The Duke’s Demon by Iris Foxglove

Chapter 5

The doors to the room were open.

Sebastien stepped into the gaping dark maw, and the doors swung shut behind him, quiet. He looked around, waiting, but the demon did not come.

“Bastien,” said a voice Sebastien had not heard in years, childish and soft, coming from somewhere behind him. “Turn on the light.”

Sebastien said, “There is no light here.”

“Turn on the light.” This time it wasn’t his brother, it was Devon. “Turn on the light, Sebastien.”

Light flooded the room. There were scores of people standing there, staring. At one they all raised their hands and pointed at him.

“The light, Sebastien,” said Devon, somewhere behind him.

“Bastien, turn the light on,” said Etienne.

“Sebastien, run,” said his mother, weakly, dying on the floor.

Host, said the demon. Wake.

Sebastien opened his eyes.

Host, the demon said. You went away.

“I was dreaming,” Sebastien said, getting up. He did not remember falling asleep. “Could you see what it was?”

You dreamed of the dark room and things that are not there.

“So you did see.” Sebastien tied his hair back, lit the lamp and sat on the chaise he hardly ever used, near the window. For the first time he wondered if this was his father’s room, and what it meant that he couldn’t remember, and hadn’t thought about it until now.

Yes. Who spoke in the dark.

“Devon,” Sebastien said. He paused. “My brother, Etienne. People that I did not know, in the dark room.”

It is not a room, said the demon. And those were not people.

“Ah.” Sebastien shivered, not unpleasantly. “If it is not a room, then what is it?”

A door.

“I see.” Sebastien leaned back against the chair.

Host.

“Yes?”

The demon fluttered, again. That one has a brother. You dreamed of brother. That one hates his father. Father, brother. What are those things.

“Oh.” Sebastien settled his hands over his chest, thinking best how to explain human family relationships to the demon. “They are family. Devon, and myself, the...beings, that we are. We come from others like us, it is the way we are made.”

The demon pushed against his awareness. Do I have a father. A brother.

Sebastien thought about it. “I do not know,” he said, honestly. “The manner of being that you are, it is not one that I know. How you came to be is a mystery.”

I came from the dark, the demon said. Host.

“Yes?”

You came to me in the dark.

“I did.” Sebastien felt it, the way it shifted inside of him, and thought how, as of late, the demon seemed to be so much more of its own creature than before. It had opinions about things. Dancing. Devon. It was asking more questions, in its way, than ever.

Host.

“Yes, my demon?”

You feel warm about the other one.

“Do I,” Sebastien said. He felt something curl around his hand, from the inside, around the bone and muscles there. The tingling drew his hand up, to his own hair.

Host.

“Yes,” he said, curious as to why the demon was making him scratch idly at his own hair. It occurred to him after a moment that it was trying to mimic what Devon had done, when he’d tried to pet it.

Feeling a bit foolish, Sebastien patted his own head. He shivered a bit as his eyes went round, the demon pushing forth enough that there were horns on his head. Sebastien scratched them as Devon had done, and the creature bound to his soul purred like the cat Devon had called it.

I am warm.

Sebastien smiled. “Yes.” The affection he felt for his demon was strong, tonight. “You feel what I feel. This warmth, it is called desire. May I ask you a question?”

Yes.

“Is that why we take them to the knife? Because before, that was all I knew, so that is what it was for you, too?”

The demon sighed, and then it patted him on the head again, with Sebastien’s own hand.

You knew rage. Fear. When I came to you in the dark. Pain that cut. Sharp. The knife brought those things that were known to us. But we know other things, now.

“I suppose we do,” Sebastien said, eyes sliding closed. “It is as Devon said, then. All this time, it was because of what happened the night I came to you.”

It is as it is, host, the demon said, curling up.

“You say you came from the dark,” Sebastien said, drowsily, letting himself doze back on the couch. “It that...the room?”

It is not a room, host. But watch.

Behind his eyes, he saw images; men in robes, chanting in the cold, the northern lights twisting like wind-caught ribbons above while they went around and around like a wheel. They pulled something together, but it wasn’t what they wanted; older than they knew, but without voice to tell them so. So they bound it to the place where they called it, and two of the figures killed the third, and then one killed the last, and the screaming and the pain bound this new demon to the earth.

Fear and pain were the first things it knew. It waited through centuries, alone, while the ground was built up around it. Calling out in the only way it knew how for someone to undo the bindings that tethered it.

That was Sebastien, born on the longest night, the night it was first bound. He’d crawled to it, covered in blood, desperate. Dying. And the demon, who used to watch him from the place that was not a room, pushed open the barrier to embrace him, to become unbound at last.

It had loved him, in its way, all this time.

Sebastien opened his eyes. “I think,” he said, softly, “that it was you who taught me to be warm, my demon.”

It purred at him, pleased. Long I waited in the dark, host. Bound to the place of men. Then you came. I would see you, small, but watching. Like I was. You felt what I felt.

“Yes,” Sebastien said, softly. “Yes, I did.” He could see it, then; the men who came and butchered his family. He had hid under the sofa, but they’d found him. Dragged him out in the blood, by the ankle. Sliced him deep and laughed, let him go when his mother said, with her dying breath, Sebastien, run.

And he had—tried, miserably, though all he could do was crawl. Fingers pressed to his own stomach, crying, rage and fear spilling from him like the blood staining his hands. He’d reached the doors on the second floor, and for the first time they stood open. A boy of thirteen, undoing all the magic a circle of mages had killed to protect.

“You didn’t want me to know how it happened, because it reminded you of the men who bound you to this place.” In the dark of his closed eyes, he saw it for what it was, the creature inside of him. Not the form it showed him in the dark, but the pure, pulsing heart of it. Not evil or malevolent, but a being forced into a shape like wine poured into a cask. It had been a thing of dark and shadow, but it had been as ignorant of the cruelties of the world as Sebastien had been, when he saw his family butchered and heard the men laughing while they did it.

My host, Sebastien, the demon said, pushing itself and finding its form there, inside of Sebastien. Knowing, at last, who it—he—was. To command you must summon. What is my name, Sebastien.

It came to him, easy as anything, as if he had always known his demon’s name, had only been waiting for the right time to call him by it.

“Sariel,” said Sebastien, into the cold, chilly room, the duke’s room, once his father’s.

The demon came forth, poured from his eyes, his mouth, sat resplendent before him. Catlike, sly, beautiful.

“Sariel,” Sebastien said, again.

