as he was asked. He wasn't in a hurry to move either. "I guess I was laughing because my shoulders have got twinges from you pushing me up against the bedroom door when you wanted to suck my dick. I'm missing our new front door back home."

"Ah, the wonderful, padded door. I have some happy memories with that thing, too. But it's okay. My shoulders are twinging along in sympathy with yours." Dixon rolled over on his side, draping a heavy arm over Benedict's middle. "We couldn't do that sort of thing here – replace all the doors with padded ones I mean. You have too many of them in this place."

"I know." Benedict stretched, his raised arms quickly lowering when Dixon blew a raspberry on his belly. "But being with you, no matter where it is, you're my home. I feel that deep inside, and no, I'm not just talking about your impressive dick."

Dixon was chuckling now.

"It's true." Benedict started laughing again. "And yes, okay. Your dick does leave an impression, but don't forget mine does as well, and I'll be after your ass later."

"What's wrong with now? Oh, no." Dixon had a sudden thought and growled. "Someone's coming aren't they?"

"You can sense that, too?" Benedict was pleased. "We're getting more in tune every day. But yep, someone's just thrown some magic at my wards, as if they could make a dent on them. Guess who."

"The pizza guy?" Dixon held Benedict down. "Tell me you magically ordered a pizza delivery and I'll love you for life."

"You love me anyway." Benedict knew that as well as he knew his own name. "I can't get deliveries out here. Mrs. Porter wouldn't let the delivery person in the gates, let alone the front door. She rules that kitchen with a firm hand, and heaven forbid you ever suggest you want food delivered – especially pizza."

"Seems to me there're not a lot of perks for being one of these lords in England, if you can't even get pizza in your own house."

Dixon was still teasing, and Benedict knew that, but his mate wasn't wrong either. "We need to get dressed," he said with a regretful sigh. "The only time a Dule is seen naked if they're going to a sky clad ceremony, and thank the Goddess, Necromancers don't do that sort of thing."

"Wear your jeans," Dixon said as Benedict half-rolled across the bed, reaching for the suit pants he'd been wearing earlier. The bear was serious, and Benedict hesitated.

"My uncle is going to expect a suit. No one has ever worn jeans in this house, until you."

"You said this morning that you came back here and the thing that hit you hardest of all was that nothing had changed." Dixon rolled off the bed and swiped his own jeans up from the floor. "But you have changed. You wear jeans now. You also order pizza because you never learned to cook. And why did you never learn to cook? Likely because you didn't want to upset Mrs. Porter's feelings by suggesting you wanted to learn. I get that."

"I was also working at the Magical Council for the latter part of my adult years," Benedict pointed out, rolling off his side of the bed, and walking naked over to where his suitcase had been stored. "I didn't even bring jeans with me," he said flicking through the clothes that were still folded in there.

He glanced over to where Dixon was buttoning his up. The bear just gave him that look – the one that said, "you've got magic. Use it."

"Fine, I can zap myself a pair of jeans, but…"

"But nothing, babe." Now completely dressed, Dixon came around the bed, his hands firm as they cupped Benedict's neck. "The only way you can affect the change you want to see is to lead by example. A good first step toward doing that would be wearing jeans."

"You're right. I know you're right, and you're lucky your bear's such a sweet beast, otherwise you'd be insufferable, always being right." Benedict gave his mate a tight-lipped smile. "But I'm warning you now, if you suggest to Mrs. Porter that you want to order out for pizza, you're going to wish you hadn't."

His mate's frown was endearing. "Why? She couldn't stop me if that's what I wanted to do. I am a grown adult, you know."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. She'd never dream of trying to stop you." Benedict giggled. "She'd just make tutting noises about how the huge roast lamb she'd ordered in specially for the new shifter Lord Consort would likely go to waste. She'd mention, with a long suffering sigh, about how it was nothing, that she'd just spent six hours cooking that ginormous roast in a slow oven so that the meat was moist and juicy and just fell off the bone, perfectly seasoned and…"

"Oh, my gods, I want that roast. My mouth's watering just thinking about it." Dixon licked his lips.

"Well, if you wanted to order in pizza then that roast would have to be donated to a local homeless shelter."

"But that's my roast." Dixon looked outraged, making Benedict laugh all over again.

"Mrs. Porter would just be respecting your right to order pizza that would taste like cardboard in comparison to the roast, and as we discourage waste in this household, donating any food not eaten by the staff is the sensible decision."

"That roast is mine." Dixon nodded decisively as if his words were a decree. "You made your point. I can see now why you don't cook. Mrs. Porter is clearly formidable in her own domain, and so she should be.

"But the jeans are totally different. It's not like if you wear a pair of jeans to a meeting with an uncle you don't even like that the rough sleepers in Yorkshire are going to suddenly be wearing all your suits. Mrs. Porter's not going to see your jeans and decide you can't wear suits again. People can do both. Jeans aren't like a lamb roast that would get wasted if it wasn't eaten the day it was cooked."

"You really think I should?" Benedict definitely preferred his jeans, but being in the replica of his family home, the constraints of his past wrapped him up so tight it was difficult to think straight.

Dixon nodded. "You're more comfortable in jeans. Clothes don't make you Lord Dule, my powerful mate. You're still Lord Dule even when you're naked. The jeans are a perfect compromise."

Well, when you put it like that… Benedict clicked up one of his favorite pair of jeans. But he frowned when he saw Dixon pulling his own shirt back off, over his head.

"What are you doing? I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist on you wearing a shirt for the meeting."

"I'm giving you my top," Dixon said, as though it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do as he held it out. "My bear will feel happier if you smell like us."

"We haven't even showered. I'm sure I already smell enough like you to keep your bear happy." Benedict stroked down his mate's shirt after he put it on. It was too big for him, but it was still warm from where it had laid against Dixon's skin. "Thank you. Now get yourself another shirt. Mrs. Porter won't let my uncle come past the entrance hall until we're down in the sitting room. Let's get this over and done with."