7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

A plate shattered. Luca wailed. Their shrill, maddening howl echoed through the halls on the second floor. Briar, dressed in a blushing coral kaftan, lifted his brows and sighed. He fidgeted, perched on the edge of the bed, missing—to Luca’s absolute dismay—his shoes.

“I had those overnighted,” Luca snarled. Someone in the hall scurried by. “I don’t care about weather issues , I don’t care about snow, I don’t care about plows malfunctioning or shipment delays—I care about the black velvet Marpyramide moccasins that were supposed to arrive this morning.” Another ghoulish shriek shook the estate. “No, Jennifer, do not laugh! They’re Louboutin!”

Nearer, a small, familiar voice slid into Briar’s bedroom. “Don’t be alarmed, dear,” Mallory said. She smiled, holding a stack of clean sheets. “They’re in one of their moods is all. Happens from time to time.”

“Is everything all right?” Briar asked.

“Oh, yes. They’ll simmer down soon.”

Mallory continued on her way. Briar leaned to the left, glancing at the perfectly suitable shoes lining his closet floor.

Aster (Bat Emoji): What in fresh hell are they screaming about?

Briar: Apparently my shoes weren’t delivered

A door slammed. Heavy footsteps hit the carpet in the hall, growing louder, closer. Aster rapped his knuckles on the open door. He leaned against the inside frame, adjusting faceted crystal cufflinks on a handsome black suit jacket, and gave Briar a patient once over, smiling fondly.

“Hi,” he said, too softly. “Your shoes are downstairs in the sitting room. I had no idea they were, in fact, your shoes until twenty seconds ago. We got a package, I signed for it, and then went back to my breakfast.”

“You should probably tell them that,” Briar said. He rolled his lips together, smothering laughter.

Staring was entirely unavoidable. Aster wore black on black—crisp, collared shirt tucked into tailored dress pants, jacket lined with abalone buttons, and shiny laceless boots on a modest heel. His hair was freshly sheared, earlobes pinned with dainty opalescent studs, and his hands were stacked in silver rings: bands and middies and chunky sigil signets. Charcoal darkened his eyes, just so. Briar suddenly felt very mediocre in his fancy dress.

Aster glanced over his shoulder. He opened his mouth, pausing on an inhale as another loud crash came from downstairs, and then pulled out his phone. He sent one text. Waited. Sent another.

“ What? ” Luca screeched.

Laughter—Jennifer’s laughter, specifically—filled the air. Footsteps banged the stairs. Luca stormed into Briar’s bedroom, smacking Aster on the back of the head upon arrival. A pair of normal-looking velvet shoes dangled from two fingers.

“I’ve been on the brink of an aneurism,” they snapped, shaking the shoes at Aster. One stray loc dangled over their ear. Their lips folded into a deep frown, eyes narrowed. “This whole time, this whole time, you’ve known where these were and just decided not to tell me? You’re impossible, Aster. A royal pain in my ass. Come here, Briar. Give me your foot—no, the other one. There. If they don’t fit, I’ll scream, I swear it.”

Aster rolled his lips together. His shoulder shook with poorly concealed laughter.

“They fit,” Briar said. If they hadn’t, he probably would’ve lied.

“We’re not finished,” Luca said, shooing Aster with a flick of their wrist. “Go get the car before I throw something at you.”

Aster offered a tiny, fractured laugh. He met Briar’s eyes before he slipped away.

Luca motioned for Briar to stand. He curled his toes in the new shoes and twisted his fingers together. Delicately embroidered flowers decorated the garment, and sheer sleeves belled open, slipping over the top of his hands. Luca cinched a wide, gold collar around his throat, concealing a mouth-shaped bruise. They dusted shimmer on his cheeks and nose. Dabbed balm on his lips, too.

They tsk’d, studying Briar’s hands. “I had a magnificent color picked out, but we’ve lost our window of opportunity. Naked nails will have to do. Are we all squared away? Clippings bandaged? Stockings haven’t fallen, right?”

Briar nodded.

“Good. Off you go, then. Take care of those damn shoes,” they said, and heaved a sigh, cradling their chin in their palm. “This outfit is one of my highest achievements to date. Go on, go on, before I insist on a photoshoot.”

