Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)

Gabriel was not speaking to him.

Not in the way that meant real anger, Damian knew that rhythm too well, but in the far more dangerous, far more irritating way that meant embarrassment. Which, as far as Damian was concerned, was vastly preferable to genuine fury but also much harder to fix because it required a level of contrition he had no interest in faking.

"You didn't even lock the door," Gabriel said at last, his tone quiet enough to make it worse. He didn't look at Damian, just kept walking toward their shared quarters, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe like he was trying to smother the memory.

"I was a little… distracted," Damian admitted, falling into step beside him.

Gabriel stopped, turned, and gave him the kind of look that would have made a lesser man start writing an apology letter to the gods. "Distracted? You have inhuman hearing, Damian. You can pick up a coin drop from the other side of the wing. And you didn't hear Edward?"

Damian's mouth curved, the edges of his composure fraying with something dangerously close to laughter. "I heard you," he said simply, and if there was any hint of repentance in his voice, it was buried under the warmth of recollection. "And that was… considerably more compelling than the sound of a doorknob turning."

Gabriel's ears flushed. "It's only your fault."

Damian didn't even pretend to disagree. "I'll accept full responsibility," he said, voice rich with amusement rather than penitence.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "You don't sound particularly sorry."

"I'm not," Damian replied without hesitation. "Regret implies I'd change my decision, and I wouldn't. You, in that robe, on my desk…"

"Stop talking," Gabriel cut in, heat creeping up the back of his neck. "You're making it worse."

Damian tilted his head, considering. "For you, perhaps. For me, I'm only improving the memory."

Gabriel exhaled through his nose, the kind of sound that could've been irritation or the last thread of patience snapping. "Edward is never going to look at me the same way again."

"He should be grateful," Damian said, entirely serious. "He witnessed restraint. I didn't finish undressing you."

Gabriel's step faltered. He stared at him for a beat, then shook his head and passed through the door Damian opened for him. "I'm going to bathe and possibly drink myself to death."

Damian followed him in, closing the door with deliberate care, as if the act now, hours too late, counted for anything. "If you're planning on drinking yourself to death, I'll have to join you," he said mildly. "Wouldn't want to miss your final act of melodrama."

Gabriel didn't slow, stripping the outer layer of the robe as he crossed into the bathing room. "You think this is melodrama? Try being the one who has to face Edward tomorrow without making eye contact."

"I'll face him for you," Damian offered, leaning in the doorway with that unshakable, wolfish composure. "He's already accustomed to my victories."

Gabriel's hands stilled on the sash. He looked at him over his shoulder, the steam beginning to curl around them from the running bath. "Victories?"

Damian's smirk was a sin. "You, on that desk, in that robe. That was a war worth winning."

Gabriel turned back to the bath before he could see the flush creeping up his neck. "You're impossible."

Gabriel barely made it three steps into the lounge before stopping dead.

Edward was there.

Sitting in one of the low armchairs like he owned the place, tablet balanced on one knee, stylus in hand. The faint hum of the ether screen lit his face, reflecting the neat columns of budget projections. He looked up at the sound of the door and, for one perilous second, his gaze flicked over both of them.

Gabriel groaned, loudly, dramatically, the sound of a man who had just been flattened by a high-speed tram. He dragged a hand down his face. "Why are you here?"

Edward raised a brow. "Because you told me to have the final coronation budget synced before tomorrow's council review. You didn't specify where to wait."

"You could have been in the study," Gabriel said through gritted teeth, already heading for the built-in drinks counter and pulling a bottle of chilled rice liquor from the ether-cooler.

Edward didn't blink. "I thought the study might… still be in use."

Damian's mouth curved in quiet amusement. "You thought correctly."

Gabriel shot him a look that promised slow and painful retribution, but Damian just looked far too pleased with himself, the kind of smug composure only possible for a man who'd already decided the day was a net victory.

Edward, meanwhile, remained infuriatingly calm. "I've worked here long enough to know that sooner or later, I'd walk in on something I didn't want to see. Today was simply… the day. And honestly, there were other days, before Gabriel, when Damian and the contracted consorts kept the palace doors just as unsafe."

The change in Damian was instant.

Not explosive, not even defensive, just the still, sharp quiet of a man who knew he'd been hit where it counted. Edward's words weren't untrue; before Gabriel, rut arrangements had been a matter of contract and convenience, names signed off by someone else because Damian hadn't cared enough to choose. But they were also irrelevant, and Edward knew exactly how to make them sound like anything but.

Gabriel sat up, fingers curling in the edge of the robe, his expression unreadable but his ears tipped pink. He wasn't angry, just uncomfortably aware that Edward had managed to turn this into his embarrassment, too.

Damian didn't look away from Edward. "Low blow," he said evenly, though there was no heat in it, just the acknowledgement of a game move made well.

Edward didn't flinch. "Balance," he said mildly. "You leave your doors unlocked; I leave my history lessons uncensored."

Gabriel groaned again, dragging both hands over his face this time. "I'm begging you to stop talking."

Damian's gaze didn't shift from Edward, gold eyes cool but steady. "You're confusing history with irrelevance." He let the words settle before adding, with the kind of precision that landed like a blade point-first, "Those days are gone. You know it. He knows it."

Gabriel's head snapped up at the he.

Edward's mouth twitched, the closest he'd come to a smile all day, but he leaned back in the chair, setting the stylus across his tablet. "As long as your door's locked next time, Your Majesty, I'll take your word for it."

Damian finally turned away, crossing to where Gabriel was uncapping the bottle with the air of a man preparing for a siege. He plucked the bottle from his hands with infuriating ease and poured them both a drink. "No next time," he said, voice pitched for Edward to hear as much as Gabriel. "I don't share what's mine."

Gabriel downed his drink in one go, glaring at the glass like it had personally wronged him. "Perfect. Now we're all uncomfortable."