5. The Blanket #3
The sharp sting flared hot, bleeding into the heavy ache in his groin. His hips stuttered, lost the rhythm, and found it again. Gabriel’s teeth released, his tongue soothing the mark, then he sucked hard enough to bruise.
Miles retaliated. Turned his head and fastened his mouth to the soft skin beneath Gabriel’s jaw. Sucked until Gabriel made a breathless sound that might have been Miles’s name. Marked him in return. Claimed him back.
Their hands tightened in unison, and Miles thrust harder. The oil had warmed between them, a slippery glide. Gabriel’s cock rubbed against his own with each movement, the ridge of Gabriel’s cockhead catching against Miles’s on the upstroke.
“Fuck,” Gabriel panted. “You feel—Miles, you—”
Miles kissed him to steal the words. Licked into his mouth, tasted him, swallowed whatever filthy thing Gabriel had been about to say. Their tongues slid together in counterpoint to the rhythm of their hips.
Gabriel broke away, gasping. “So good. Love your cock. Love feeling you like this.”
Tension ratcheted tighter in Miles’s balls. He watched Gabriel’s face, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and kiss-swollen, that perfect throat already showing the bloom of a bruise. Beautiful. His .
“Gabriel,” Miles managed. “Gabby. My love. My—”
“Yours.” Gabriel’s hand flexed around them both. “Yours. Fuck, I’m yours, Miles, all of me—”
Miles buried his face in Gabriel’s neck and thrust faster.
Felt Gabriel shudder against him. Their joined hands moved in desperate tandem now, squeezing and releasing, thumbs flicking over crowns and gathering the seed already leaking there to spread it with the oil.
The wet movement made obscene sounds between them.
“There,” Gabriel hissed. “Just like that, you’ll make me come, just like that—”
Miles kept the rhythm, the pressure, the slide that made Gabriel’s breath catch and his hips jerk forward. He kissed the mark he’d left and made another beside it. Licked the salt from Gabriel’s skin and felt drunk on it.
“Love you,” Miles said against his throat. “Love you so much it scares me sometimes.”
Gabriel’s hand left his hair and found his face. Cupped his jaw. Turned him until they were eye to eye.
“Don’t be scared.” Gabriel’s thumb stroked his cheekbone. His hips never stopped moving, their cocks sliding together, pushing them both toward the edge. “I’ve got you. We’ve got each other.”
Miles kissed him again. Poured everything he couldn’t say into it: the fear, the hope, the desperate need to give Gabriel everything he deserved. Gabriel met him with equal fervor, tongue sliding against Miles’s as his body moved faster, harder.
Their rhythm fractured. Lost coordination. Heat built at the base of his spine, the telltale tightness pulling his balls up. Gabriel’s cock swelled against his, pulsing in warning.
“Close,” Gabriel gasped. “Miles, I’m—”
“Yes.” Miles tightened their joined hands. “Come with me. Want to feel you—”
Gabriel came with a choked-off cry of his name. Wet heat spilled between them, slicking the slide even more, and the feel of it—Gabriel’s release coating them both—pushed Miles over the edge.
His orgasm punched through him. He thrust up one last time and came hard, adding to the mess between them, his spend pulsing through his length past the squeeze of their hands and then over them as his hips twitched and his breath came in grunts .
They clung to each other through it. Foreheads pressed together, breathing in sync, hands still wrapped around their softening cocks.
Gabriel huffed out a breathless laugh. They collapsed together on the pillows, legs still hooked together in a mess of oil-slick skin smeared with spend.
“Fuck ghosts,” Gabriel said. “Fuck that manor, and fuck Madaze for trying to fuck with me from beyond the grave.”
Miles snorted. “An interesting proposition, but I’m not sure the logistics—”
Gabriel smacked his chest. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” Miles kissed his temple. “We’ll figure this out. All of it.”
“Or piracy?”
“Or… piracy is back on the table.” Miles nodded with a sigh.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“And I promise tomorrow, or the next time our day sucks slightly less, I’ll take my time to love you more thoroughly. Make you forget your name. I’ll make you feel so good you forget everything else exists.”
“I was quite happy with this loving, thank you very much, but I’ll hold you to that anyway. Can’t ever have too much of this good thing.” Miles pressed a kiss to Gabriel’s shoulder and one more for good measure.
“You deserve the best, you know.” Gabriel’s eyes were soft and wide.
Miles turned his head into Gabriel’s throat and placed a kiss in the hollow there.
“Thank you.” Gabriel’s voice went soft, sincere. “For being with me. For doing this. For walking into the lion’s den again. For me.”
Guilt twisted sharp beneath Miles’s ribs. The ring hidden in their trunk. His selfish relief that Gabriel didn’t want the title. The proposal he still wanted so desperately it ached.
But Gabriel didn’t need that weight. Not now.
Miles managed to smile. “Where else would I be?”
“Oh, I can think of quite a few places. Back in Briarleigh with your feet up, reading some dusty tome about—”
“A world without you in it,” Miles cut in, pulling his most flowery tone, “would be as a garden bereft of blooms. A library with empty shelves. A sky devoid of stars, a—”
“The pillow is right here.”
“—a symphony with no—”
Gabriel grabbed the pillow.
Miles laughed and caught his wrist. “Fine, fine. Truce. Let’s get cleaned up.”
Miles shucked his pants, which had bunched around his knees, and reached for the cloth. He cleaned himself and then turned to Gabriel.
Gabriel had shoved off his own pants and flopped onto his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. He lifted it when Miles dangled the charmed cloth over him and accepted it with a murmur of thanks.
Miles watched him wipe away the evidence of their sex, appreciating the unguarded intimacy of it. Gabriel handed the cloth back and reached for his sleep pants.
They dressed in companionable silence. Miles pulled up his pants while Gabriel finger-combed his blonde hair into something resembling order.
Miles’s stomach grumbled loud enough to draw Gabriel’s attention and make him laugh.
Then, as if drawn by the same instinct, they both turned toward the table where the food waited.
The sandwiches were exactly as promised: thick slices of fresh bread, generous portions of smoked ham, and sharp cheese that smelled like it meant business. Miles poured water for them both and settled into one of the armchairs.
Gabriel took the other, curling his legs beneath him. He bit into his sandwich and made a sound of appreciation.
They ate without speaking. The fire crackled. Outside, the muted sounds of the Bent’s nightlife filtered through the window: laughter, music, the occasional raised voice.
Miles chewed and swallowed and thought about marriage. About the ring in the trunk. About the future he’d imagined and the one they might actually have.
He could live without marriage. Had to be able to. Had to be willing to let it go if that’s what it took to be with Gabriel.
But he’d be damned if he didn’t fight for it first. For both of them. For the chance to build the life they wanted, together, on their own terms.
Whatever it took.