Briar smiled his thanks, grabbed the coat Luca had chosen for him, and made for the staircase. Aster waited at the door, wrapped in his standard peacoat. His eyes swept from Briar’s shoes to his face, lingering on hips and chest and throat. Being openly admired, although appreciated, stirred his stomach into knots. He could not function properly with Aster’s gaze upon him, and found his thoughts cycling through memories of the black-walled shower, their heated encounter in the library, how they’d come together in the atrium pool.

No wonder people lose their minds , he thought. Pleasure is addictive .

Of course, Aster drove a ridiculous car. A pearl white Escalade, to be exact. The seats were plush beige leather and a touchscreen spanned the dashboard. Briar assumed he’d have a chauffeur, but Aster shrugged off his coat and hopped into the driver’s seat, sliding the gearshift into drive .

They talked politely. Aster mentioned the weather and Briar nodded. Briar commented on the approaching solstice, and Aster hummed. An unspoken language filled the car. Briar stole glances at Aster’s lap, pants tight around his thighs. He noticed the way Aster’s palms rested on the steering wheel, fingers drumming, thumbs swiping back and forth. Music played. Classical, which Briar found fitting, somehow. He caught Aster’s eyes in the blurry reflection on the window, settled on his crossed legs, peering at the place where the fabric creased around his knees. Another neatly curated conversation came and went— we’ll be there soon and I hope you enjoy museums and thank you for joining me and it’s a full moon tonight —but Briar knew the intention behind Aster’s flighty gaze. He recognized his own hunger, stinging like a papercut. Movement was catalogued, as if every time either of them tipped their head or shifted their legs or repositioned their hands, a match was struck. Almost lighting. Flickering out. Sparking and dying. Leaving a curl of smoke in the air.

Finally, Briar managed to bypass his bashfulness. “You’re particularly beautiful tonight,” he said, and cleared his throat, watching city lights blink past the window. He wanted to say you make it hard to breathe . He wanted to say I have become something new because of you .

One side of Aster’s mouth lifted. “You remind me of Eden,” he said, and flicked on the left-hand blinker. Briar turned toward him, tipping his head curiously. “When the universe was bare, and the sun had just flared to life.”

Briar’s chest tightened. His lips hovered apart. “I remind you of Genesis?”

Aster slowed to a stop at the valet booth in front of the sharply arranged Denver Museum. “Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly, and glanced at Briar as he unclicked his seatbelt, “you do.”

For a moment, Briar’s legs refused to work. He sat there, digesting an ethereal compliment, and thought, briefly, of fate. Had Briar’s future always involved this timeline? This meeting? This Demon King? Or had they met by chance, miraculously? His door swung open.

“Here,” Aster said. He draped Briar’s coat over his shoulders, tugging it into place. “Are you warm enough? The entrance isn’t far.”

“I’m fine,” Briar assured. When the universe was bare . He blushed terribly.

Inside, white paint spanned the oblong walls. The museum was assembled like a crooked body, all elbows, and high, narrow ceilings. Faraway stars gleamed through triangular windows. Servers drifted through each exhibit, carrying trays stacked with champagne flutes and gaudy appetizers. Other guests roamed, dressed in elaborate evening wear—skyscraper heels, dignified suits, appropriately bejeweled necks and wrists. Aster and Briar dropped their coats at the check-stand, and followed a slanted staircase toward an exhibit labeled, simply: Armor

“There’s an air of exclusivity here,” Briar noted.

Aster’s palm rested on his tailbone. “Events like these usually are exclusive. Charity is only fashionable when the rich are involved.”

“Who invited you?”

“The owner of a small-time start-up. Tech, I think. One of Lucifer’s business partners. Zuck. . . Zucker-something?”

“He owns Facebook,” Briar deadpanned.

“Sure, him.”

Briar was, for lack of a better word, flabbergasted. He lifted a flute from a passing tray and tilted the glass against his lips. Dry, bubbly citrus coated his tongue. They walked through the first exhibit, scanning medieval suits and weaponry, and wandered into the next room. Aster curled his hand around Briar’s hip, knuckles brushing his backside as they walked. Briar kept close to him. His dress swept across the polished floor. He glimpsed their coupled reflection in the glass encasing a pair of Imari vases. At first, he didn’t recognize himself. Swathed in rose-tones, standing next to Aster, sipping top-shelf champagne.

