The first thing Gabriel registered was warmth.
A steady, all-encompassing heat pressed against his skin—not stifling, not fevered like it had been hours ago. Just…warm. Heavy. Familiar. There was a faint ache in his lower back, a dull soreness radiating from every muscle in his legs, and a pleasant sting that reminded him he'd been thoroughly ruined.
Twice. No—more. He didn't remember.
He shifted, groaning softly, the sound raw from a throat that had screamed too many times. His cheek dragged against linen sheets—luxury cotton, freshly changed, faintly scented with whatever ether-neutral detergent Edward insisted on. That meant someone had come in.
God help them.
Gabriel blinked slowly, lashes fluttering against his skin. He didn't know where he was for a second—bed, yes. But when? Morning? Evening? Gods, what day was it?
"Damian?" he croaked, throat dry.
There was no answer.