“Sebastien,” it—Sariel—said. His tail swished as he climbed, elegant and feline, up on the chair to press Sebastien back again, as substantial as he’d ever been in the dark room. “I would see the other.” Sariel’s voice was still atonal, inflectionless.

“You are beautiful,” Sebastien told him, blinking, raising his trembling hand to the top of Sariel’s head, where his horns were.

Sariel preened, but before Sebastien could explain why they should wait to rouse Devon...he heard the sound of hounds braying, unnatural and wild, in the distance.

“The hunt comes,” said Sariel. “I will return now.” He sat back on his haunches, waiting.

It felt the same, when Sariel returned to dwell within him. Only this time, it did not hurt.

The hounds grew closer. Sebastien stood, dressed in all his finery, and went to meet them.

* * *

The sonsof Lord Chastain knew not to be afraid of dogs.

Devon and Marius had both spent much of their childhood running with the hounds that lived on the farmland behind the manor. The gamekeeper, Ruston, taught them the basic commands, and when Devon was older and preferred to stay outside while his family held dinner parties and soirées, he taught him how to train them. It was something to do, like everything Devon reached for in his old life, but it meant that the baying of hounds never bothered him.

He was half awake, shuffling through papers he’d carefully lined that evening, when he heard them. Perhaps Joaquin kept hounds. He hadn’t mentioned it when he showed Devon the garden, but a gardener wasn’t the same as a gamekeeper, anyways. Devon checked the window, but the sky was still dark, the stars blotted out by the glow of the bedside lamp. Whoever they belonged to, they were howling like dogs on a hunt.

The thump of a cane at his door was almost familiar, now.

“Come in,” Devon said.

The door creaked open just as Devon was putting a black dressing robe over his clothes. Sebastien stood at the doorway, hovering as always, watching Devon with his unnerving eyes.

“It’s early for the piano,” Devon said.

“The hounds have returned,” said Sebastien. “They’ve brought your brother.”

Devon grabbed the bed frame for balance. He’d almost forgotten. Somehow, between figuring out the next page of his new score and not thinking about the way Sebastien’s mouth felt on his, earlier, Devon had forgotten Marius.

“I should…I should go and see him,” he said.

Sebastien stepped aside, and Devon had to steel himself just to pass through the door.

He kept at Sebastien’s heels as they navigated the halls of the Abbey, walking steadily down the winding staircase and out through the main doors to the courtyard. The moon was still well over the hill beyond the village, just the faintest crescent against the stars, and Devon stopped on the steps, staring into the darkness of the courtyard.

Red eyes gleamed in the dark. The hounds of the Abbey had fur that ranged from grey to such a deep shade of red that they were almost black, and their teeth, when they panted and barked at Sebastien’s approach, were just a little too long.

When they drifted from the center of the courtyard to dart for the shadows, Devon saw Marius drop to his knees.

Sebastien looked over his shoulder at Devon. “Is this not your brother?”

Marius raised his head. Devon was still in the shadow of the front doors, hidden from the starlight spilling over the courtyard, and it took more effort than he thought possible to head down the steps.

“Devon?” Marius’ voice broke. “Devon, what on earth—”

“They’re just dogs,” Devon said. One of the hounds turned to regard him as he passed, and he held out his hand for inspection. It bumped its head against his fingers, and he ran his hand over soft, long fur, like a collie’s. Its eyes burned with fire, and Devon could see pinpricks of light in the shadows, where the others lay in wait. “You survived, then.”

Marius pushed himself off his knees and staggered towards him. “Barely. I thought you were dead. I thought I was dead, when those…things, found me. Is this where you’ve been this whole time? Hiding with the mad duke?”

“He’s not mad, exactly,” Devon said. Marius reached for his face, and Devon drew back.

“He doesn’t like to be touched,” Sebastien said, softly.

Marius flinched. “Oh. I forgot. You’ve always been so particular, Dev.”

Not always. Devon could feel it building, resentment bubbling over like steam. “I’m fine,” he said.

“But your face is scarred, just there. Was it Sabre? I told Father he should have kept you out of it, but he insisted.”

“And you went along with it,” Devon said. “As always.”

Marius sighed. “I’m a submissive. You know the rules, you read them yourself, more times than I ever did.”

Devon thought of the hours spent reading the rules for a second son or a submissive aloud in the study while Marius went about his life unbothered, and grimaced.

“I’m not here to fight you,” Marius said. He rocked forward. “And I am glad to see you alive. I swear. But Dev, they killed Father. I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

Marius stared at him. “What?”

“I’m not sorry,” Devon said. “We knew it wasn’t going to work, and Father was...” He glanced back at Sebastien, who was watching him, as always. “He should have been hanged for it years ago.”

“Just for thinking ill of the king?” Marius’ knowing look was too brittle, too false. “That’s a little harsh.”

“You know why,” Devon said. Marius looked at Sebastien this time, gaze flicking back and forth. “No. It doesn’t matter. They probably both know by now.”

“Both—”

“He should have been hanged after the first time he touched me,” Devon said, and Marius’ eyes went blank, dark, as they always did when Devon tried to bring it up. Even now, even with nothing left to protect, Marius was shuttering himself like a house closing against a storm. “Don’t. Don’t you dare do that, Marius, don’t run from this—”

Marius stepped around Devon, brushing dirt off his worn clothes, which were dusty and disheveled from the road. He nodded curtly to Sebastien.

“Thank you for harboring my brother,” he said.

“You can’t just pretend I’m not here,” Devon said. His voice was rising, harsh against Marius’ easy, polite tone.

“But we’ll be leaving for Diabolos as soon as the sun rises,” Marius said.

“You can’t just decide—”

“Devon.”

Devon shuddered. “That’s his tone. Don’t you dare take his tone.”

“Well,” Marius said, hissing the words through his teeth, “it isn’t as though anything else ever worked.”

Devon stood there, feeling strangely distant from his own body. His rage was there, pushing up against him like a live thing, but it was as though he were watching it from above, untouched.

“Don’t look so wounded, Dev,” Marius said. “I’m doing my best.”

“I’m afraid he won’t be leaving for Diabolos,” Sebastien said. Marius turned to him, and something in Sebastien’s face must have unsettled him, because he stepped back.

“He isn’t safe here,” Marius said.

“I’m not safe with you,” said Devon. “Name one time I’ve ever been safe with you.”

Marius turned on his heel. “Devon. The gates. Now. We need to talk privately.”

“You will not take him out of our sight,” Sebastien said.

Marius shot him a worried look and strode over to Devon. “Look,” he said. “I was willing to forgive your outbursts.”