“What did you mean yesterday when you said ‘this is what I wanted?’” Briar asked.

They took leisurely steps, circling a section of ancient pottery.

Aster’s jaw flexed. “I regret what happened in the library,” he blurted, then sighed through his nose. “Okay, regret isn’t the right word, but I wanted it to be different. I was. . . We were fast. And rough,” he added, shooting Briar an apologetic glance.

“I don’t remember complaining,” Briar said. “Or stopping. Perhaps I’d like to be treated with less. . .” He pursed his lips, pausing to appreciate an unsheathed longsword. “Caution. I won’t break, you know.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Will you tell me what you want, then?”

“That’s a complicated question. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy myself, Briar.”

Briar hummed, stepping in front of Aster to give someone else access to a sculpture. Aster’s hand trailed his upper arm, and his hips pressed against Briar’s ass. Briar tipped his chin, watching Aster’s fingers play on his shoulder. “Then what are you saying?”

“That I’d like to treat you tenderly. We’ve talked about this. If I wanted an outlet, I’d hire an escort service.”

“You’d like to fuck me tenderly,” Briar corrected. The woman beside them startled. He moved on, stepping through a doorway into the next exhibit: Esoteric Artwork . “You already treat me tenderly. But when it comes to your bed, I’d like to make something clear.”

Aster arched a brow. His lips fought against a smile. “You have my attention.”

“As you promised during our first meeting, I have been successfully convinced, and now, God have mercy on my soul, I’m fond of you. For reasons beyond me, I trust you, I feel safe with you, and I. . .” He hesitated, pinning his eyes to a painting of the Blessed Mother. “I can’t ignore how you make me feel. That being said, I enjoy how gentle you are. I also enjoy your ferocity.” He traded his flute from one hand to the other. They stepped in front of another painting—Christ being struck with a spear. “I yearn for your tenderness,” Briar admitted, and sipped his champagne. “I also daydream of being fucked like one of your dancefloor conquests.” A nearby couple shot him a troubled look. Flustered whispers erupted. Did he just say that. . . ? How crass. “Both appeal to me.”

Aster laughed in his throat. He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, biting hard. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.” His body flushed, going hot beneath his kaftan. Aster’s words burrowed between his ribs. I’d like to treat you tenderly . They were sticky. Permanent. Nothing would scrub them away. Briar would feel them on every breath. “I’m still trying to understand you, Great Duke,” he said, casting a careful glance over his shoulder.

Aster’s lips grazed Briar’s cheek, grip suddenly iron-tight on his waist. “The feeling is mutual.”

Champagne dulled Briar’s inhibitions. Not much, but enough to make him chomp on the inside of his cheek, antsy and shivery. They’d explored the open exhibits, snacked on caviar, skewered shrimp and honeyed cheeses, and not once had Briar held an empty glass. When he finished one, he plucked another from a tray. The only time he hadn’t been nursing a fizzy drink, Aster had steered him into an exhibit sparsely decorated with pieces by Carlo Crivelli, backed him into a corner, and kissed him until his knees shook. After that, they’d snaked through the last exhibit. Briar had pressed his thighs tightly together as Aster brushed against him, staring at floor-to-ceiling renaissance paintings, trying desperately to ignore the heat throbbing between his legs.

Briar leaned his head against the seat and listened to tires crunch fresh snow. The quiet pulled taut between them, held like a bowstring ready to snap. During the ride home, Aster had said nothing, Briar had said nothing, but they’d watched each other. Briar’s eyes flicked helplessly to Aster’s strong frame. Anticipating. Wondering. Aster reached across the center console and traced Briar’s knee, hand curled loosely around his thigh, inching higher, drawing patterns on his dress, and finally, slipping between his legs. They were close to the manor. Briar’s breath hitched. He looked ahead, through the windshield, watching the black gate come and go. In the distance, black spires reached above the fog.

Aster touched him briefly, palming the outline of his cock concealed by bunched fabric and lace underwear. Briar’s head spun. He grabbed Aster’s wrist, not to stop him, just to hold him, and steadied his breathing as they circled around the courtyard.

“Why me?” Briar asked, for the second time since he’d arrived at Astaroth’s estate.

