18. Epilogue #3
Inside, the noise of the world vanished.
They shed their coats, draping the expensive silk over hooks in the mudroom.
Miles took the silk rope of their handfasting out of his coat pocket and wound it around his hand as they made their way through their home toward the bedroom, to make what honeymoon they may.
The kitchen gleamed in the magelights that turned themselves on as they entered. Copper pots hung from the ceiling like bronze moons, and the butcher block island bore the scars of many previous tenants’ cooking. Miles trailed his fingers across the slate countertop as they passed.
They climbed the spiral staircase, its ironwood steps polished smooth.
The library on the second floor was a chaos of their decanted belongings, what had recently arrived from Briarleigh and not quite been put away.
Miles’s magical theory tomes were stacked beside Gabriel’s bolts of fabric.
Scrolls were scattered across the heavy desk near the fireplace.
Another flight up, and the bedroom opened before them.
The four-poster bed dominated the space, its velvet curtains drawn back to reveal teal and white linens.
A frosted glass screen separated the bathing chamber from their bedroom.
Miles stopped by the nightstand to trade the silk braid for a bottle of oil, and they stepped through wide sliding doors that opened onto a balcony.
The river balcony stretched into the night, a precarious platform hanging over the dark water. City lights reflected off the Aver’s surface like scattered stars.
“Well, husband, what will you have of me tonight?” Gabriel asked. He reached up, cupping Miles’s face in his hands, and their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss. “Is that bottle a hint?”
The balcony was open to Averdon and yet hidden from the passersby on the bridge behind them. It was far from the buildings on either bank and several stories above the river itself.
Public, yet private, and that gave Miles a little thrill.
Miles pulled Gabriel closer, their bodies pressed against the railing. “Here,” he murmured against Gabriel’s mouth. “I want to make love to you here, under the stars.”
Gabriel breathed his answer against Miles’s lips. “Yes.”
Miles closed the gap, and they kissed again, a kiss that deepened quickly, hunger and relief and promise all tangled together.
They undressed each other slowly, fingers tracing familiar paths over skin that still felt new and exciting.
The night air was cool against Miles’s bare skin, but Gabriel’s touch was warm.
The city sprawled below them, a thousand points of light shining like distant stars, but Miles’s world narrowed to this balcony, this moment, this man.
Miles drew him down onto the deep, padded bench where they’d taken to curling up with a book in the small moments their labors had allowed. Gabriel straddled Miles’s lap. Miles used the oil on both their lengths and then drew Gabriel close.
Gabriel rocked his hips, and Miles sighed as his length glided against his own, the friction sending hot sharp currents through his groin.
Gabriel braced his hands on Miles’s shoulders, digging his fingers in and using the leverage to rock more firmly.
Miles’s breath came faster, and he gripped Gabriel’s hip, guiding his movements.
Miles’s other hand slipped behind, fingers finding Gabriel’s entrance.
He rubbed gentle circles around the puckered rim, coaxing the tight muscle to relax.
Gabriel leaned forward, resting his forehead against Miles’s, their breaths mingling as he sighed with the stretch and stroke of Miles’s fingers.
“You feel incredible,” Gabriel murmured, his voice rough with desire.
His body yielded eagerly, welcoming the familiar invasion.
He pushed back against Miles’s fingers, seeking more, deeper, now.
But Miles refused to be rushed, his touch firm but patient, controlled, and Gabriel resumed his rocking as Miles worked him open.
“You’re incredible. Husband of my heart. My unrepentant thief.”
“Miles,” Gabriel gasped, his voice a plea, a demand, a promise all rolled into one syllable.
Miles smiled, a slow, wicked curving of his lips. “I’ve got you, love,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady against the pleasure of their frotting. “We’ve got all night.”
And they did. The city lights gleamed below, the stars wheeled overhead, and on that balcony, Gabriel and Miles took their time, exploring each other’s bodies with the leisure of lovers who knew they had a lifetime together.
At last, Miles withdrew his fingers, and Gabriel sank down onto his cock.
