Chapter Twenty-Eight
Declan
Once they finished at the party, they went to the garage.
Both of them. Tangled together and exhausted and mumbling about people and thoughts and plans, and Declan fell asleep without the knot of anxious misery lodged in his throat.
Woke to a bearded cheek against his chest and limbs thrown over his. Rested.
Nae and Tsuri were the easy choice to replace them. Seelie, connected to the Monarchs themselves, and not the assholes they were expected to be. Funny, how quickly the Monarchs summoned them, once they made their intentions known.
“I’ve won another wager,” the zana Monarch said upon seeing them, all moonlight and tumbling silver robes.
No tricks this time. No sadistic meals or missing floors or robes of glamour. Apparently, they saw no need for further torment when they believed they’d won.
“And what inspired this change of heart?” the sphinx asked, though without real interest.
“I’m not built to be a martyr. We wanted to set a precedent, and we did. But Tsuri and Nae will serve you better than we could hope to.”
“Serve the realm,” the zana corrected, smiling. It looked nearly warm. “Kneel, children. Let’s release you from those oaths of Council.”
And it was done. As easily as that. Declan was braced for regret. The loss of a dream. Instead, the world felt gilded, and he leaned into Antonio, laughing, as they made their way back.
A farewell to the Council meant they could start again. A new life, days spent in the flat above Antonio’s iron fortress. Sharing meals and laughter and kisses. New plans, too. Plans they waited to start until Declan’s marks showed gray and Antonio stopped automatically claiming to be fine.
Returned too, at last, after a long day of visiting potential flats and a brief, but important, telephone conversation with a certain kelpie. Antonio on his back, and Declan stretched atop him, chest to chest and legs intertwined. Bare, save for their pants.
“Everil and Bo have agreed to host at their estate. Banyan isn’t a House any would think preparing to cause a wee uproar,” he said, cheek to Antonio’s chest, so he could hear the beat of his heart.
“That’s because they don’t know Bo.” Antonio’s fingers traced the pale lines on Delcan’s back as he spoke.
“Poor expectation management on their part.” Declan closed his eyes, wings flexing slowly under the idle trail of fingers, far too relaxed for the topic at hand and pleased about it.
“So, Murderpunk, how do you decide who to invite to a revolution? We keep it small to start, yeah?”
“I suppose we should approach it like a band. All musicians, different instruments.”
“Do I play the tambourine?” Antonio asked, but without bitterness. He said most things without bitterness, since they’d stepped down.
“You're the hot groupie,” Declan grinned and pressed a kiss to his chest.
“Perfect. I am screwing the frontman, after all.” Antonio’s fingers moved from skin to bone, tracing joints and spars.
“For other intelligent muscle, Harke and Aultyr, perhaps? On drums.”
“Makes sense. There was that gargoyle at the party. The one who kept hitting on me. She looked like she could match Aultyr for skull crushing. But better to keep it to unseelie.”
Declan smiled. He couldn’t help it. After the last month, he didn’t want to help it. Antonio’s touch soothed and sparked in turns. The casual, soft brush of callused fingers, perfect, touching the part of him only Antonio ever did.
“There’s one seelie we may want to include. The other changeling, Judah. He’s bonded to a siren, and they have their own House.” Declan’s wing pressed closer to the touch, even as he closed his eyes. “Mother says he’s sweet.”
“Not even been in Faerie a year, right? That’s practically human. Think we can give him a pass.” He fell quiet, simply touching, for a long beat. “What about the library dragon? If you and Aisling trust him, I mean. Feels like… I don’t know. Seems owed.”
“Zyr and Mother have been contacts for a long time.” Declan trailed his fingers over the line of Antonio’s arm, not bothering to open his eyes. “I rather like him. One beithir to the invitation list. Thoughts on the patasola? The weaver, Hyria. She has some ins with the palace.”
“Useful. But I’m not sure I trust anyone who’s in good with the Monarchs.”