Aster put the car in park. “You ignored a direct order from someone who had power over you, because you knew, despite what you’d been told, that it was the right thing to do. You’re clever and you’re courageous, and you weren’t afraid of me when you arrived. You set your own boundaries, regardless of potential consequences. You challenged me.” He met Briar’s eyes. Applied enough pressure beneath Briar’s hips to cause his mouth to slacken, his breath to shorten, his legs to ease open. “I won’t lie. I saw you at the auction and I wanted you. Everyone wanted you. But you’re not a thing to be had. You’re someone to know. Like I said before, you fascinate me. You surprise me. I think about you constantly.”

“You’re disarming,” Briar blurted. He folded his hand over Aster’s knuckles, halting his slow touches. “I saw you as an escape hatch, a way to experience things I’d never given myself access to. I hadn’t prepared for your honesty, nonetheless your sweetness, and I certainly didn’t expect to like you.”

Aster tangled their fingers, then lifted his thumb to Briar’s chin, tapping him there. “You’re an anomaly, Briar Wright.”

He didn’t know how to respond, so he opened the door and said, “I’d like to keep your bed warm, if that’s all right.” A snowy gust snapped at Briar’s cheeks. He glanced at Aster expectantly, and after a tense pause, Aster nodded.

The Escalade’s lock beeped and the headlights blinked as they walked inside, greeted by the sleepy manor. Timid candlelight flickered on the walls. At the top of the stairs, Briar’s shadow darted down the hall before him, marking his path. He waited, though. Stood in his spectacular dress and his ridiculous shoes and held his breath. Remembered every word they’d exchanged at the museum. Every look they’d shared in the car. The ache radiating under his clippings drummed distantly, muted by alcohol and adrenaline, but there. Always there. Aster touched his hand. Their fingers linked, fell away, linked again, coming and going as they crossed the hall. For the first time, after all they’d done together, Briar noticed an uptick of anxiety spike in his chest. The promise of tenderness tempted his heart.

Chastity’s aquarium cast a red glow on the floor. Shadows reigned everywhere else. Even the windows were dark, concealing the snow and foggy, moonlit night. Briar didn’t know what to do. What, exactly, was he expected to do. . . ? In the atrium, Aster had caged him against the stairs. They’d clashed in the library, two livewires colliding. And in the shower, Aster had held him, moved against him in quick, satisfying bursts. But here, now, Briar’s chest tightened and his hands quivered. Anticipation gnawed on him.

Aster brought his hands to Briar’s face, dragging his fingertips along the lines of his neck, the shell of ears. Briar pushed his jacket away. Carefully opened the buttons on his shirt, unveiling his corset.

“As you know, I’ve never. . .” Briar gathered a deep breath. Once Aster’s shirt was gone, he slid the thin, leather straps through each buckle on his corset. Aster unclipped his gold choker. “My only reference point is what we’ve done together, so forgive my clumsiness.”

“Sex isn’t graceful,” Aster said, biting back a soft laugh. “Does the idea of something specific make you nervous?”

Honesty slipped from him, unguarded and sudden. “Disappointing you,” he said.

“Don’t worry about that.” Aster took his chin, pinching him. Light touches became purposeful. His hands grew heavier, cupping Briar’s jaw, thumb pressing on his mouth. “Is there anything you don’t want?”

Briar’s heart jumped into his throat. His stomach fluttered, and he shook his head. “Is there anything you don’t want?

“No, but I need you to tell me if you’re uncomfortable. Are you okay with bottoming?”

“Pardon?”

Aster’s corset fell. His wings stretched, reaching far, spreading wide, and then fluttering as they folded. When Briar’s legs met the bed, he sank, and Aster did the same, kneeling before him at the edge of the bed. Still, he appeared kingly. Regal. Irreparably powerful. He slipped Briar’s shoes off one by one. How domestic , Briar thought. How simple.

“That involves me being inside you,” Aster said.

Briar’s cheeks warmed. “Yes, that’s. . .” His heart skipped, skin sizzling where Aster palmed his heel, lips light on his stockings. “I’m fine with that. Should I. . . Is there anything I should—”

“Don’t worry about that either,” Aster said. “I’m not a college freshman. I can handle your body, Briar.”

