Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 364 - 358: It’s done.

Their mouths met again, messy and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues tangled in a kiss that tasted like heat and hunger and months of restraint finally undone. Damian’s hand gripped Gabriel’s thigh tighter, holding him up, holding him open, the slap of wet skin and breathless moans echoing off the marble walls of the shower.

Gabriel’s head tipped back again, helpless to the rhythm Damian set, deep, relentless, like he was trying to carve himself into every part of him, to make him feel it for days. He would. Gabriel already knew he would.

"Fuck—Damian—" His voice cracked, too wrecked to stay sharp. "Harder."

Damian obeyed without hesitation, thrusting deeper, the angle just right to make Gabriel cry out again, louder this time, head thudding softly back against the tile. Water streamed down his face, his throat, his chest, but none of it cooled him. He was burning from the inside out, taken apart and rebuilt in Damian’s arms, every thrust shoving him closer to the edge.

Damian was shaking now too, his jaw tight, his breath ragged. "You feel so fucking good," he growled, his lips finding Gabriel’s again, biting down hard enough to make him gasp. "I can’t get enough of you, never enough."

Gabriel bucked against him, chasing friction, his cock pinned between their stomachs, sliding with every harsh thrust. He was close, so close, his whole body trembling with it. And Damian knew. He felt it in the way Gabriel clenched around him, the way his hands scrambled for purchase, gripping tight like he was afraid to fall.

"Come for me," Damian murmured, dragging his mouth down Gabriel’s jaw, his throat. "Let go, love. I’ve got you."

And Gabriel did, with a broken moan and a jerk of his hips, his orgasm tearing through him so violently it knocked the breath from his lungs. His come spilled hot between them, the contraction of his body pushing Damian over the edge right after, a deep groan ripped from his throat as he buried himself one last time and spilled inside his mate.

They stayed like that for a long moment, locked together, water pounding around them, their hearts racing in tandem. Damian leaned his forehead against Gabriel’s, breath warm and uneven.

"I love you," he said again, quiet this time.

Gabriel’s eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and soft with something deeper than exhaustion.

"I love you too," he whispered, kissing him again, slow, certain, and utterly his.

—

The room had gone quiet, save for the slow rhythm of Gabriel’s breathing, tangled in sleep, limbs slack and utterly spent. One arm draped over the curve of the pillow, the other resting loosely across his stomach, protective even now, even in dreams. The bond mark on his nape was just visible above the blanket, stark against flushed skin, proof of belonging neither of them needed to speak aloud.

Damian didn’t join him.

Not yet.

He sat in the armchair by the window, a glass of something dark and strong cradled in his palm. The ice had long since melted.

Outside, the palace grounds were drowned in shadow, the last of the ward lights dimming against the hour. But inside, golden glyphs whispered low across the warded walls, flickering softly with each page he turned.

The reports were stacked in a folder labeled only with a wax seal, its sigil burned through and re-etched. Hadeon’s movements. His ships. His political backers. One crossed-out name. Three circled. A string of advisors who were no longer where they should be and whispers of a vault in Donin where soul contracts had been seen for sale.

Damian’s jaw flexed, slow and measured.

He took another sip.

Gabriel shifted in bed, barely audible, a soft sigh as he curled slightly deeper into the sheets. Damian glanced up. Watched him for a long moment.

The knock was soft.

Too soft for anyone but Edward.

Damian didn’t look up immediately. He let the final lines of the intelligence report settle in his mind, Hadeon’s name circled twice, and only then did he set the glass down with a muted clink, amber liquid swirling once before going still.

"Enter."

The door opened with the kind of practiced silence that only Edward mastered. He stepped in without fanfare, coat unbuttoned, tie slightly loosened, a rare state for him, and one that made Damian’s brow twitch with mild amusement.

"Well," Edward began, not bothering with ceremony, "it’s done."

Damian raised a brow. "That’s broad."

Edward gave a dry smile. "The celebration. The palace announcement. The whole empire’s going to be knee-deep in velvet and fireworks by the weekend. Even the outer provinces have confirmation scrolls arriving before sunrise. You’ll hear bells from Pais to the coast."

Damian leaned back in the armchair, silent for a beat. "And the phrasing?"

"Exactly as you wanted it. No mention of the gender or secondary traits. Just heir." Edward’s eyes flicked to the bed, where Gabriel lay curled against the pillows. "But anyone with half a brain will know. Especially once they see the seal."

The golden-eyed alpha was already aware, had known for months; he didn’t need Marin’s confirmation, but Gabriel did. His child. A male dominant alpha. The heir to the imperial line.

"I honestly hoped I was wrong and the child was an omega like Gabriel." Damian said. "But something tells me that my son will be a carbon copy of me."

Edward snorted softly, the kind of sound that came more from long-suffering familiarity than real surprise. He moved farther into the room but kept his voice low, respectful of the man sleeping behind them.

"Well, that explains the narrowed glare he gave me during the last checkup. He wasn’t even fully formed and I swear he judged my coat." Edward sat on the edge of the windowsill like it was his rightful perch, a hand resting on his knee. "You don’t need two of you in the palace, you know. We’re barely surviving one."

Damian didn’t rise to the bait, only tilted the glass in his hand and watched the amber swirl catch the low light. "I’m not raising a shadow."

"No," Edward said, "but you are raising a storm."

The silence that followed wasn’t tense. It was contemplative. The kind that only came between men who’d seen too much and still chose to stay in the same room.

"You think he’ll suffer for it?" Damian asked, not quite rhetorically.

"I think..." Edward tapped his fingers against his knee, thoughtful. "He’s going to be feared long before he’s understood. Like his father. And God help us all if he inherits Gabriel’s mouth too."

Damian huffed a laugh, quiet and rough, eyes still on the bed. "Then the world better get used to kneeling."

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