8. Whats in a Name
What's in a Name
Gabriel
G abriel moved with a steady, needy rhythm, burying himself inside Miles, treating the friction like an eraser to the scribbles in his head. Beneath him, Miles was heat and solid comfort. Miles took it, opened for it, his heavy thighs spread wide and shaking against Gabriel’s hips.
This was ours. This is ours.
Sweat made them slick, a wet, smacking drag of skin on skin that smelled of soap and musk. Miles’s chest was flushed an uneven crimson beneath the damp mat of hair. Gabriel shifted his hands, fingers digging into the soft yield of Miles’s waist, a bit of cushion there that Gabriel worshipped.
The day’s horror almost receded, shoved back by the velvet stranglehold of Miles’s ass clamping down on him.
Miles’s head was thrown back into the pillows, the tie of his bun coming loose, letting chestnut waves spill over the white linen. “Yes,” Miles gasped, the word cracking in the middle. “Just… Gabriel. Please.”
Gabriel’s hips snapped forward, drawn by the heat and pressure of Miles’s body. He wanted to lose himself, to forget Vellast’s letter and the need to reply to it, the haunted manor, and the never-ending bureaucracy of Averdon. Here, in this bed, there was only Miles. His scent, his taste, his body.
Miles’s hands roamed Gabriel’s back, tracing the muscles that flexed with each movement. His eyes, usually the color of rich earth, were nearly black in the lantern light, the pupils blown wide. He wrapped his legs around Gabriel’s waist, pulling him deeper, urging him faster .
Gabriel obliged and was rewarded by Miles’s moans growing louder, hiccupping at the top of each pounding thrust.
This was what he needed. This was where he belonged.
Not in the rotting manor, not in the twisted politics of Averdon, but here, with Miles.
Not in his fetid past. The tension of the day uncoiled, replaced by a different kind of tension, a demanding throb low in his belly that built with each movement.
Miles’s body tensed beneath him, his breath growing more ragged, moans devolving into frantic grunts and cries. Miles’s hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh. He knew that grip, that panting breath. Miles was close.
“Gabby,” Miles gasped, his eyes meeting Gabriel’s. “I’m—”
“I know.” Gabriel adjusted his angle, drawing a groan from Miles. “I’m almost there.”
Miles’s lips curved into a smile. “Then don’t stop,” he said, his voice breathless. “I’ll come…mmf… but you keep going. Ah—oh, that’s good—I…I trust you.”
Gabriel leaned down, capturing Miles’s mouth in a fierce kiss. Trust. That was what they had, what they’d built over countless nights like this. They would never hurt each other. He drove faster, chasing the series of shudders seizing the long muscles of Miles’s back.
Miles tore his mouth away, burying his face in Gabriel’s neck as he came, his body convulsing around Gabriel, hot spend spilling out between them. Gabriel kept moving, riding out Miles’s orgasm, a deep, fluttery clench of Miles’s body pulsing around him.
But even as he lost himself in the sensation, the thoughts crept in. The damn manor, with its shifting walls and slamming doors. Miles had had their room cleaned of the mess Gabriel had made during his tantrum, but his mind was still a wreck.
He shook his head, refocusing on Miles. On the feel of his body, the sound of his breath slowly evening out. Gabriel shifted, hooking his arms under Miles’s knees, spreading him wider. Miles’s eyes fluttered open, a soft smile playing on his lips.
“You with me?” he asked, his voice laced with satisfied lethargy.
Gabriel nodded, pushing deeper into Miles. “Always,” he said, chasing away the intrusive thoughts, trying to focus on the here and now. On Miles. To make his word true .
Miles’s hands found his, their fingers entwining. “Good,” he murmured.
Gabriel forced his eyes open, refusing to let the darkness behind his lids conjure up his demons. He stared at Miles instead. Miles, who was flushed and sated and so open for him. Miles, whose internal muscles still fluttered around Gabriel’s cock in delicious, involuntary spasms.
That was the only truth allowed in this room.
He adjusted his grip on Miles’s hips and drove on.
Miles’s face twisted, lips parting as a fresh, ragged noise was punched out of his chest. It was a sound of pure surrender, and the last of Gabriel’s distraction shattered, burned away, incinerated by the feverish heat of the man beneath him.
There was no past here. Only the slick, heavy drag of skin on skin and the desperate arch of Miles’s back.
Gabriel leaned into the sensation, letting the rhythm drown the world until there was nothing left but the man he loved.
