Jensen made a half-turn to look behind him, then back into a gaze that screamed every shade of mischief in the books. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry?" "Oh, I'm not." White teeth gleamed in the filthiest smile Jensen had ever seen. "In fact, I couldn't be further from sorry. Christ, Colin's gonna love ye." Jensen tried again. He knew who the other guy was – who hadn't seen '300'? – but no one had mentioned Gerard Butler was as mad as his great-aunt Henrietta. "Colin?" Gerard stepped closer, his look appraising, and so dirty that Jensen wondered if he really was naked and exposing all of his manly bits, as opposed to dressed in his best monkey suit at some ridiculous party his agent had insisted he attend. "Oh, yes, he's gonna eat you with a spoon," Gerard pronounced, and once again flashed that toothy, dangerous grin. They said third time was the charm. "I'm sorry, who, exactly, are we talking about here?" "Already told ye, Colin," Gerard repeated, and threw a friendly, but vise-like arm across Jensen's shoulders. Now Jensen knew he was in good shape, and that he was a pretty strong guy, but there was no getting out of that hold. Not without serious injury or embarrassment to himself. It was easier – and safer – to let himself be steered through the crowd to a darkly lit corner booth. Where Colin Farrell was holding court, all slouched and dangerous, looking at Gerard with a sort of rapacious hunger. "Brought ye a gift," Gerard said, and all but shoved Jensen into the booth next to Colin. "Although, just so it's clear, we will be sharin'." Sharing? Jensen's eyes widened just as Gerard slid in to sandwich him in the booth. "'Course we'll be sharin'," Colin said, as if it was obvious, and gave Jensen the same shit-eating grin that Gerard had a few moments ago. "Bloody Christ, Ger, he's just about gorgeous, isn't he?" "Aye, why I brought him," Gerard replied. Jensen was starting to feel like he was some sort of dessert confection on display. "Uh," he started, then stopped. Someone's hand – he wasn't sure whose – was starting to creep up his thigh. Holy fuck. He was totally being molested at a party – in public, hello – by either King Leonadis or Alexander. "Don't worry," Colin's rough burr purred in his ear. "We always take good care of our toys." "Always," Gerard agreed, and somehow, it was just easier to stop fighting whatever this was. To go along with it and hope they weren't lying. After all, Jensen thought, they had promised to take care of him.
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