Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 337 - 331: The Taste of Iron

Gabriel let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh, muffled by the pillow, unrepentant. "Of course I did. Because apparently I’m a masochist with a penchant for national trauma."

Damian’s fingers curled lightly at his waist, tracing lazy shapes against the bare skin. "You said it with a straight face. I was there."

Gabriel turned his head just enough to glare at him, cheek still mashed into the pillow. "That was before today. Before the choir. Before the ceremonial braid nearly took out my eye. Before your mother kissed me on both cheeks and said I was brave."

"You are brave," Damian murmured.

"I’m tired."

"Also that."

A pause.

Gabriel rolled onto his side with a quiet sigh, one hand reaching out, catching Damian’s shirt, and tugging halfheartedly. "Tell Edward I died."

"No."

"Tell him the stress got to me. Tell him I ran into the woods. Tell him—"

"—you’re planning our next public appearance."

Gabriel groaned and flopped backward. "You used to be on my side."

"I am," Damian said, leaning closer. "Which is why I saved you the last piece of cake and made the ministers wait three hours while you were being paraded like a holy relic."

Gabriel blinked. "You did?" freewēbnoveℓ.com

Damian’s smile was slow, gold in the firelight. "Of course. I’m not unreasonable. Just married."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "Engaged."

"For now." Damian leaned closer, brushing Gabriel’s ear with his lips and his arms dragged his mate closer with the clear intention of having more of him.

Damian’s hands moved with the slow certainty of a man with nowhere else to be. His fingertips traced the lines of the embroidery that had left faint imprints on Gabriel’s skin, then lower, to the edge where silk gave way to warmth. His mouth followed, leaving heat behind, small kisses, soft pressure, and reverence for a man that got what he wanted.

Gabriel hummed, breath hitching once, then again, like he meant to say something clever and couldn’t quite get the words out.

Damian smiled against his skin. "Still with me?"

"Barely," Gabriel murmured, the syllables drawn out, slurred with exhaustion more than anything else. His hand curled weakly into the front of Damian’s robe, eyes still closed, breath evening out even as his body arched subtly into the touch.

Damian shifted, letting his weight settle more fully beside him, one arm wrapped firmly around Gabriel’s waist, the other gently stroking down his spine.

"I thought you were the one with stamina," Damian whispered into the crown of his hair, biting back a laugh.

There was no answer.

Only the steady rhythm of Gabriel’s breath against his collarbone.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The man in his arms—his consort, his mate, the one who had silenced rooms and charmed senators and endured three wardrobe adjustments without stabbing anyone—was sound asleep.

"...You fell asleep," Damian said aloud, half-disbelieving, half-somehow proud. "In the middle of foreplay."

Gabriel made a small, disgruntled sound, nuzzled closer, and said something unintelligible into Damian’s chest that might have been "your fault." Or "fifty-seven fittings." Possibly both.

Damian sighed and pulled the blankets over them with the resignation of a man married to someone who could start wars but not survive one more formal event.

His mate. His terrifying, stubborn, brilliant mate.

Who now drooled slightly on his collar.

—

Gabriel adjusted the screen’s brightness with one hand and scrolled through the examination reports with the other, eyes narrowed in concentration. His robe hung loosely around his shoulders, still rumpled from sleep, collar skewed, hair vaguely resembling a storm cloud. He looked like a saint. A wrathful one.

"Passing rate’s within the expected standard deviation," he murmured. "But the second hall in Sector D reported an inconsistency in the timestamp logs—either the ether scanners glitched or someone tampered with the backups."

"You fell asleep during foreplay."

Gabriel didn’t look up. "Good morning to you, too."

Damian, sprawled shamelessly across the fainting couch like a man who hadn’t made anyone cry at a council meeting yesterday, tilted his head with a slow smile. "No denial? I expected at least a valiant attempt at pretending you were luring me into false security."

"I was," Gabriel said, serene. "And then I remembered I’d endured six straight hours of ceremonial obligations and that you are not, in fact, edible cake."

"That’s debatable."

Gabriel clicked on the next dataset. "You’re not helping."

"I never claimed to be helpful. Handsome? Yes. Loyal? Of course. Deeply committed to witnessing my consort faceplant into my chest mid-kiss? Absolutely."

Gabriel exhaled slowly through his nose. "Do you want a medal?"

"No, just you. Awake, if possible. But I’ll take smug and grumpy as a close second."

Gabriel tapped his stylus against the desk like he was resisting the urge to hurl it. "Sector D also had the highest concentration of noble offspring. If we let this pass without a statement, they’ll try to spin it into bias."

Damian rose and padded over, bare feet silent on the marble. He leaned over Gabriel’s shoulder, cheek nearly resting against his temple. "You know, I didn’t mind you falling asleep. It was endearing."

"It was humiliating."

"It was mine." Damian kissed his hair. "And that’s what matters."

Gabriel let the silence stretch before finally sighing and muttering, "Sector D is going to be yours too if this goes badly."

"Then I’ll send them a thank-you note for making you mine twice."

Gabriel, without looking up: "You’re impossible."

Damian, without hesitation: "And you drool in your sleep."

"Get out of my office."

"It’s my study too, so no. You have to endure me for," he looked at the watch on his wrist, "three hours."

Gabriel didn’t dignify that with a response. He simply swiped to the next tab, made a note in the margin with precise, lethal calm, and sipped his tea like it was laced with poison meant for someone who definitely deserved it.

Damian leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, golden eyes gleaming with mischief. "Three hours, love. I can read reports. Or I can list more things you did last night. One of them involves snoring."

"That’s a lie," Gabriel said, voice flat.

"Is it?"

Gabriel turned to glare at him.

Damian smiled sweetly. "Prove it."

"You want us to quarrel now? Is that where we are? Or are you just disappointed you didn’t get to pounce on me while I was wearing the ceremonial robe?"

Damian’s grin widened, absolutely unrepentant. "Is that an option? Because I’d like to formally submit a complaint to the gods of timing."

Gabriel scoffed, turning back to his tablet. "I’m not going to entertain you."

Damian took a long sip of his coffee, clearly enjoying himself, clearly still playing the game. But the expression shifted the moment the liquid touched his tongue. Not surprise, confusion first. The bitterness was different. Wrong. Metallic, almost. He liked his coffee strong, bordering on brutal, but this—

His breath hitched.

He coughed once.

Then again, harder.

Gabriel looked up, already frowning. "What are you—"

Damian turned slightly, covering his mouth with a handkerchief.

Blood.

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