Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 242 - 237: Victory and Spite (1)

Damian didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. Instead, he reached across the narrow space between them and gently took the fork from Gabriel’s fingers. Their hands brushed, heat meeting heat, familiar and soft, even through the undercurrent of exhaustion.

Gabriel watched him.

"You can’t keep burning through every hour of the day just to outrun your own thoughts," Damian said quietly, spearing another bite of the bland rice and lifting it toward Gabriel’s mouth.

Gabriel didn’t open it. He raised an eyebrow instead.

"Really?" he said flatly. "You’re going to feed me now?"

Damian held the fork steady. "If that’s what it takes."

There was no smugness in his tone—no teasing, no condescension. That low, infuriating calm made it difficult for Gabriel to respond. Harder to stay sharp when the hand brushing against his cheek was the same one that had once razed a battlefield.

With a sigh that sounded far too close to surrender, Gabriel leaned in and took the bite.

Damian watched him chew, satisfied. "See? Not so painful."

Gabriel swallowed, then muttered, "You say that like you’ve ever had to eat your way through steamed remorse."

Damian chuckled quietly, leaning back against the chaise with one arm resting behind Gabriel’s shoulders. The heat of him bled through the fine layers of their clothes, and for a moment, neither spoke.

Damian’s hand shifted slowly and deliberately, curling around Gabriel’s nape with a touch that was more claim than comfort.

"You were remarkable today," he said.

Gabriel didn’t move. "You already told me that."

"I’m saying it again," Damian murmured. "Not as the Emperor. Not because you’re my Consort. Just... me. Watching you tear apart a centuries-old system without flinching." His fingers grazed a soothing path along the side of Gabriel’s throat, where his pulse thrummed. "It made me want to drag you out of that meeting and kiss you in front of them all."

Gabriel snorted, the sound half-exhausted, half-amused. "That would’ve tanked the reforms in thirty seconds."

"Then I would’ve issued a decree," Damian said smoothly, pressing his lips just behind Gabriel’s ear. "And dared them to object."

Gabriel finally turned his head, catching Damian’s mouth with his own in a kiss that was slow and warm and unapologetically possessive. His hand slipped up to rest against Damian’s chest, palm flat, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath silk and gold thread.

"Careful," he murmured between kisses, "I might start thinking you like me."

Damian’s response was a quiet growl. "I’ve never liked anyone more."

Gabriel didn’t reply—not aloud. But he leaned in again, this time without argument, sarcasm, or command. Just for the silence between them. Just to feel something that wasn’t duty or survival or statecraft.

Only the warmth of a man who chose him repeatedly—and the safety of allowing himself to want it.

Damian didn’t pull away. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss with the same deliberate control that he used to command armies: slow, absolute, and unwavering. His hand cradled the back of Gabriel’s neck as though grounding him, his thumb brushing the edge of his jaw in strokes that softened each breath.

Gabriel exhaled against his mouth, his other hand rising to knot loosely in Damian’s shirt. The fabric was expensive, probably tailored that morning, but Gabriel tugged anyway—just enough to close the last space between them.

Damian’s arm came around his waist, steady and firm, drawing Gabriel into the curve of his body. Their legs pressed together. Warmth pooled in the space between them, threading through the tension that still hummed beneath Gabriel’s skin.

"You always taste like coffee," Damian whispered against his lips, his voice edged with affection and something heavier—need, maybe.

"I would’ve said victory and spite," Gabriel replied, breathless.

Damian smiled. "Same thing, really."

Gabriel didn’t laugh, but something in him loosened. The tension from the meeting, the sharp angles of control and performance—it all faded under Damian’s touch. The ache in his body, the uneaten food, the thought of another endless political gathering—they all quieted.

"I wanted to see you like this," Damian murmured, his lips brushing Gabriel’s temple now, hands no longer teasing but reverent. "Not the Consort. Not the court slayer. Just you. In here. With me."

Gabriel’s fingers tightened in his shirt. "You always say things like that right before you ruin me."

"I only ruin you in the ways you like," Damian said with a grin he didn’t try to hide this time.

Gabriel tilted his head up, their noses brushing. "Then stop talking and do it again." freёnovelkiss.com

Damian obeyed.

The second kiss wasn’t soft. It was consuming—an answer to the hunger they’d both buried under duty, to the separation forced by events, to the impossible expectations placed on their shoulders. Damian’s hand slid under the folds of Gabriel’s robe, palm against his lower back, fingers splayed wide like he wanted to memorize every inch of him by touch alone.

Gabriel arched into it, his breath catching, mouth parting under the slow drag of Damian’s tongue. The low hum that rumbled from Damian’s chest echoed inside him, settling like a chord finally struck true.

When they broke apart again, foreheads touching, their breath mingled in the quiet space between.

"You’re flushed," Damian said softly, almost smugly.

"I’m pregnant, exhausted, and still digesting boiled sadness," Gabriel said. "Of course I’m flushed."

Damian chuckled, his mouth brushing over Gabriel’s cheek. "I can fix one of those."

Gabriel looked at him. Really looked—past the Emperor, past the wolfish power that curled around his every movement. Here, there was only the man who waited for him every night. The man who pulled him close instead of pushing him aside.

So he kissed him again. Slower. Deeper.

And when Damian lifted him off the chaise and carried him to their bed, there were no more jokes, no more words.

Just fingers tracing old scars. Just lips mapping new territory.

Just the kind of intimacy that didn’t need permission—only presence.

Damian carried him without ceremony, one arm firm beneath Gabriel’s thighs, the other braced along his back. His grip was strong—never possessive, never careless. Just sure. Like he knew exactly where Gabriel belonged.

The bedroom was dimly lit, ether lamps humming with soft golden light. The heavy velvet curtains were half drawn, filtering out the world. This wasn’t the imperial bedchamber used for state rituals or royal announcements. This was theirs—the one space not dictated by protocol, where Gabriel’s robe hung beside Damian’s coat and the sheets smelled faintly of lavender and ozone.

Damian laid him down gently, but his hands never left.

Gabriel’s robe parted at the collar, slightly askew from the way Damian had held him. Damian’s fingers slipped under the silk now, thumbs brushing the hollow of Gabriel’s throat, where his pulse beat fast.

"You’re always composed in public," Damian murmured, gaze burning gold as he bent down to kiss that spot. "But here—"

His teeth grazed skin, slow and reverent.

"—here, I want to undo you."

Gabriel’s breath hitched.

The robe slid off his shoulders without resistance, baring the thin white shirt beneath. Damian took his time with the buttons. Each one undone with purpose, each touch deliberate, until Gabriel’s chest was bare and the cool air kissed his skin.

Gabriel shivered, not from cold—but from the anticipation curling low in his spine.

"Say something," Damian whispered, lips brushing down to Gabriel’s sternum. "Before I lose the last of my control."

Gabriel’s fingers threaded into his hair. "Then lose it."