“Outbursts,” Devon said.

“And I know you and Father had your…difficulties.” Marius’ face shuttered again, briefly, a light flickering. “But I told you. I told you it would be easier if you just stopped fighting, if you just let me become king so I could protect you.”

“All I could do was fight,” Devon said, a little too loudly. “If you knew what it was like, to have him…” He glanced at Sebastien. “To have your own father—”

“You think I don’t know?” Marius’ voice was strained, thin. Devon felt ice crawl through his veins. No. Not Marius. It was Devon, he’d always come to Devon. “You think I didn’t notice, how he let you just…talk back, yell about it, throw your weight around like you were the only one hurting, like it was somehow different with you?”

Devon stared at him. Marius was trembling, fists clenched at his sides.

“You always acted like the world had to stop for you,” Marius said.

Marius. The boy who used to tell Devon stories in their tent in the hallway, who helped him name puppies, who read books aloud while Devon practiced for his piano lessons, trying to trip him up. They’d loved each other, once. Devon felt the loss of it, then, staring at Marius in the dark courtyard, Sebastien and his demon looking on.

“I wish I could have killed him myself,” Devon said, and Marius sighed. “I wish we’d killed him together. For what he did to us.”

“He was still our father,” Marius said.

“No.” Devon stepped back. “No, he wasn’t. I’ve been living with a demon ever since his plans fell apart, and you know, I haven’t had to block my door once. I’ve been…I’ve been writing, writing a song, lately, you know how I used to play.” His voice faced away as he spoke, watching Marius’ gaze go distant.

“Yes, I know,” Marius said, even though he didn’t, really.

“He robbed us of everything,” Devon said. “What we could have been.”

Marius ran his hands through his hair. “Then come with me, Dev. We can try, this time. To…work with each other.”

“I’m sorry, Marius,” Devon said. “I don’t think we can, yet. This was a mistake. I should have let you go without me.” He pushed past him, and saw the shadow of the hounds, prowling in the dark corners with their eyes of flame. He stopped before Sebastien and closed his eyes.

“What do you want with us?” Sebastien asked.

Devon took a deep breath. It didn’t help. Nothing would. He reached out for Sebastien, who took his wrist, pulled him a step closer, close enough to feel the heat of him.

“I want him to go.”

* * *

Take him to the room, under the knife, Sariel hissed, in his mind. That one, brother, his face lies.

Sebastien assumed the demon meant that Marius’ smiles were all a lie, which it did not take a demon’s insight to know.

“I must insist, Your Grace,” said Marius, somewhere beyond. “That you unhand my brother.”

“Are you sure, then?” Sebastien asked Devon, fingers tight around his wrist. “I would take this burden from you, if you wished. The choice. You may go to your rooms, or to the piano, the grand one down in the study. Play your music while I take him apart. You wouldn’t hear the screams, not where we would take him.”

Devon’s eyes were wide and too-bright. He trembled there, for a moment, caught...but then he shook his head. “No. Just let him go. But I won’t go with him.”

“Dev,” Marius said, again. “I don’t know what he’s done to you, but you need to leave.”

“Asked me,” Devon said, not looking back at his brother. “Told me the truth.”

“He’ll kill you,” said Marius, in a panicked voice. “That’s what the stories all say. I told you about him when we were young, remember?”

“Yes. You told me all the stories about monsters, except the one that mattered most. Go away, Marius.”

“So you hate me, then,” Marius said. “For running, after. For leaving you.”

Devon pulled a bit at Sebastien’s grip, but Sebastien knew it was to get it tighter, not to let him go. “If I hated you, I’d tell you to stay and let them have you. Just go. Leave me here. It’s not as if you want me to stay with you. I’ve never really been anything to you, other than something to use. Just like him.”

Host, Sariel said. This brother, let me swallow his soul.

Sebastien said, “Stay any longer on my lands and you will regret it. Your brother is no longer your responsibility. The time for you to care what becomes of him has come and gone. Sariel, summon the hounds.”

I would tear this one to pieces myself, I have claws, teeth, Sariel hissed, and ah, he was a bit possessive of Devon, wasn’t he? Or was that because Sebastien was?

“Sariel?” Devon asked, staring up at him. “Is that—”

“Yes. I will explain, inside,” Sebastien said, as the hounds brayed, growing closer, waiting for the sign they should close in for the kill. “It is too cold out here, you are not dressed for the weather.”

“Devon.”

Sebastien stepped neatly in front of Devon and faced Marius. Something glinted in his right hand, a knife, perhaps. He smiled. “You may try and stab me if you wish, but it shan’t do much but irritate me. I am letting you leave because Devon asked it of me. Do not waste the only chance I will give you to survive to see the sunrise.”

“I’ll tell the king’s men where he is,” Marius said. “If you don’t let him go. They’ll hang him.”

Sebastien laughed outright. “Go ahead and tell them. No one comes to my home uninvited, and that includes the king’s men.”

“Devon, please just come with me,” Marius begged, as the hounds drew near, circling again. “I can’t lose you, too.”

“You lost me a long time ago, just as I lost you. I’m sorry, but we both know it’s the truth. I’m done here,” Devon said, turning to face him. He didn’t say please, but it was there, in his voice. The way he looked at Sebastien.

“Of course.” Sebastien took his wrist and tucked it in his arm, like they were courting and going to a ball. He walked Devon inside, as the dogs grew closer and Devon’s brother shouted at him, loud and angry, until he must have realized this was the end of it. He took off running as Sebastien took Devon into the house, the door closing behind them.

Sebastien sent a mental thought to Sariel to call off the dogs. Sariel seemed reluctant, but the sound of braying faded into the quiet of near dawn.

Devon didn’t say a word as he let Sebastien bring him to his bedroom. Sebastien thought about taking him to the bath, perhaps, as he had that first night. He thought perhaps now, he had a better way to take the chill from him.

“Would you have killed my brother,” Devon asked, once they were in Sebastien’s room. His arms were wrapped tight around himself, his eyes wide. “If I’d said I wanted you to.”

“Yes.” Sebastien studied him. “If you changed your mind, the hounds will bring him back.”

“No. Let him go.” Despite his words, Devon’s anger was there, his pain, his fury. His fear. Trapped beneath the surface, like the ice caps on the cold northern sea beyond the hills.

I do not understand, host, the demon murmured. He wants him under the knife, but he says that he does not.

“He is angry,” Sebastien murmured. “And hurt by his brother’s actions. The desire to see him bleed will fade with his anger.”

