Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)

By the time Gabriel finally stepped out of his office, the sky beyond the palace windows had deepened to indigo, the city's ether grid glowing in precise, geometric veins across the horizon. His head ached faintly. The particular, throbbing kind of fatigue that only came from a day of enduring noble stupidity dressed up as diplomacy.

He hadn't missed this during his leave. Not the petty posturing, not the endless attempts to disguise self-interest as concern for the Empire, and certainly not the sensation that his patience was being mined for export.

The corridors toward the Emperor's private wing were quieter at this hour, the muted echo of his footsteps following him past the tall windows and heavy doors. He pushed one open without ceremony, the familiar, warm scent of their rooms settling around him like a cloak.

Damian was by the fire, his high-backed chair angled toward the steady orange glow. A file rested open on his knee, his attention moving between the neat columns of figures and the small, dark-haired bundle sleeping against his chest. Arik's breathing was deep and even, his tiny fist curled loosely into the fabric of Damian's shirt.

The sight stopped Gabriel at the threshold. Damian could be Emperor, commander, strategist… but here, in this room, he sat with their son like the rest of the world could wait.

"You're late," Damian said, without looking up from the report.

"I'm here," Gabriel replied, his voice low, pulling off his jacket as he crossed the room. "Which is more than I can say for half the council today."

Damian closed the file, the faint sound of paper sliding against paper oddly final, and rose from the chair. Arik stirred only faintly as Damian adjusted his hold, one broad hand cradling the boy's head as he carried him through the adjoining door into his nursery.

Gabriel sank into the chair Damian had vacated, letting the quiet and the fire's warmth bleed some of the day's tension from his shoulders. He heard the soft click of the door as Damian returned, his steps unhurried.

Without a word, Damian came to stand beside the chair. Gabriel looked up at him, studying the faint, satisfied curve of his mouth, the one that said I've already set the coronation in motion, and you know it.

"You think you're very clever," Gabriel murmured.

"I don't think," Damian said, taking the seat beside him. "I know."

Gabriel shifted, the decision as unhurried as it was intentional, swinging one leg over to straddle him. The movement pulled Damian's focus instantly, his hands settling at Gabriel's hips with the ease of habit.

"Payment," Gabriel said, leaning in just enough for their foreheads to almost touch.

"For what?" Damian asked, though the flicker in his eyes said he already knew.

"For maneuvering the coronation date without letting me veto it." Gabriel's mouth curved, his tone as sharp as it was soft. "You win your eight weeks. I get to collect interest."

Damian's smirk deepened, his grip tightening fractionally. "Then we're both getting what we want."

Gabriel hummed but didn't say anything. The firelight painted his skin in warm gold, catching in the angles of his face as he studied Damian like he was still deciding whether this was a reward or a warning.

Damian's hands stayed steady at his hips, their warmth bleeding through the layers of clothing. He leaned in, closing the last fraction of space between them, his breath against Gabriel's cheek before he angled his head to draw in his scent.

It hit him the same way it always did, clean, sharp, and entirely his. He let it settle, felt the tension in his shoulders ease just enough to speak without the clipped edge of an Emperor.

"You worry too much about the coronation. Just think of it as the next step to the signature that can stop me," Damian said with a quiet chuckle, the kind meant for no one else.

"Fine," Gabriel allowed, though the faint glint in his eyes promised he was far from yielding completely. "But I will continue to dismantle nobles."

"I wouldn't dream of something else."

Gabriel's mouth curved, the expression a slow-burning thing that matched the steady heat of the fire beside them. He didn't answer immediately, just let the silence stretch, one hand sliding up to rest against the side of Damian's neck, his thumb brushing once over the steady line of his pulse.

Then, without the usual warning of a remark or a challenge, he leaned in and kissed him.

Damian exhaled like a man starved before taking control, his mouth moving over Gabriel's in a slow, deep rhythm that made his omega head spin. The hand at Gabriel's hip tightened, the other sliding up his back in a steady, slow line, holding him in place.

A low sound slipped from Gabriel's throat, half moan, half surrender, muffled against Damian's mouth. The firelight caught in the dark strands of Gabriel's hair, throwing molten shadows over the curve of his cheek and the sharp line of his jaw.

When Damian finally drew back just far enough to breathe, his gaze lingered on Gabriel's lips before lifting to meet his eyes. "Eight weeks," he said again, softer this time, as if the words were less a deadline and more a promise.

"Easy, Your Majesty, people would think you're desperate," Gabriel said with a quiet chuckle, the kind that curled between them like smoke.

Damian's mouth curved in answer, slow and calculated. "Let them think it. I've been accused of worse in pursuit of what I want."

Gabriel tilted his head, amused. "And right now, what you want is to parade me in front of the entire Empire in ridiculous embroidery."

"You can call it ridiculous, but," Damian corrected, his thumb brushing once against Gabriel's waist. "It's more like unforgettable."

Gabriel gave him a look that was equal parts indulgent and warning. "If I find even one stitch of gold-thread peacock feathers, the ceremony ends right there."

Damian's smirk deepened, but he didn't answer and that was more dangerous than if he had.