Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)

The next days unfolded with a precision that only the palace could manage, each hour catalogued, each demand weighed against a schedule that never left enough room to breathe.

Edward accepted his sentence of forced leave with the same stiff dignity he wore like armor, but the edges softened after the first morning. By the third day, he had stopped reaching for the comm every hour, and by the fifth, those who crossed paths with him beyond the palace walls swore they saw him pause at a café table with a book in hand, shoulders unburdened in a way that made even the barista hesitate before interrupting. Quietly, without a fuss, Edward began to look almost human again, and more dangerously, he began to enjoy it. Being away from the imperial menaces, as he thought of them in private, felt like stepping out of a storm into sunlight he hadn't realized he'd missed.

Gabriel, meanwhile, remained in the storm. The nobles seemed to have smelled blood in the water, their combined idiocy swelling like a tide he had no patience for. Every petition, every sly attempt to wedge themselves into the preparations for the coronation or the marriage ceremony, seemed designed less for the empire and more for their own egos. The council chamber rang with honeyed words that carried all the weight of spoiled wine, and Gabriel's penmanship grew sharper with each passing day, his notes scathing enough that one secretary whispered he was close to purging half the aristocracy in a single sweep.

He didn't, of course. But by the time the week closed, there was an edge to Gabriel's composure, a razor-thin patience that even Damian noticed when he caught him staring down a particularly verbose countess with a smile that promised her words would outlast neither the ink nor his mood.

That evening, when the council finally dispersed and the palace halls fell quiet under the glow of ether-light, Gabriel retreated to their wing with the air of a man dragging the weight of an entire empire behind him. The door shut too crisply for coincidence, and he muttered under his breath as he shed his jacket and tossed the tablet onto the nearest table.

"Another hour of that and I'd have gutted her with the stylus," he said, fingers tugging irritably at his collar. "Do they think I don't notice when they wrap their greed in flattery? It's insulting, Damian."

From the adjoining room came the sound of running water cut short, then the soft tread of footsteps. Damian emerged freshly bathed, towel still hanging loose around his neck, dark hair damp enough to cling at his temples, a faint line of steam following him like he'd carried the shower's heat into the room. He wore only light trousers, shirt unbuttoned at the top, the very image of calm in contrast to Gabriel's taut frame.

"I think," Damian said, voice even, "they know exactly what they're doing. They're hoping to chip away until you stop noticing." He crossed the room with unhurried ease, poured himself a drink, and glanced over his shoulder with that deliberate, faintly teasing calm. "Fortunately for me, you notice everything."

Gabriel gave him a look sharp enough to cut glass. "You're enjoying this."

"I'm enjoying you not killing anyone. Yet." Damian took a sip, his golden gaze never leaving Gabriel's. Then, softer, pitched only for him: "You've been wound tight for days. Tonight, you'll let me fix it."

Gabriel's brows lifted, suspicion flickering across his expression as he sank into one of the armchairs, the stylus tapping against the edge of the tablet. "Fix it?"

Damian set the glass down, towel falling from his shoulders as he leaned closer, voice smooth. "Massage." His smirk was small, edged with promise. "The kind that works."

Gabriel exhaled, long and slow, as if debating whether to laugh or curse. "If this is your way of bribing me into patience, Damian, it's working far too well."

Gabriel meant to protest, to reclaim his stylus and the neat stack of petitions waiting to be cut down with his pen, but Damian had already tilted his head back against the armchair, mouth sealing over his with a patience that was anything but calm. The kiss deepened, steady at first, then greedy, tongues clashing until Gabriel's fingers curled in Damian's still-damp shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

"You're impossible," Gabriel muttered against his mouth, but the breathless edge betrayed him.

"And you're beautiful when you're furious," Damian countered, voice low, lips brushing the curve of Gabriel's jaw before trailing lower, warm kisses marking a path to the pale stretch of throat he never left untouched for long.

The white gold bracelet caught the etherlight as Gabriel's hand slid into Damian's hair, a sharp inhale spilling out when teeth grazed the bond mark at his nape. The annoyance that had clung to him all evening loosened with a shiver, melting under Damian's mouth as surely as it had beneath his hands.

Somehow, between a kiss that swallowed Gabriel's laugh and the press of Damian's body that stole his breath, they ended up tangled on the bed, clothes discarded in a trail that led from armchair to mattress. Damian hovered above him, shirt already stripped, his skin still faintly warm from the bath, golden gaze burning down on Gabriel like he was the only thing that mattered.

"Tell me to stop," Damian murmured, the same line he never meant, because both of them knew Gabriel never would.

Instead, Gabriel arched into him, legs spreading with unspoken invitation, lips curving into a smile that was sharper than any decree. "If you stop now, I'll kill you."

Damian chuckled before his mouth crashed back down, and his hand slid lower, over the lean lines of Gabriel's stomach, past the waistband of black trousers that had been tailored too carefully to survive the night. Buttons gave way beneath impatient fingers, fabric tugged aside as Damian wrapped his hand around Gabriel's cock, slow strokes pulling gasps from lips that had only hours ago been spitting venom at nobles.

Gabriel's head tipped back, throat bared, lashes fluttering with every drag of Damian's palm. His hips lifted, seeking more, and Damian gave it to him, pressing their bodies close, grinding down until the friction had Gabriel clutching at his shoulders, nails biting crescents into skin.

"You'll drive me insane," Gabriel breathed, voice breaking on a moan.

Damian kissed the words from his mouth, rough now, a hand braced beside his head, the other working him with relentless precision. "Good," he growled against his lips, golden eyes gone dark. "Then we'll be mad together."

When Gabriel came beneath him, back arching, voice muffled against Damian's shoulder, body trembling with release, it was with Damian's name spilling broken from his lips, no nobles, no empire, no storm in his head. Only this, only them.