How do you know.

“Because he is like a fire never fully banked, my demon. He burns hot when the flames are fanned, and simmers when they are not.”

“He left me, after I shot Sabre, left me to run, to hide in the snow. And it was never my idea, any of it.” Devon pulled at his hair, his eyes wild. “I didn’t care about being a prince. I didn’t care about Sabre, even if I hated him for how he liked it, what he was. I thought if the plan worked, maybe it would stop. He would stop.”

“Your father?” Sebastien knew the answer, but he sensed Devon needed to say it, to finally have his own fear and anger unbound, unsilenced.

“Yes.” Devon was breathing too fast. “He used to tell me it was because I…asked for it, and I never did, not once, not once.” He reached for his hair again, tugging hard, and then laughed, wildly and loud. “None of this even matters, does it? I’ll be dead soon, anyway. I saved him from screaming and dying by your demon’s hand, and he never did the same for me. At least I can think of that, when it’s me under the knife instead.”

Sebastien staggered back as suddenly, without warning, Sariel pushed forth, with far less finesse than usual, and slammed into the forefront of Sebastien’s awareness. Sariel took jerky, unnatural steps toward Devon, clearly unused to moving a body without wings.

Devon blinked. “Is it…is it going to be now?”

“No,” Sariel said, in his monotone voice. “No knife, not for you. You burn too bright to be taken by the dark.”

“What,” said Devon. His eyes were wide, curious, and there was a distinct lack of his earlier fear.

“We would have you burn again, like you were, when we watched you on the bed.” The demon lifted Sebastien’s hand, placed it on the side of Devon’s face. “Like we were, when we touched ourselves in the bath.”

“I don’t understand,” Devon whispered. “You don’t want me or my anger, anymore?”

“Explain,” the demon said, to Sebastien, as it began to fade. “I do not know the words for it.”

Sebastien blinked as his full awareness returned. “We still want you, little flame. But it is different, now.” He stroked Devon’s face, once, with his gloved fingers. “You no longer fear what I am, but you are still ours. If you wanted to leave, my flame, we would not let you. We would bring you back.”

“Oh.” Devon swallowed. “I’m not a good person. Not a good man.”

Sebastien shrugged. “Nor am I.”

“The king might send guards. If he finds out I am here,” Devon said. “I was to hang with my father, I’m sure of it.”

“You will let me worry about that.” Sebastien took Devon’s chin in his gloved fingers. “There is something I find odd, my flame. You have never once doubted the truth of what I am, and yet, why do you fight the truth about yourself?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Devon’s gold eyes flickered away, and down. He knew. Of course.

“You know of what I speak,” Sebastien insisted. He tightened his fingers, gently, drew Devon’s gaze back to his. “You want to kneel for me.”

“I’m a dominant,” Devon whispered. “Dominants don’t kneel.”

“You’re a submissive, Devon. You want to kneel for me, so I do not understand why you won’t allow yourself to do it. You’ve bared your throat for me, for my demon. Called to us both. Why will you not lay bare the truth of what you are, what you want?”

“Because I can’t.” Devon was trembling, and when Sebastien took off his gloves and pressed his bare fingers to Devon’s mouth, his breath came warm and too fast against Sebastien’s skin. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can. And you will. You need to be settled, and you know it. Stop fighting.”

Devon’s chin tilted in defiance. “That’s all I know how to do.”

Sebastien gave a soft laugh. “I doubt that. Kneel for us.”

A heartbeat, and then with a shuddering sigh, Devon dropped to his knees.

“Ah.” Sebastien reached down, gently drawing his fingers through Devon’s wild, messy hair. “Was that so very hard, then?”

“Yes.” Devon’s hands went behind his back. He was trembling. “Damn you, yes.”

“I am already damned, my flame.” He tipped Devon’s face up and studied him. “Would you like Sariel to come forth, take all of this from you?”

Devon swallowed hard, but his trembling eased and his breathing began to slow. He shook his head and leaned into Sebastien’s rather awkward touch. “No. I think I want to feel everything, right now.”

“As you wish.” Sebastien slid his fingers up from Devon’s chin to his face. “Is this all right? Touching you.”

“Yes.” Devon blinked. “You’re a strange man.”

Sebastien shrugged. That was certainly true. “What do you want, then, if not my demon to settle you? Do you simply wish to kneel here? I cannot imagine that is enough.”

Devon pressed his face to Sebastien’s thigh, and Sebastien awkwardly patted him on the head while he waited for Devon’s answer, which came muffled against the fine wool of his trousers. “I want you.”

“You want me to, what?” Sebastien tugged Devon’s head back to look down at him. He was certain he’d never had a submissive kneel for him, before. He rubbed his fingers over Devon’s mouth, and pressed them inside, sighing in pleasure as Devon sucked on them. Shivers of pleasure ran through him and Sariel purred, pleased, stirring with Sebastien’s growing desire. “Ask me for what you need, my flame.”

He drew his fingers out and Devon said quietly, “Take my mouth.”

Sariel clicked, wings fluttering, eager as Sebastien was to have Devon’s hot, warm mouth around his cock.

“I shall make you choke, cry for me, is that what you want?” He pulled Devon’s head forward, sighing as Devon moaned against the shape of Sebastien’s erection, breath warm through the wool of his trousers.

Sebastien reached down and unbuttoned his pants, then drew his cock out and pressed it to Devon’s lips, which opened for him. It felt so much better than stroking himself in the bath, and he gasped in pleasure as he pushed his cock in deeper.

Devon’s hands went behind his back, and he looked up at Sebastien with eyes gone wild and desperate, and his throat fluttered around Sebastien’s cock as he choked. Sebastien had never felt this before, his cock in someone’s mouth, and the sensation was overwhelming, delicious; it reminded him of the way he writhed on the ground for Sariel, when the demon consumed the creatures in the dark room. His body flushed hot as his hips moved, pressing in further, grabbing hard at Devon’s hair to keep him where he wanted.

Devon choked as Sebastien fucked his mouth, tears spilling down his cheeks. Sariel pushed forth, wanting to feel it when Sebastien came down Devon’s throat. Devon was a mess, face wet with tears and spit both, but he never once moved his hands from behind his back as Sebastien fucked his mouth and found his pleasure.

Tell him he is good, host. He wants your voice, your words.

“You’re, ah. Very good, it’s…yes, the way you sound, the tears, you’re doing so well,” Sebastien managed, hips thrusting forward, holding Devon with his hand clenched in Devon’s hair. “Burn for us, my flame.”

