The fireplace had burned down to a low, amber glow by the time Damian finally moved.
Gabriel was limp in his arms, still breathing softly, cheek pressed against his shoulder, marked from every angle—claimed, bonded, loved.
Damian brushed the damp hair from Gabriel's temple, his own heart still beating too hard. He didn't want to let go, but Gabriel was flushed to the point of fever, skin hot and sticky, legs trembling with the aftermath of being knotted more times than either of them had counted.
"Let me carry you," Damian whispered, kissing the edge of his jaw. "Let me take care of you."
Gabriel made a sound—something between a sigh and a hum—and didn't argue.
That was all the permission Damian needed.