Coral fabric lifted above his thighs, pushed upward by Aster’s strong hands. His mouth followed. Teeth snagged the clasp on his garter. Briar’s head spun. He braced on his palms, enduring the hot press of Aster’s lips on his thigh. He bit, barely, and Briar gasped, opening his legs wider. Desire tugged sharply at the base of his spine. Like this, he had become radically undone. Unleashed by the choice to become, to change, to give and take. Red glowed on Aster’s wings. He focused on the aquarium, staring at scales and ferns and beady eyes, and bit back the moan growing in his throat.

Aster mouthed at his cock, straining against petal-pink lace, lips slick and slow. Briar’s underwear dampened. Lips covered his clothed cock, and he yelped, a helpless sound. Even drawn out, even slowed to a crawl, pleasure overwhelmed him. Briar’s back bowed. He clutched Aster’s nape and lifted his hips. Fabric scratched his thighs, his knees, looped around his shins. His panties dangled there, caught on his ankle as Aster pushed him against the bed, one hand spread wide on his belly, mouth hot and wet, sliding around his cock. Pain shot through his clippings. He winced, caught between Aster’s tongue and his soft, open throat, and the unpleasant sting growing beneath his bandages.

Briar pushed to his palms. Aster’s eyes were closed, his lashes fanned over his hollowed cheeks. When Aster pushed him down, he went, wincing at another ruthless jab to his wounded shoulder blades.

“Aster, wait. Wait, I. . .” He closed his eyes, chewing hard on his lip. Aster pulled away. “I don’t think I can be on my back,” he said. I’ve been ruined and now I’ve ruined this , he thought. It was an awkward thing to think right then, looking at Aster’s dark pupils and slick lips, but he couldn’t help it. Worry closed around his neck like a collar.

Aster’s brows knitted. He appeared struck, only for a moment, then he craned forward and kissed Briar on the mouth. “I wasn’t thinking,” he whispered. His hands were everywhere, somehow. Burning on Briar’s thighs, scaling his stomach, gripping his waist. “You okay?”

Briar nodded, taking shelter in another lingering kiss. He missed Aster’s mouth on his cock. Wanted, desperately, to be held down. To look upon his face. Knowing he couldn’t—not the way he’d imagined, at least—sobered him. Aster kissed him harder. Pried at his mouth. Stole his breath. They kissed until he was panting and flushed, catapulted back into the thick of wanting.

“On your belly, then,” Aster said, murmuring the words against Briar’s slack mouth.

Briar blushed terribly. But he nodded, sucking in a surprised breath as Aster flipped him over, dress still clinging to him, same as the maiden in The Nightmare , pooling on his lower back. He imagined how he looked, wrapped like a broken bird, flushed and freckled and hard against the comforter. Lips touched his tailbone. Aster’s palm followed his thigh to his ass. Breath gusted, warm and sudden between his legs, before Aster opened his mouth over Briar’s hole and licked into him. Briar twisted the comforter in his hands. Heat rushed to the surface of his skin and throbbed in his groin, stirred by warm strokes along his perineum, pushing against his rim, coaxing him open. Briar whined, shoving his face against the bed. His hips jerked. He pushed against Aster’s mouth. Winded, breathy sounds stuttered from him, feral little noises he couldn’t control. He squeezed his eyes shut. Felt his body jerk backward, reaching for more of him, of that , of Aster’s awfully talented tongue. Recognized cool air on his wet skin. Heard a bottle open. Shuddered at the pressure of a slippery push.

“Okay?” Aster asked. He made small, shallow movements, working Briar open with lubed fingers, one, then another. Briar nodded. He kept his expression hidden, shielding a wince with his arm as Aster pushed deeper, curling and scissoring.

If it weren’t for Briar’s position—knees wide, chest against the bed—he would’ve thought this was clinical. Medical. But the awkwardness faded, chased away by the heel of Aster’s palm against his ass, fingers rubbing hard inside him. His muscles spasmed. Pleasure steadily rose. Igniting. Spreading.

Briar moaned. His legs widened, hips rocking into Aster’s rhythmic, purposeful touch. He wanted to meet his eyes, to see him, to know if concentration tightened his face or if he watched, satisfied, as Briar’s body melted under his hands. Shyness kept him at bay— I want to see you , I want to see you. A zipper pulled, and his dress slid away, piling on the floor next to the rest of their discarded clothes.