Sebastien’s eyes went round, and the sound he made when he came was half moan, half something inhuman as the demon surged forth at his moment of release. When he became aware of Devon again, he realized he was holding Devon so close that Devon was nearly convulsing on his softening cock.

Sebastien pulled back, and Devon hauled in ugly, gasping breaths and rubbed his face against Sebastien’s thigh while he sobbed, kicked, and still never once moved his hands from behind his back.

After he put himself to rights, Sebastien pulled Devon up to his feet, drew him close, and kissed him. He licked the taste of himself from Devon’s mouth, then gave him a gentle push on the shoulders back toward the bed. “Are you settled, my flame? Ah, but look at you.” He took Devon’s face in his hands and smiled at him, pleased. “We have never put anyone under, before. We liked it. Now we would like to watch you fall apart for us.”

* * *

Devon was goingto have to process this, later. He could feel it pushing against him as he stood with Sebastien’s bare hands on his face, years of believing that he had to be a dominant, that anything else would mean he never had the strength to fight in the first place. But he had fought, had fought for years, and yet—he’d never felt the kind of pleasure that coursed through him when he fell to his knees for Sebastien.

“I haven’t.” Devon was still panting for breath. “Haven’t been under, before.”

“But you are,” Sebastien said, and when his hand slid down to Devon’s neck, Devon’s breath hitched. He felt strangely focused, like the feel of a bow before an arrow struck true. “For us. And you’ll go under for us again, my flame, will you not?”

He backed Devon into the bed. Devon dropped onto it, and Sebastien climbed over him, running his fingers lightly over Devon’s cock as he did, making him gasp.

“So long as I don’t…” Devon waved a hand, listlessly. “Don’t have to confront Marius every time.”

“His name doesn’t belong here,” Sebastien said, and kissed him again, hard. “Between us. We’ll bind you to the bed, bring you pleasure, watch you cry for us. Give us your hands.”

Devon didn’t resist. It felt better than he would have admitted, an hour ago, to be pulled up the length of the bed. Sebastien used the soft rope ties for the bed curtains to bind Devon’s wrists to the bedposts, and the curtains fell back as his hands were secured, patches of darkness blotting out the glow of the lamp. Devon’s breath came hot and fast as Sebastien tied his feet to the posts at the end of the bed, leaving Devon splayed out in the dark, secure, accompanied only by a demon and the man it had consumed.

“Ask us to touch you,” Sebastien said, and it came out low, rumbling, almost a purr. He wondered how much of the demon was there, behind his eyes.

It took Devon a moment to speak. He felt the smooth fibers of the rope, squinted in the darkness to find the shape Sebastien made against it, listened to the hammering of his heart.

“Touch me,” he said, and his voice was soft. Reverent, like he was somewhere sacred, not bound on a bed for a demon to toy with. “Please.”

Sebastien’s touch was cool on his cheek. His hands ran down Devon’s chest, pulling apart his shirt as he went—and stopped, briefly, when Devon’s breath hitched again at the drag of his thumb over a nipple. He lightly brushed it again, tugged sharp enough for Devon to curse under his breath and struggle not to buck his hips up. Sebastien should have stripped him, Devon thought, wildly. It would have been…better, to be bare for him, though Devon wasn’t sure why. He just bit down a moan and curled his toes as Sebastien finally tugged down his trousers and brushed Devon’s cock with his knuckles. He took him in hand, and Devon pulled on the ropes, tipping his head back on the pillows.

“Beg us again,” Sebastien said, and Devon bit his cheek as his hand rolled over the head of Devon’s cock. “Beg to come for us.”

“Fuck,” Devon whispered. He was close, he knew Sebastien could feel it, but Sebastien stroked him steadily, relentless, even when Devon’s thighs tensed and he closed his eyes in a desperate attempt not to come. He was tied too securely to move his legs, but he squirmed under Sebastien’s hand all the same, panted and gasped and choked on the words.

“Please,” he managed to say, at last. He could almost feel Sebastien smiling in the dark. “Fuck, please, I’m too close, I’m going to—I’ll come if you—”

“You won’t come without our permission,” Sebastien said. “Will you?”

“Do I have to answer that. Fuck, I’m—” Devon actually whined, arching his back. “I can’t hold—fuck, just let me come, please, please.”

“No,” Sebastien said, and Devon kicked at the bed as he kept going, drawing him so close Devon felt like howling.

“Why?” Devon said, in a wretched voice. “Please, fuck, I can’t, I can’t—” He broke off into a sob, head thrashing on the pillow. “Please.”

“Yes, that’s it,” Sebastien said, as Devon writhed and shuddered and sobbed beneath him. “Come for us, let us see you.”

Devon’s whole body shook as he came over Sebastien’s fist. He was still shaking with it, wild-eyed in the dark, as he felt Sebastien’s fingers press against his mouth, tasted his own spend on Sebastien’s fingers.

When Sebastien kissed his tears, it was oddly gentle, and Devon closed his eyes as his hands and feet were freed. He’d never considered himself an affectionate man, but he turned towards Sebastien in the bed, curling under him, reaching for him. He was hesitant, too aware of how careful Sebastien had been not to touch him when he first came to the Abbey, but Sebastien simply made a soft sound of surprise and held still as Devon wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“I’m a submissive,” Devon said, softly.

“Yes,” Sebastien said. “You are.”

“Oh.” He pressed his forehead to Sebastien’s shoulder. “I’m…I’m wearing too many clothes.”

“We can fix that.”

Devon let Sebastien strip the last of his clothes from him, leaving Devon bare, and Devon clung to him in a way he never would have, an hour before. He threaded pale hair through his fingers, pressed his lips to the collar of Sebastien’s shirt, and shivered at the cool touch of his hands on Devon’s back.

“Guess I really do run hot,” Devon murmured. He’d never have classified himself as a flame, before. A wildfire, maybe, eating the land, sowing it with ash, charring scars across the countryside. But for a moment, he felt contained. Warm. A fire that didn’t have to feed to survive.

“Did your demon feel it,” Devon said, as Sebastien kissed a mark on his neck.

“Yes, he did,” Sebastien said. “He does.”

“He.” Devon cautiously slid his hands up Sebastien’s back, checking for wings. “You said he had a name, earlier. Sariel.”

Sebastien didn’t quite shudder, but something did shudder through him, a tremor under Devon’s hands. “Yes.”

“Sariel,” Devon said, and he felt that tremor a second time. He couldn’t see Sebastien well in the dark, but when he kissed him, his teeth felt—sharper. Longer, somehow.

