CHAPTER 167: CHAPTER 162: TEMPTATION (4)

"Fuck," he muttered, eyes snapping wide. "Forget about that."

Damian blinked. Slowly.

His golden gaze lingered on Gabriel’s face for a second too long, registering the blush climbing up from his chest to his ears, the way his mouth was already half open to backpedal.

Damian had read the report. Gabriel was far from inexperienced, nor did that bother him. It would’ve been odd if he had been a virgin.

"No," Damian said simply. "I don’t think I will."

Gabriel groaned and buried his face in the nearest pillow. "Why do I even talk?"

"Because I fucked you so well, you lost track of your mental filters," Damian offered helpfully, his voice rich with restrained amusement.

Gabriel tensed. "Yeah, well. Don’t let it get to your head."

Damian turned his head slowly, the satisfied smirk already spreading across his lips like wildfire.

"Oh," he said, his voice velvet-smooth and unbearably pleased. "Too late."

Gabriel groaned again, throwing the pillow harder over his head. "I hate you."

Damian caught the pillow mid-flight with insulting ease, spun it lazily in one hand, then tossed it to the foot of the bed like it had offended him.

He looked back at Gabriel, a flicker of something sharper beneath the amusement.

"You should have told me," he said, his voice softer now. Not accusing, just steady, with the weight of meaning behind it. "I would’ve been more gentle when I marked you."

Gabriel’s gaze snapped to him.

"I’m not fragile. I knew what it meant then. I walked in your room, remember?"

"I do," he said simply.

Then he reached out and pulled Gabriel into his arms. Gabriel didn’t resist. He let himself be gathered, body relaxing with a tired exhale against Damian’s chest.

Their limbs tangled naturally, easily, like they’d done this a hundred times before.

Like they would do it again.

Damian’s chin rested lightly atop Gabriel’s head, his thumb stroking the center of his back, trailing upward until his fingers brushed the mark on the nape.

Tracing it, slowly, he already memorized it. The shape. The texture. The faint hum of ether that pulsed beneath it.

His mark.

"You walked in," he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful, "and still had the nerve to sass me half-naked."

Gabriel shifted slightly against his chest, letting out a soft snort, his breath warm against Damian’s collarbone. "You wouldn’t have recognized me if I didn’t."

"You were smug for someone about to be devoured."

"You were already in a rut, and I still left with my dignity intact."

"Barely."

"I was walking."

"Staggering," Damian corrected. "Beautifully, I’ll admit." As he spoke, one of his hands slid lower, down Gabriel’s side, over the curve of his hip, knuckles grazing flushed skin.

Gabriel shivered as Damian’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the briefs still clinging to his body, soaked and heavy with heat and scent. Slowly, deliberately, Damian peeled the damp fabric down, letting it fall off one leg, then the other, his knuckles brushing sensitive skin with a touch that felt more like worship than removal.

He dropped the ruined garment onto the floor without ceremony.

"There," he murmured, his gaze dragging down Gabriel’s now fully bare form. "That’s better."

Gabriel hummed, pretending to sound unimpressed, though the faint blush that climbed up his neck said otherwise. He turned onto his side with a satisfied stretch, the movement slow and catlike.

"I suppose you’ll stop gloating now?" He asked, speaking in a low drawl.

Damian leaned in and brushed his lips over Gabriel’s collarbone, following the trail of warmth his eyes had already traveled. "Not even slightly."

His hand slid down Gabriel’s thigh, curling behind his knee to draw him close again.

Gabriel blinked at him, suspicious. "What are you doing?"

"Admiring," Damian said, mouth grazing the sensitive skin just beneath his ribs. "Wanting."

"Again?" Gabriel’s voice cracked in that breathless way he hadn’t meant to let slip.

Damian’s smile turned into something darker, something hungry. "You think I’m satisfied?"

Gabriel’s hand clamped over his eyes. "Please. Just take me to the bath. Or kill me. Either works."

"Bath after," Damian murmured, already moving to roll Gabriel gently beneath him again. "But first..."

The night stretched long after that.

—

Pale morning light filtered through the enchanted glass of the imperial windows, painting the edges of the chamber in soft gold. The palace was already stirring, but within the Emperor’s private quarters, time moved slower, heavier, even, like sleep hadn’t quite loosened its hold.

The door opened with barely a sound.

Edward slipped inside, immaculate as ever in his dark morning coat, a tablet in one hand and a silver case in the other. His movements were precise and polished to the point of invisibility; he knew how to walk a reverent line in this room, particularly this morning.

His eyes fell on the bed.

Gabriel was still sleeping, half-curled on his side, buried in a nest of ivory sheets, one arm tucked beneath the pillow and the other thrown lazily across Damian’s half of the bed. The white robe he wore was more suggestion than clothing now, slipping off one shoulder, revealing the slope of his bare back and the faintest marks at the crook of his neck.

Edward’s mouth pressed into a thinner line. He had noticed it the moment he stepped in.

Not heavy with pheromones, but something deeper. The scent of two people who had clung to each other through the night. A mark of possession layered beneath the warmth. Damian’s scent over Gabriel’s, wound together like silk soaked in heat.

Damian stirred, as expected. Even at rest, his awareness came quickly—golden eyes opening slightly, body tensing until recognition was settled.

"Edward," he said, his voice gravel-soft.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Edward replied quietly. "You asked to be woken."

Damian didn’t move at first.

His gaze slipped from Edward to the bed beside him, and something in his features softened, just for a breath. Gabriel’s breathing was steady, lips parted, brow smooth for once, unguarded in a way that hit Damian in the gut. His hand twitched slightly, as if tempted to reach for him again.

But time, as always, was merciless.

Damian sat up with the same quiet grace he used when preparing for battle. Sheets slid down his torso, revealing the long line of his back and the low bruising along his hip and back, marks left by fingers that now slept in his bed.

Edward stepped forward, setting the tablet and the silver case on the table near the dressing screen.

"You have forty minutes before training begins," he said, eyes not lingering. "Breakfast has been moved to the antechamber outside the arena. Astana is already waiting; he asked for Charles to train with you."

Damian snorted softly. "Did he now?"

"He was under the impression you would return in better spirits."

Damian stretched once, the muscles in his shoulders tightening with movement. "He’s not wrong."

Behind him, Gabriel murmured something incoherent in his sleep and turned further into the sheets, pulling Damian’s pillow beneath his cheek.

Edward didn’t look. But his next words were softer.

"I’ve given instructions for the staff to stay clear of this wing until after the hour."

Damian’s eyes slid sideways to him, appraising.

Edward, still looking ahead, added evenly, "He should rest undisturbed. For a while."

Damian reached for the silk robe draped over the foot of the bed and pulled it over his shoulders with one motion, tying it loosely at his waist.

"Thank you."