Damian moved over him fully now, kissing a trail down his torso, one hand steady on Gabriel's hip while the other mapped every inch of newly exposed skin. His mouth was hot, wet, unhurried. He lingered where Gabriel was most sensitive—under his ribs, just above the bone of his hip, along the faint line of a scar only a few had ever seen.
Gabriel's back arched as Damian reached the waistband of his pants, unfastening them with maddening patience.
"Lift," Damian said, and Gabriel did, breath heavy.
The fabric slid down, leaving him fully bare, his arousal flushed and already slick. Damian paused—just for a heartbeat—his eyes devouring the sight like it undid him.
Then his mouth descended.
Gabriel swore, one hand flying to the sheets, the other still in Damian's hair. The heat, the wet glide of tongue, the way Damian knew the rhythm he liked—it was overwhelming. No court mask, no measured tone, no distance.
Only desire.