Sebastien rolled Devon onto his back again, pinning Devon’s hips with his legs. “You’re calling him.”

“I don’t know,” Devon said. “Maybe. You’re both…in there, already. Does he want me? What I feel?”

“We want you together,” Sebastien said, and that should have been strange, but in that dark, sharply focused place Devon had fallen into, where every touch felt more real, every heartbeat stronger, he couldn’t really fault him. Them.

Sebastien sat up, and Devon followed him, seeking his touch like a man starved for it, and quietly allowed Sebastien to draw him off the bed and onto the rug.

“I should clean you off,” Sebastien said, his hand in Devon’s short hair. “But I don’t want to.”

“That’s fine,” Devon said. Sebastien flashed him that smile again, the rare one he’d given him just before, soft and fond. A human smile.

Then he paused. He pulled away, just a few steps across the rug, and Devon followed softly after him, the air from the open door cool on his skin.

“Did you leave the door open?” he asked, bemused.

“No,” Sebastien said. He lay a hand on the frame, looking into the hall. He turned back to Devon and crossed the room again, sweeping him up in another biting kiss. “Come with us, my flame. There is something you should see.”

“I’ve already seen a lot,” Devon said, but Sebastien had a hand on his elbow, so that was all right. They stepped into the hall, and the first thing Devon noticed was the pale light of the sunrise through the high windows.

The second thing he noticed were the doors.

Black doors, the ones that he scurried past without a sidelong glance, the ones where Sebastien took those who screamed for him under the knife, the ones he went to, when his family was slaughtered. Open.

“No,” Devon said. The fear came to him slowly, as though through a wall, but the rage was bright and always close at hand. “No, you said…you said you wouldn’t. No knife, you said no knife.”

His bare feet skidded on the stone floors.

“We aren’t bringing you here for the knife,” Sebastien said.

“Were you just.” Pain stabbed through him, too familiar, too hot. “Were you waiting for me to give in to you—were you always going to—”

Sebastien turned on his heel. He raised a hand to Devon’s cheek. Devon could feel the tears stinging his eyes, running hot over his skin, and hated them.

“No,” Sebastien said. “That’s not what this is. You have shown us what you are, my flame—”

“I let myself—” Devon felt like his breath was being wrenched from him. “I let you—”

Sebastien held him by the throat, gently, caressing him. “We will show you what we are,” Sebastien said. His eyes widened, and his voice shifted, just enough. “No knife. You are safe, in the dark. With us.”

Devon’s gaze skittered to the open doors. Blackness kay beyond. Not an empty room, just the dark.

“You are safe in the dark,” said the demon’s voice, and Devon could no longer tell if he’d heard the words aloud, or if they were rolling through his mind, the flat toll of distant bells.

“I’ve never been safe in the dark,” Devon said, shaking, but when Sebastien and his demon took him by the arm again, Devon allowed himself to be drawn forward, through the black doors where the darkness waited.

* * *

Come here,Sariel said, warm and inviting. Both of you.

“We will not hurt you,” Sebastien said, as he drew Devon into the room. “You are ours, now. No knife will touch you.”

Devon was trembling, his eyes wide and his breath coming too fast. Not like before, when he was splayed on the bed, desperate and aching for their touch.

“I don’t—what is this room,” Devon asked, as Sebastien drew him further into the dark.

“Sariel said it was a door,” Sebastien murmured. “I call it the dark room, but he says it is not a room, not really.”

The doors closed. Devon made that sound, afraid, and Sebastien drew him in closer. “Let us touch you.”

“Yes,” Devon whispered, though his voice shook. “Yes.”

Sebastien drew him in, sighed, rubbed his hand lightly over Devon’s back. “I have promised not to lie to you. If you were meant to scream under the knife for us, we would tell you. What my demon wants, my flame, is to show itself to you.”

“Oh.” Devon’s breath was hot on Sebastien’s neck, but he pulled back and said, “how is it dark and I can see you, still.”

“I do not know,” Sebastien murmured, then kissed him, softly. “But we would show you, now, the truth of us.” He sighed, then took a step back.

Sariel. Show him the truth of you.

Sebastien closed his eyes, and Sariel came forth.

It happened like it always did, with the demon pushing out of his mouth, his eyes, spilling forth in the strange darkness of the room. The wings unfurled, and it shook out its horns, talons clicking as it approached Devon.

“Oh,” Devon whispered. “Oh.”

“Host,” the demon said, in its strange, flat, atonal voice. “Sebastien.”

It said his name carefully, precisely, Se-bas-ti-en.

“Yes, my Sariel?”

“This one,” said Sariel. “His name.”

“Devon. His name is Devon.”

“Dev-on,” Sariel said, careful with the syllables. “Host touched you. Touch me. Like before.” He shook his head, looking for all the world like a cat seeking attention.

“I—all right.” Devon reached out and carefully brushed his fingers over Sariel’s horns. Sariel made a sound, placed his taloned claws to Devon’s shoulders, and pushed.

“He wants you to lie down,” Sebastien clarified.

Devon gave a soft, choked noise and said, “Your demon wants me to kneel?”

“You already knelt for us, my flame. Sariel wants you on your back.” Sebastien moved closer, as the invisible ties that bound him to his demon pulsed around him. “He does not want to hurt you.”

Devon carefully lowered himself down, and lay upon his back.

The demon flared his wings, hissing at the darkness beyond where Devon lay. His tail swished, then speared something; and his jaws snapped as he consumed it, and Sebastien shivered with pleasure as he always did.

Devon gasped, “What was that?”

“There are things here,” the demon said, perched upon Devon. “I eat them.”

“Fuck,” Devon whispered, heartfelt. He reached up and patted the creature on his head. “Um. Is that…why do you…?”

“They come because you burn,” the demon said, wings flaring again. “Host is warm. But you are a fire. They cannot have you. You are ours.”

Sebastien settled on the floor—or what was there to be sat upon—and carefully brushed a hand over Sariel’s paper-thin wing. “You feel things very strongly. It acts as a beacon, to things that live here in the dark.”

“But you are ours.” Sariel hissed again, at something no one could see.

“What are you,” Devon asked, softly, as Sariel settled.

“I am this,” the demon told him, blinking red eyes down at him. “Look and see, Dev-on.” He lowered his head, stared into Devon’s eyes with his own hell-bright ones, and Devon only managed for a moment before he looked away.

The demon turned his head to blink at Sebastien. His talons were curled around Devon’s shoulders, like he was pinning him there.