“If we’re seeking those they despise, I know just the pair. Teddai and Abrhail. Thoroughly disreputable, by anyone’s measure.”
“Useful?”
“Dangerous. A redcap and a manticore.” Declan tapped Antonio’s collarbone, picturing the redcap’s too-sweet smile. “If it comes to blood, we’ll want them on our side. They’re not the sorts anyone wants to fuck with.”
“Sold,” Antonio kissed the word into his temple. “Don’t suppose they have ins at the palace.”
“Not likely. Mother did mention another palace worker, Taibe. We met her, I believe. The yuki-onna we saw while we were there. The Monarchs aren’t known for employing many unseelie.”
“I remember.” Antonio’s reflexive tension lasted only a second. “Still the ‘in good with the Monarchs’ problem.”
“Mm. Perhaps not. Her bond is apparently quite opinionated regarding the seelie. In our favor. Cat-sith. And she supports his views.”
“That sounds like the safer bet.”
“We can sleep on it,” Declan suggested, pressing another light kiss against golden-brown skin. “Discuss the flats we looked at instead of an ice princess unseelie. Or if we’ll invite this ‘Spider’ Mother suggested.”
“Might know Orrim.” Antonio pulled Declan up, kissing him properly, all lazy heat. “About the places we checked out. Been thinking…”
“A dangerous pastime,” Declan murmured into the kiss, nipping his words against faded red lips. “Tell me?”
But Antonio didn't. At least, not right away. He went back to kissing Declan instead, fingers trailing down his back and up again.
“I didn't like the way they looked at us. Guessing we’ll be failing a lot of background checks no one bothers to run.”
Ah. Yes. Declan had noticed as well. The sideways glances at Declan’s clothes or Antonio’s tattooed, brown skin. The pointed use of friend and roommate.
“We could try a different neighborhood.”
“Not in this city. But if we got a place a little out of town, like Bo and Everil, it might be better. Be asking you to play sugar daddy, though. Not exactly flush.”
A place of their own, legally owned and sealed with their names. Or, well, Antonio’s name and the name Declan assumed in the mortal realm. Still, his. Theirs. A place more theirs than the rooms Declan grew up in, his first and last sight every day until Antonio.
Days ago, Declan thought he would fade away before having another evening like this one. Touched and loved and talking, quiet, with the man he touched and loved in turn. And there Antonio was, talking homes, and Declan, smoke and copper on his tongue, kissed him again, leaning in.
“I prefer ‘Murderpunk’ to ‘daddy’,” Declan murmured, once he remembered words. “I would like that a great deal, Antonio.”
Roving hands found their way down further, spread across Declan’s ass, thumbs hooked in his waistband. Lazy heat becoming a little less lazy.
“Sugarpunk?” he suggested, laughter and love in his voice in equal measure. “Nice little place without too much iron and a graveyard in the back. Damned American dream, isn’t it?”
Wonder poured through the bond. Wonder and love and affection, rich as supple leather, bright as blood. As the copper, right there, where the curve of his lips met Antonio’s. Kissed him until all he could taste was sunlight.
“Black and red picket fence. Anarchy symbol on the doormat. Very Sugarpunk.” Declan shivered, his own hands finding purchase in Antonio’s soft curls, held him so Declan could nuzzle close, nip his jaw. “Unrelated, we have some time before the girls are due to arrive.”
Antonio’s breath went sharp, head tipped further back in invitation.
“Think we can find a way to fill it.” Words burnt at the edges. Sun-scorched. “We’ve got nothing but time. You and me.”
“Promised you centuries, mo chuisle.” Declan punctuated the reminder with a drag of teeth. “Together.”
Those big hands tightened, dragging Declan in close. “Fuck, Murderpunk. For the first time in my life, got a future I’m looking forward to.”
Centuries promised, an oath Declan knew he could fulfill, now. So long as he had Antonio at his side, just there, where they fit so well, they would have the rest of their lives.
“Our good times have never looked so damned good, beefcake.” He agreed and kissed the laughter from Antonio’s lips.
Da, da, da.