They both sighed in relief at the intimate connection, a sensation of completion that went beyond mere physical pleasure.
Gabriel clung to Miles’s shoulders and Miles to Gabriel’s hips, helping to slide him slowly up and down.
Their torsos brushed against each other with each movement.
Gabriel’s cock, pressed between them, twitched and leaked.
Miles groaned, low and guttural, as Gabriel’s body took him in again and again.
The slow, deliberate slide was exquisite torture—heat and pressure and the tight grip of his channel.
Gabriel’s pulse beat against Miles’s lips when he pressed them to his throat.
His lean thighs trembled as they rose and fell.
This was home. Not the bridge beneath them, not Rookgate, not Briarleigh, not even Riverwatch. This—buried inside the man he loved, their bodies moving in synchrony—this was where Miles belonged.
They kissed slowly, their lips meeting in a languid dance that mirrored the rhythm of their bodies.
The taste of Gabriel’s mouth was familiar and intoxicating, the echoes of champagne lingering.
Miles’s tongue explored the soft contours of Gabriel’s lips, the sharp edges of his teeth, the warm depths of his mouth.
The sounds of the river and the city drifted up to them, a distant symphony of life that seemed to echo the rhythm of their lovemaking.
The clank of ship’s bells, the distant murmur of voices, the soft lap of water against the shore—all of it blended into a background hum that only enhanced the intimacy of their moment.
“You feel so good,” Miles murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The words were inadequate, a pale shadow of the emotions coursing through him, but they were all he had.
Gabriel’s response was a soft smile and a gentle squeeze on his shoulders. “So do you, darling,” he said, panting, his breath uneven. “So do you.”
The coil in Miles’s gut drew tighter and tighter as they moved together, warning him he was close. If he wanted Gabriel to fall apart on his cock—and oh, he did—he needed to move this along.
Miles gripped Gabriel’s hips harder, fingers digging into flesh. He planted his feet on the balcony floor and thrust up, hard.
Gabriel cried out, a broken sound of shock and pleasure. Miles did it again, driving deeper, angling to hit that spot inside that made Gabriel see stars. The slow, sweet rhythm fractured into urgency.
“Yes! Don’t hold back, Miles.” Gabriel’s voice was a rough plea. “Fuck me like you mean it. I want to feel you—all of you.” He leaned down, his breath hot against Miles’s ear, “Make me yours again. Come on, darling, love me. Fuck me like you love me.”
Miles groaned—a sound ripped from somewhere primal—and obeyed. He loved Gabriel—loved him with a ferocity that scared him sometimes—and he poured all of it into the drive of his hips. Gabriel rode him with equal abandon, their bodies slapping together in a rhythm that was anything but gentle.
Their soft gasps escalated into cries and moans that echoed across the river, raw and unashamed. Gabriel’s fingers dug crescents into Miles’s shoulders as he chased his pleasure, head thrown back, throat bared to the starlight.
“Miles—I’m—” Gabriel’s warning dissolved into a broken shout. His body convulsed, spasming around Miles’s cock in squeezing waves that threatened to drag him under. Hot spurts of cum painted their stomachs, and Gabriel clutched at him as he cried out.
Miles held on through sheer force of will, fighting the orgasm clawing up his spine. He kept moving, gentler now, drawing out Gabriel’s pleasure until the cries softened into whimpers.
Only then did Miles let go.
He buried himself deep and came with a shout, spilling inside Gabriel as white light flooded his vision. His hips twitched upward as his hands pulled Gabriel’s hips down, trying to get impossibly deeper, until he’d emptied himself completely.
They collapsed together onto the cushioned bench, skin tacky with sweat and other fluids, limbs tangled. Miles sprawled half beneath Gabriel, one leg dangling off the edge, and watched the lamplight catch on the white-gold band circling his finger.
The amethyst gleamed, deep purple against his skin.
“We’re disgusting,” Gabriel traced the curve of Miles’s ring with one fingertip. “And we need a bath.”
“In a minute.”
“The bench will stick.”
“I’ll clean it with magic later. Nikka taught me a few tricks.”