Aster’s voice cut the quiet. “Breathe, all right?”

Briar swallowed. Nodded. Tried not to think of pain and braced for it anyway. The bed dipped under Aster’s weight. Strong hands latched around Briar’s hips. Nervousness crowded his throat, stifling each breath. Aster replaced his fingers with his cock, sighing through the first slow, careful thrusts. An unusual ache settled inside him, weighty and newborn.

“Put your hands here,” Aster said. The statement didn’t register at first. Briar blinked, inhaling and exhaling. Aster took one hand, then the other, and guided him to the low headboard. His knuckles whitened around the black frame, hard and firm beneath him. “How’re you feeling?” Lips met Briar’s nape, resting there.

“Okay, I—I think. . .” He arched his back and pushed against Aster’s hips. His stomach clenched, muscles tightening on a rushed breath.

Aster reached around his waist and took Briar’s cock, stroking him slowly. Mouthed at Briar’s throat. Snaked his free hand over ribcage, sternum, bandages, collarbones. His chest brushed Briar’s clippings and his teeth skimmed his pulse. Feathers shadowed them, flexing outward, shivering as their bodies met. Soon enough, pain gave way to pleasure, smothered by the heat throbbing beneath Briar’s bellybutton. He’d been close to bodies before—elbow deep in empty cadavers, tearing unwanted demons from the depths of someone’s throat, reaching for abandoned hearts behind bent bones—but he had always been alone. Close, in his own right, but alone with the long-gone, with the incapacitated, with the dying. Aster’s body was alive . Alive and strong and capable. His breath was there, hot against Briar’s nape, his voice raw and rasped, moans pressed into dewy flesh.

Briar tipped his head against Aster’s shoulder. Sex had always presented itself simply. Touching and being touched. Having and being had. Sharing and being shared. He’d never expected to feel held by it, to find comfort in the lack of control, the acceptance of passion, and he certainly hadn’t expected empowerment to rise within him at the sound of Aster’s heavy breath or the weight of his shaky grip.

Bone-deep pleasure unraveled. Briar closed his eyes and gave himself over to that specific heat, that particular relief, and kept hold of the headboard as his muscles clenched and his limbs tightened. Aster’s hips ground hard against his ass, drawing out his orgasm, forcing it to linger. He stroked Briar’s cock. Kissed his shoulder, and splayed his hand across Briar’s stomach, feeling him tense and breathe and tremble. Briar wanted to swallow that reverence—weightlessness, brightness, the moment clarity evaporated. His hands almost slipped from the headboard, but he held on, swimming through thick, syrupy head-fog. Aster hadn’t stopped. He tucked his face into Briar’s neck and wrung pleasure from him. Gentle lovemaking became a chase for release. Hard snaps of Aster’s hips, ragged breath on Briar’s nape, then a fractured moan, quiet as a sigh, before Aster stilled.

The pain returned quickly. Not pain, per say. Discomfort, though. As if Briar had to actively remember what he’d done, where he’d been, same as soreness that settled after a fight. His clippings protested as he sank to the bed and curled around a pillow. Aster faced him, pupils still blown, cheeks still apple-red. He touched the bridge of Briar’s nose with his pointer finger. Briar took his hand. Brought Aster’s palm to his lips.

“You lose nothing after this,” Aster said. He pushed his face against the pillow, shifting closer. “Virtue is a choice.”

Briar tipped his head. His nose brushed Aster’s cheek. “I don’t feel as though I’ve lost anything.”

“Good.”

“We were made individually in the beginning. Solitary creatures, you know. Do you think we’re meant to be alone?”

Aster sighed against his mouth, slotting their lips together. “No,” he said, and draped his arm over Briar’s waist. “I think we’re meant to find each other. All of us, in some way or another.”

“Loneliness is a shared curse, then.”

“Only if we allow it.”

Briar ran his palm over Aster’s shorn hair and touched the place where his four wings met. “I suppose that’s true.”

Wind howled outside the manor, pushing against frosted windows and smoky chimneys. Aster changed Briar’s bandages after they showered. They boiled water for tea, and kissed beside the sink, and after a long night, Briar followed Aster back to his room.

To keep his bed warm. To be kept warm.