“You see, host,” the demon said. “You know.”

“I do,” Sebastien murmured, and ran fingers down the curve of Sariel’s spine. “He will learn. In time.”

Devon’s face was tear-streaked, and Sariel leaned in close and licked them.

“Do you still want me to be angry,” Devon asked, and despite the tremble of fear in his voice he was stroking the demon’s wings, gentle, like petting a cat.

“I will take it from you, if you need it.” Sariel’s wings flared. “But I would rather taste what makes you burn.”

Something skittered in the darkness. Devon dragged in another breath, and then another, continuing to stroke the demon with a careful hand. Sariel preened under the attention, wings flaring, occasionally hissing at whatever was coming too close. Devon’s humanity must be a beacon to them, all his emotions burning like a fire.

“Beloved,” Sariel said, and sighed softly. He was beginning to fade, and seemed content to do so now that he had shown himself to Devon. “You will come back here to see me.”

“Yes,” Devon said. “If you wish.”

Sariel climbed off Devon and hovered before Sebastien. “Host. I will return.”

“Yes,” Sebastien said, and got to his feet. The creature’s wings flared as he moved in close, and then Sebastien opened his mouth and felt the pulse of whatever strange magic bound them as Sariel returned to slumber within.

A few moments later, the doors swung open into the hallway beyond. “Come,” Sebastien said, holding a hand out to Devon, who was still lying prone on the floor. “It is time to go, now.”

Tell him he should not enter without us, Sariel murmured, an echo in his head.

“Sariel says you should only ever enter this room with us,” Sebastien relayed, as Devon rose to his feet. He drew him close and said, “I would embrace you, if you would allow it.”

“I—yes,” said Devon, and sighed into Sebastien’s mouth as he kissed him, careful, deliberate.

When they left the room, the doors slammed shut behind them.

Devon paused, then reached out to run his fingers over the door. “How is this here, in your house?”

“Sariel told me that long ago, mages summoned him and trapped him. The Abbey was built around wherever he was contained, and there he remained until I called for him in my fear, my pain, as I crawled bloody toward the doors.” Sebastien took Devon’s wrist in his fingers, tugging his hand from the door.

Devon followed him away from the closed doors, pensive. “You liked it when Sariel ate the things in the room.” He shuddered a little. “What did it feel like?”

“As it did when you knelt for me,” Sebastien murmured. “When you took me in your mouth.”

Devon said, “Sariel called me Beloved.” He wouldn’t quite meet Sebastien’s gaze.

Sebastien drew Devon close and kissed him. “Yes,” he said. “Because you are.”

Sariel purred at him, content, as Devon kissed him back.

* * *

Devon satat the grand piano on the first floor of the Abbey, staring at his hands.

All around him, the day laborers from the village were sweeping floors and washing windows, polishing marble and dusting expensive figurines. It was tradition in the outlying country to clean house before the solstice, and it seemed even the Duke d'Hiver’s staff kept the practice. Footsteps banged on the floor and voices called out from the courtyard, where Clara was more of a general at the front than a self-declared housekeeper. Every now and then, a girl in a white pinafore or a boy in suspenders would go rocketing past the piano with new orders. Every window was open, and the sun was bright through the clouds over the hill.

The world had changed that morning, after Marius left.

No one had ever called Devon beloved, before. Not his mother, certainly. She’d moved to the far end of the country after doing her duty by Lord Chastain when Devon was born. Marius had called him sport and chum when they were young, but what love they could have known was disrupted too soon. Devon had never had a proper lover, either. He’d mooned after Prince Adrien for a year or so, but the prince never responded to his invitations to the estate, and he was always clinging to Sabre, anyways. Devon was on his own.

Somewhere in the midst of all that, Devon had been so convinced that he was too difficult to love that he made certain everyone knew it. And Sariel, imprisoned with nothing but violence and fear for company, had done the same. Even Sebastien. They were all moving to the steps of the only dance they’d ever been taught, and now that the tune was changing, Devon was at a loss.

“Are you stuck?”

Devon jumped. The keys rang discordant in the wide hall, and Clara, leaning on the door frame with a basket on her hip, smiled.

“What?”

“The song you’re writing,” Clara said. “You keep playing the same notes.”

“Oh.” Devon blinked down at his hands. “No, I think that’s how it starts.” He played again, a low chord jarring with a repetitive, single note. “It builds. If there were violins, they’d be here—” He struck another chord, low and heavy, resonating somehow with the twisted, knotted thing Sariel had dragged out of his chest, that first night. “A drumbeat, maybe, like a heart, rising.”

Clara set her basket down and leaned on the piano, watching him. He built the tune to a terrible, reverberating crescendo, and he could hear Clara’s breath catch as he stopped.

“What’s next?” she asked.

Devon’s fingers skated over the keys. “I don’t know,” he said. He played a note—softer, higher. Another. That felt right. The knot began to loosen.

“Oh,” Clara said. Devon pushed back from the piano as she pressed her fingertips to her eyes. “No, I’m fine. It’s just, it’s a beautiful song.”

“It isn’t even done yet,” Devon said, with no small amount of alarm in his voice.

“I know,” Clara said. She reached out and touched him lightly on the shoulder. “But I’d like to hear it, when you are finished.”

She squeezed Devon’s shoulder and picked up her basket, swinging it at her side as she made her stately way along the hall.

“Wait.” Devon raised his voice, echoing over the newly-polished floors. “I’ll write you a better one. One you can dance to.” He could feel the heat rising in his face. He’d have never offered a servant more than a passing glance, at home.

Clara turned to flash him a sunny smile. “I’d like that,” she said. “Kind of you.”

Devon wanted to say that he wasn’t anything like kind, but Clara was already out the main doors, her long shadow disappearing over the steps.

It wasn’t any use trying to concentrate, after that. Devon bound his notes and stashed them upstairs, then stumbled past servants polishing the banisters on his way out the door.

The clouds had parted just for the afternoon, and a bright, warm sun bathed Devon in its glow. He closed his eyes to it, just for a second, and made his way to the fencing room.

Sebastien was there, as though Devon had summoned him, the top buttons of his shirt undone and his hair tied back. He looked up when Devon came through the door, and the fleeting smile he gave him was enough to make Devon’s heart catch in his throat.

Just a day before, Devon had thought himself a dominant. He could still feel the urge to kneel, like a phantom ache in his legs, and he hurriedly pushed it down so he could take off his vest and roll up his sleeves without making an utter fool of himself.

“May I join you?” he asked.