Gabriel snorted. “Lazy.”
“Efficient.”
Above them, the stars wheeled through scattered clouds, indifferent to the two men sprawled naked on a balcony suspended over the Aver.
The river churned below, its white noise masking whatever scandal they’d just committed.
Miles turned his head, scanning the dark windows of the nearest buildings on either bank.
Too far to see details, barring a spyglass.
“Do you think anyone heard?” he asked.
“Without a doubt.” Gabriel shifted, propping his chin on Miles’s chest.
Heat crept up Miles’s neck. “I got carried away.”
“I noticed. I approved.” Gabriel kissed his sternum. “Semi-public debauchery suits you, husband.”
The word sent a thrill through Miles’s chest, warm and sharp. Husband. Legally meaningless, but privately true .
“Our handfasting might draw attention,” Miles twisted his ring absently. “The conservative factions in the Regent’s court still frown on such things, calling them backward rural superstition.”
“Our presence in Averdon has hardly been subtle anyway.” Gabriel twined his fingers with Miles’s and held their hands up so they could admire both rings together. “They can look if they want. We haven’t broken their precious Decrees.”
“True.” Miles brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed Gabriel’s knuckles. “I suppose it’s the less official eyes we need to worry about anyway.”
Gabriel went still against him. “The conspiracy.”
“Or cult. Whatever we’re calling Madaze’s Veilmancy associates.
” Miles stared up at the stars, his mind already cataloging threats.
“We haven’t broken any laws without the Regent’s sanction—setting aside your near-constant petty theft—and they won’t care about our handfasting.
Only what we learned or didn’t learn in those attics before they disappeared. ”
“Which is nicely ambiguous for now,” Gabriel said.
“With as many eyes as we have drawn, it would be wiser for them to watch and see what we do than share our spotlight or bring the Regent and his ledgers down on their heads. Assuming the cultists are in them. Assuming they’re wiser than Vellast or learned from his demise. ”
Miles hummed agreement. They needed a plan of attack, but rushing in blind would get them killed. “For now, we focus on consolidating. Get control of your new business interests, make sure Rookgate’s transition proceeds smoothly, keep our heads down.”
“Lie low while the scandal fades,” Gabriel agreed. “Let them think we’re distracted by domestic bliss and charitable works.”
“We are distracted by domestic bliss and charitable works.”
“Temporarily.” Gabriel shifted, bracing his hands on either side of Miles’s ribs. “But eventually, we’ll decide it’s time to strike.”
“Eventually,” Miles echoed. The word tasted like a promise and a threat. They had time. Not much, but enough to prepare. To build their network, strengthen their resources, and come up with a strategy.
And in the meantime, they had a life to unpack.
Trunks to empty, books to shelve, friendships to deepen.
Genna and Bria deserved proper dinners without assassins lurking in the background.
His mother and Gabriel needed to know each other better.
Nikka required tutoring if she hoped to pass her Guild exams. Velma would need regular check-ins.
A little moment of peace, suspended over the dark water.
“Bath,” Gabriel said, extracting himself from Miles’s grip. “Before we cement ourselves to this bench permanently.”
Miles groaned but allowed himself to be hauled upright. They stumbled through the bedroom toward the frosted glass screen. Beyond it, the copper tub gleamed in the lamplight, promising heat and clean skin and the luxury of time.
Gabriel turned the taps, and steam began to rise.
Miles wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist from behind, resting his chin on Gabriel’s shoulder. In the mirror above the vanity, their reflections stared back: rumpled, marked, wearing matching rings that caught the light.
Gabriel stretched luxuriously against Miles, sighing in contentment. “Well, look at me now,” he said, admiring them in the mirror. “A former slave, a reluctant noble, and now handfast —truly, I’ve become one of Averdon’s most shocking success stories.”
Miles chuckled, running a hand through Gabriel’s mussed waves. “And yet, you still complain.”
“Oh, always.” Gabriel smirked, tipping his head back to kiss him. “But if I must endure my trials with someone, I suppose you’ll do.”