Gabriel’s vision shorted out. He arched back, a raw, guttural noise tearing out of his throat as the pleasure broke him open.
His fingers dug into Miles’s thighs, holding on as his release wiped the world away.
Miles’s body milked him, drawing out his orgasm, wringing every last drop of pleasure from him.
Gabriel’s vision blurred back into focus, his body humming with pleasure.
Gabriel pulled out and flopped down next to Miles, making the bed bounce.
He remained a boneless puddle for a long minute, staring at the ceiling while his pulse slowed from its gallop.
He lay heavy and sated, the static in his skull finally silenced.
It was only a temporary truce with his demons, bought with friction and sweat, but he’d take it.
They lay in comfortable silence for a moment, their breathing gradually synchronizing. Miles grabbed their charmed cloth and cleaned them both, his touch light and soothing.
“You know,” Miles said finally, “as effective as fucking your worries away might be in the moment, perhaps talking about them would be more... lasting.”
Gabriel snorted. “I don’t know. Your method was quite thorough.”
“I’m flattered, truly,” Miles chuckled. “But I can see those wheels turning behind your eyes. What’s on your mind?”
Gabriel sighed, staring at the ceiling. The pleasant haze of orgasm was already dissipating, reality creeping back in unwanted. “Tomorrow. The Bureau of Noble Appellations, and then soon... Vellast.” He spat the name like a curse.
“Yes, neither sounds particularly enjoyable.” Miles pulled Gabriel closer to cuddle him.
“I don’t see the point of trotting it all out again.” Gabriel shook his head slightly. “It’s nothing you don’t already know. The Bureau will be a nightmare of paperwork and arbitrary rules, and Vellast... Well. You know what he is.”
“I’m not complaining about the enthusiasm,” Miles said, his voice rumbling against Gabriel’s ear where they lay tangled in the aftermath.
He stroked the line of Gabriel’s spine with a touch that was maddeningly tender.
“But I do worry that you’re using my cock as a sedative of late.
You panic, and then you pull me into bed to drown out the noise in your head.
I am always happy to maintain our physical connection, love, but I worry it’s becoming your only method for dealing with stress. ”
Gabriel went still. He didn’t pull away—he knew better than to signal a hit—but the truth of it stung, nevertheless. He opened his eyes, met by earnest, brow-furrowed concern.
“It works, doesn’t it?” Gabriel deflected, keeping his tone light, though his stomach gave an uncomfortable flip. “Better than screaming.”
“Is it? I am always at your disposal, you know that,” Miles said, catching Gabriel’s hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “But dissociation via orgasm is still dissociation, Gabby. I just… I want to make sure this isn’t our default.”
Gabriel scoffed, rolling away to stare at the ceiling of the Mourning Lark. He hated when Miles did this, peeled back the layers to poke at the raw nerves underneath. It felt like being dissected.
“Fine,” Gabriel snapped, the retort springing to his lips before he could censor it. “I fuck the fear away. Guilty. But don’t sit there on your high horse pretending you don’t have your own rituals for avoiding reality.”
Miles blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lists, Miles. You organize your panic alphabetically.” Gabriel sat up, dragging the sheet with him, gesturing with a dramatic flair that felt satisfyingly petty.
“Every time the world threatens to end, you don’t feel it.
You itemize it. You categorize the apocalypse into sub-headers and bullet points. ”
“That is... entirely different,” Miles stammered, looking affronted. “Organization is a tool for problem-solving. It provides structure to chaos.”
“It provides a wall,” Gabriel countered, leaning in.
“You bury yourself in plans, so you don’t have to admit you’re terrified.
You treat our life like a syllabus because if you can study it, it can’t hurt you.
It’s just as much a distraction as my...
physical interventions. You’re just doing it with ink instead of sweat. ”
“Hardly a fair comparison,” Miles huffed. “A properly executed list creates a path to a solution. Copulation is only a distraction.”
Gabriel poked a finger against Miles’s bare chest. “We aren’t talking about solutions. We’re talking about fear . You use logistics to numb yours just as much as I use fucking. You itemize the terror, so you don’t have to actually feel it.”
Miles opened his mouth, closed it, and then frowned deeply. He slumped back against the pillows, staring at the foot of the bed. The silence stretched, thick and contemplative.
Gabriel watched him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Part of him enjoyed seeing Miles momentarily stumped.
It leveled the playing field. But beneath the satisfaction, there was a warmth, an acknowledgement that they were both just two terrified people trying to navigate a minefield without blowing their legs off.