“I will always welcome your blade,” Sebastien said, which was ridiculous, because he probably was just thinking about swords and not about—about pushing Devon up against the glass and taking him in his mouth, which is what Devon wanted.

Devon took a sword off the rack.

“I’m not a good person, you know,” he said, turning to face Sebastien.

Sebastien raised his brows. “That has no bearing on whether you can fight. En garde.”

“That isn’t—” Devon cursed as Sebastien lunged forward, his blade a spark of sunlight against the mirrored wall. He barely fended it off with a resounding clash of steel. “I mean. I shot a man in the back because I…I didn’t like how much he liked it. Being hurt.”

“Some prefer pain,” Sebastien said, driving Devon up against one of the pillars lining the far wall. Devon braced his foot and beat on Sebastien’s blade, drawing a small smile.

“I don’t.” Devon pushed away from the pillar, and Sebastien graciously drew back to let him sidestep to open ground. “I hate it. Hated it. Hated him. His mother tried to have the king killed, you know, but Sabre couldn’t be in on the plot, because Sabre was virtuous. Good.” He could feel the sneer threatening to rise, the familiar sting of hatred like smoke coiling in his throat. “I never had the luxury of virtue.”

“You weren’t safe,” Sebastien said, his blade stilling just over Devon’s heart. Damn. Devon stepped back and readied his sword again. “You don’t know what kind of person you can be until you’re safe, I think. Devon. Your sword.”

Devon’s sword was lowering, heavy in his hand. He raised it, sliding it along Sebastien’s in an attempt to disarm him. Sebastien neatly twisted out of the way. “And I’m safe here.”

“Of course,” Sebastien said. “We told you.”

Devon fumbled, and Sebastien had to swing wide to avoid piercing him through the heart. His blade caught Devon’s shirtsleeve instead, and Sebastien clicked his tongue as Devon shredded half the sleeve just to untangle himself.

“Sorry,” Devon said.

“Watch where you step,” Sebastien said. Devon stripped off his shirt, and he didn’t miss the way Sebastien looked at him, then, the hunger in his gaze. “One more round, I think.”

Devon nodded shortly, and readied his sword. Sebastien had the upper hand, still—Devon couldn’t seem to get his footing right, even with a moment to catch his breath—and he drove Devon right up against the mirrors before he pressed the tip of his sword to the hollow of Devon’s throat.

Devon stared at him. Sebastien was bright-eyed, panting slightly with exertion, no longer still as a hunter at rest but alive as an ordinary human noble. He really was quite younger than Devon had thought, before, and with his hair falling out of its tie and a slight smile on his angular face, he looked nearly beautiful.

Sebastien lowered his sword, and Devon dropped to his knees.

“Ah,” Sebastien said.

“You don’t care that I’m terrible,” Devon said, desperately. Sebastien sheathed his sword, and ran a gloved hand over Devon’s hair.

“Perhaps you did something terrible, once,” Sebastien said. “I can’t say if it makes you terrible.”

“I tried to kill someone,” Devon said. It was like he couldn’t stop himself. Like he had to prove to Sebastien that he wasn’t worth it, after all, just to see what he’d say.

“And I didn’t have to try,” Sebastien said. “You’re kneeling for me again.”

“Is that…should I not be?”

Sebastien started tugging off his gloves. “No. I like it, when you kneel. We like it, Sariel and I. You burn so brightly, and to have you kneel for us…” He tipped Devon’s chin up with his bare hand. Devon could see how hard he was, the bulge of his cock through his trousers. He glanced up at Sebastien, and away.

“Could you…” Devon was too aware of how close Sebastien’s hand was to his pulse. It was still hard to say it, even on his knees. “Could you fuck my mouth again.”

“Yes,” Sebastien said, and there was that faint smile again, as he stroked Devon’s hair. “Would you like to cry for us, as you did before? You were lovely on your knees.” He held Devon’s chin up, regarding him carefully. “And on your back, coming apart for us. We would like to see that again.”

Devon’s hands were already locked behind his back. “Fuck. I mean. I…” He swallowed heavily. “Yes.”

“Good,” Sebastien said, and Devon shivered.

Sebastien took his mouth there against the mirrored wall, which buckled slightly when Devon kicked it, adjusting to the weight of Sebastien’s cock on his tongue. He tried to show some finesse, this time, tried to do anything but moan and shake and choke when Sebastien’s cock bumped the back of his throat, but it was no use. Devon groaned around Sebastien as he used Devon’s mouth, a hand over Devon’s head to brace himself, long hair falling wheat pale between them. Tears stung Devon’s eyes when he choked, and he clenched his hands behind his back and tried to relax his throat, to take more of Sebastien in. It was dizzying. Perfect.

“You feel—” Sebastien held Devon close, and Devon struggled to breathe as Sebastien’s hips stuttered, grinding into him. “So warm, beneath me.”

Sebastien came down Devon’s throat, and pulled back just in time for Devon to suck in a great gasping breath. His own cock was impossibly hard, straining uncomfortably as he gasped on his knees, and Sebastien gazed down at him for a moment before he pulled Devon up by the neck.

“I need to...” Devon could barely catch his breath before Sebastien kissed him, hard, against the mirror. He pushed his thigh between Devon’s legs, and Devon gasped at the feel of him pressing against Devon’s cock.

“You may take your pleasure, my flame,” Sebastien said, and kissed him on the side of his neck, where a collar would be. “Let us hear you.”

Devon carefully raised his hands to Sebastien’s shoulders. Sebastien trailed his lips up Devon’s neck, and Devon tipped his head back as he started to grind against Sebastien’s thigh.

Sebastien took Devon’s hands in his and lifted them over his head, against the cool surface of the mirror.

“Fuck,” Devon whispered. Without leverage, his movements were desperate, wild, uncoordinated. He had no control but what Sebastien gave him, and when Sebastien leaned in to kiss him, Devon gasped against his mouth.

He came with a broken cry, and Sebastien held him through it, one hand over his wrists, the other on his bare waist. When he let go, Devon stared up at him, breathless and dazed.

I think I’m writing you a song,he didn’t say, but the words hung there, expectant, rising to his tongue.

Sebastien kissed him again, slow and sweet. “What is it, beloved?”

Beloved. He wanted to ask him to say it again, just to be sure he heard it. He wanted so many things, now. There was so much he didn’t realize he could have, before.

“Nothing,” Devon said. He raised Sebastien’s hand to his mouth, and pulled down his cuff to kiss his inner wrist. “It’s nothing.”