Dagon
Chapter forty-five
Two months later in May
Looking around at the enormous bookshelves in Di’s room, I laughed because there was no more room for books. Yes, I was counting this as a library. We would either need a bigger room or get rid of the bed and sleep on the floor if we wanted to continue to sleep here.
Two months had passed since we came back home. Initially, we all decided to stay at our father’s house due to the unknown threat from the demons we faced. However, time proved that we weren’t the most patient people.
Andras became increasingly restless. In his words, he was "crawling out of his skin," so he decided to go back to his place, much to King's displeasure.
Bren also surprised us by finding an apartment and moving out.
Luc and Wild decided to stay here. And Di and I talked it over and chose to move to my apartment.
That way, we would be close to Andras, whose apartment was in the same building.
If anything happened, we could be there in an instant.
We tried to persuade Bren to move into the same building, but he refused. Instead, Di and I decided we'd just visit him, and the coffee shop near his place, frequently. Purely out of concern, of course, and definitely not because we were nosy and overly protective of our brother.
Another advantage of moving was having our own place.
And I thought May was a good month to move and build our own place.
Don't get me wrong, living in my childhood home was nice, but we wanted privacy.
We wouldn't have to hold back how much noise we made, which thrilled me, because I couldn't wait to hear Di scream my name again and again.
These past two months had been quite… loaded.
King was adapting to the reality that we were demons.
He loved us deeply, but he clearly focused more on the "sons" aspect rather than the "demons" one.
I understood. Acceptance would take him time.
Di, however, wasn't as patient and struggled to grasp the issue King had.
The animosity between demons and angels was profound. Even though I'd missed many lessons by leaving Hell so young, I knew this much. Honestly, the fact King was accepting at all was already a shock.
He had flinched twice since the office conversation. Di had left the room both times – once for the rest of the afternoon, once for two days. King had not flinched in the past three weeks. He was getting there. Slowly. Honestly. Exactly the way he had promised.
Things between King and me became more strained when I told him I wanted to dissolve my adoption legally.
We fought, with him adamantly against it.
However, legally, I couldn't be Di's brother and lover simultaneously.
One day, I wanted to propose and become his husband.
That couldn't happen if we remained brothers on paper.
After a lot of arguing, King reluctantly agreed. Ultimately, the legal details didn't matter. King would always be my father, and this family would always be mine.
The OCD hadn't gone anywhere. It still showed up most days, sometimes in small ways, sometimes in bigger ones.
Last week he had spent a Tuesday afternoon counting the steps from the bedroom to the kitchen, walking the same hallway three times until it felt right.
The week before, he had needed me to sit in the bathroom with him at three in the morning while a spiral about something he couldn't articulate burned itself out under our held hands.
The disorder hadn't left him. It hadn't even gotten smaller yet, exactly.
What had changed was that he didn't carry it alone anymore.
He didn't hide. He didn't isolate. He didn't pretend he was fine when he wasn't.
When intrusive thoughts overwhelmed he, he shared with me openly, telling me what he needed – whether it was space, a distraction, or simply someone to talk to.
He also began therapy. It was challenging for him, and after each session, he needed time alone.
Though it hurt to watch him struggle, I was always nearby, ready to support him however he needed.
I talked with Andras about it, and the advice he gave me was something that I appreciated a lot.
“Therapy isn't something that heals everything overnight," he'd said.
"It takes effort, trust, and time. It's a road with ups and downs. Sometimes you’ll feel better, sometimes worse.
Some traumas take years to process, and a mental health disorder won't vanish just because someone attends therapy.
Give him your unwavering support, but the most important thing is simply asking what he needs.
Let him heal with you, but also without you.
Seeking reassurance might become a compulsion for someone with OCD, so you both need to learn to recognize when that's the case and what to do. "
This advice helped me so much.
Underneath all of it – underneath the apartment and the bookshelves and the therapy and the bond humming between us like a third heartbeat – I knew the rest was still out there.
Lucifer had not collected on Di's anything.
The white-haired Starborn had promised to meet us again and had not yet.
Somewhere there was a fifth angel who might be dead or might be missing.
The objects are still unstable. Bren was hiding something he hadn't told us.
Our peace was borrowed. Tomorrow was still coming.
I knew all of that.
And tonight I was still going to spend the afternoon pressing my mate against a bookshelf and not thinking about any of it for a little while.
Peace borrowed was still peace.
“What are you doing?” Di emerged from the bathroom carrying towels, and a grin spread across my face.
I reached for him and pressed him against the bookshelf. He gasped, towels dropping to the floor. Before he could protest, I kissed him roughly, my hands grabbing his ass as he moaned.
I'd never get enough of these sounds.
Pulling away slightly, I met his lust-filled gaze. "I was imagining moving all of your books out of here," I teased.
"Oh, don't complain. You're a strong demon."
“Is that so?”
“However, if even a single page of one of my books is damaged, I’m gonna kill you.”
An idea formed. “Really?”
Before he could respond, I captured his lips again, sucking on his tongue as he shivered and pressed into me.
My cock was rock-hard, but my attention stayed fixed on the man in my arms. I moved my mouth to his neck, leaving a possessive mark, relishing how he felt cradled against me, tasting like mine.
Always mine.
Through the bond I felt his want unfurl, sharp, immediate, soft at the edges.
Two months in, the bond was conversation.
It told me where to put my mouth before he asked.
It told me when to slow down before he begged.
I felt his pulse jump under my lips and I knew, the way you know a song you have memorized, exactly what he was going to do with his hands next.
He did it.
The bond hummed in satisfaction. The bookworm had patterns. I loved every one of them.
Dropping to my knees, I shoved his pants down, mouth watering at the sight of his cock glistening with precum. I swiped my tongue across the tip, humming in delight. Wrapping my hands around his ass, I took him deep into my throat.
“Fuck, Dagon. Yes,” he moaned.
Pulling back briefly, I whispered, "Fuck my mouth, love. Don't hold back those moans."
“Fuck.”
He began thrusting wildly, gripping the shelf with one hand and my hair with the other. A book tumbled to the floor, but he didn't notice. The possessive look in his eyes mirrored mine perfectly.
Knowing exactly how to drive him wild, I sucked my finger and brought it to his entrance as I took his cock deep again.
"I'm going to come. Dagon!"
He thrust faster, body tense, moans echoing.
I pushed my finger into him, hitting that perfect spot.
He screamed my name as he spilled deep down my throat.
The taste of him overwhelmed me, and suddenly an orgasm hit me through out bond, waves of pleasure cascading through me without even touching myself.
Spent, I pulled away, panting. Di straddled me, dazed and blissed out.
"Did you just come without touching yourself?" he asked.
“Hard not to when you feel so good.”
He kissed me, and I melted at the feelings coming through the bond. Love, happiness, satisfaction, and possessiveness. Who would have thought my bookworm would be almost as possessive as me?
“I love you,” he whispered against my lips.
“I love you too.” Grinning mischievously, I asked, “What were you saying about your books?"
His eyes narrowed, and he looked around spotting the fallen book. "No! That's a special edition! Please be okay." He cradled it tenderly before glaring at me. "You!"
I laughed, instantly realizing my mistake. Never laugh at a bookworm and his endangered, special books.
"Come here right now!" he demanded.
"No thanks."
Placing the book safely on the shelf, he chased after me, catching me just as I reached the door and tossing me onto the bed. Straddling me, he pinned my hands above my head.
"You'll regret this," he warned playfully.
"Can't deny you enjoyed it," I teased back.
His smile turned wicked. "True, but now I'll enjoy it even more."
I shouldn't have messed with his books, but a small voice in my head told me it was absolutely worth it.