Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Laurent was fucking horny. There was just no other way about it. It was the worst kind of horny. It was the directionless kind of wanting, that sat low in his stomach and made him even more irritable than normal.

Ancel very much knew it too because he kept making comments about Laurent’s frigidity and total lack of love life. Like Laurent wasn’t perfectly aware that he hadn’t had sex in nearly a year. Not that he was counting. But in his defence he felt like he had been living in a brothel since the beginning of the school year so it was hard not to be aware. Which was a consequence of living with Ancel. Ancel and his endless parade of men.

“You could always just pay for it,” Ancel said with no small amount of amusement, standing in front of the ostentatious gilded mirror it had taken three men nearly an hour to manoeuvre into their shared apartment “what’s the point of being the son of a Duke if you can’t splash some cash on the things that truly matter?” he said, fixing some earrings into place that might have been worth more than the apartment itself. A gift no doubt.

Laurent wasn’t quite sure his father would see things the same way but then, Laurent didn’t know a lot of people who saw the world the way Ancel did. Ancel was the spoilt youngest son of the Marquess of Lys and he’d been fucking his way through the social elite of Artes since he was old enough to figure out what to do with his cock. To him Laurent’s lack of love life was a crisis.

“Faces like mine don’t pay for sex,” Laurent said shifting his eyes back to the book in his lap.

He wasn’t taking in a single word, he knew this game with Ancel and it might get ugly. It often did. Nearly six months of living together -by absolutely no choice of Laurent’s- had done little to temper the fundamental differences between them. Laurent rather liked him for it.

“Well then what’s the point in a face like that if you don’t use it?” Ancel said and from the corner of his eye Laurent could see Ancel had his hands on his hips and was staring at him somewhat expectantly.

“I use it,”

He didn’t. Ancel knew it too.

“Just do us both a favour and come out with me, you need an orgasm and I need you to have at least one day where you’re almost relaxed,” Ancel said

Little did he know Laurent hadn’t been relaxed a single day since his tenth birthday party when a very pretty trapeze artist broke the heirloom chandelier in the ball room at Arles during her performance. She shattered not only several of her own limbs but also priceless family crystal, and all of Laurent’s illusions about how safe the world was. It had all been downhill from there.

“I’m too tired,” he shot back instantly and the thing is, he was tired. Auguste had drunk called him at 3am the night before and Laurent had been in classes all day. Plus, he’d had an appointment with his psychiatrist Paschal. He really was tried. But being twenty and entirely without even the vague resolve to make plans on a Friday night was a little bit depressing, he’d give Ancel that.

“You’re too frigid is what you mean,” Ancel said, drawing Laurent’s eyes as he swiped the wine bottle from the coffee table and refilled both of their glasses. When he replaced the bottle, he put it on top of a pile of books that had been sitting there since Ancel had begun his final year at the University of Marlas five months ago.

In all the time they’d lived together Laurent had only ever seen Ancel pick up one of his course books once. And that was to kill a spider. In fact, the only book he’d ever actually seen Ancel studying was an LGBTQ karma sutra like he needed any help with those things. But then, maybe he didn’t do it for help, he probably did it for inspiration. He was sure Ancel’s OnlyFans appreciated the effort. The Marquess certainly did even if he didn’t know it. After all, Ancel’s endeavours were saving his father a veritable fortune, now he was subsidising his own allowance.

Ancel and Laurent were fundamentally very different people. Point and case: Ancel’s bedroom was a makeshift porn set that saw more men than an Amsterdam whore-house, and Laurent- didn’t work like that. 

“I am not frigid,”

Which he absolutely was not, thank you very much. He just didn’t fuck anything with a pulse the way Ancel did. Laurent wasn’t a one-night stand kind of person. He didn’t do that well in relationships either when he really thought about it. But he did like sex. It was a conflict of interests he was well aware.

“Sure because the only person you have sex with isn’t yourself or your useless ex,” Ancel grinned around the rim of his wine glass “speaking of, who was your late night phone call to? Bastian by chance?”

At the sound of his ex’s name Laurent felt himself straighten and he glared down at his book. He hadn’t spoken to Bastian since the last time Laurent had been drunk enough to get back into bed with him. Which was the last time he’d had sex not-so-coincidentally.

“Auguste,” he said simply instead of the many things he could have said.

Mostly because Ancel was one of the very, very few people privy to the secret. It was his father, after all, who had helped cover it up last time things got bad. Rehab wasn’t easy to hide when you were the eldest son of the Duke of Belloy and had a habit of courting the media’s attention. 

“Third time this week,” Ancel commented dryly “so let me guess, he’s coked up again and called you because Collette dumped him again,”

Laurent bristled despite himself. It was true but that wasn’t the fucking point.

“Repeat it and I’ll kill you in your sleep,”

“It is like that again then?” Ancel asked, ignoring the threat with a roll of his eyes.

That being the time about five years ago when Auguste had first gone off the rails. And back then, just like now, Auguste was far too proud and far too stupid to admit he needed the fucking help. Not that Laurent should give a shit after what his darling brother had said to him just last night. I’m not as fucked up as you. Spoken in slurs between sobs about Collette- his long term on-off fashion model girlfriend, and rants about an argument Auguste had had in a bar with Damianos. Again.

Laurent loved his brother, but sometimes, just sometimes, he fucking hated him. He supposed that was how Auguste felt about him too. It was Laurent’s fault, after all, and really Auguste wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t as fucked up as Laurent.

But he was much worse at hiding it, so did that even the field? Laurent thought so.

“If he doesn’t fix it himself I’ll tell our father and laugh when he cuts him off from the accounts and suspends his cursory title,” Laurent said, still glaring at his book like it was Auguste himself. See how well Auguste liked not being able to call himself an Earl. He’d hate it just on principle. And because then Damianos would outrank him and would never let him forget it.

“He’ll come around, Auguste has a knack for getting out of trouble just in time,” Ancel said

Laurent’s only response was a noncommittal hum.

“I’m going to the new boat bar by the way, at the harbour,”

“Really, the boat bar is in the harbour?” Laurent asked finally turning his eyes on Ancel who was downing the last of his wine and pulling his shoes on. A crop top and thigh highs in the middle of February. Honestly. Ancel subscribed to the opinion that less was more and took it far too seriously.

“Shut up dickhead, I meant if I see Auguste shall I get him home?”

Laurent pulled a face behind Ancel’s back. He imagined Auguste was very high up on Ancel’s to-do list and just the thought of those two train wrecks colliding made his head hurt.

“No, hopefully there will be a better distraction there, like Collette,”

“Or Damen,” Ancel said turning back from where he was preening in the mirror again and wagging his eyebrows at Laurent “twitter was all over that argument they had last night at Scarlet Lounge, apparently-“

Laurent held his hand up “I don’t care,” he said and he didn’t.

Not to mention he already knew. He’d seen twitter himself and it was all over social media anyway. Plus he had it in slurs from Auguste last night. It was nothing new. Auguste and Damen had been fighting for years. Sometimes it got physical like at the Okton a few years ago when the whole thing had been stopped because of their fight mid-presentation. Or at the Duke of Ishtima’s wedding last year. Or that first fight seven years ago, out on the veranda at the estate in Arles, when everything had changed between them seemingly in the span of moments.

Laurent had never figured out what had happened. He’d hated Damen with Auguste just because. Well, he had been mostly confused but vehement on Auguste’s behalf, and then the next three years had been a bit of a horror show for Laurent and by the time he was surfacing for air Auguste’s fight with Damen was the least of his priorities. Because then Auguste had been in Rehab and then there had been Bastian and that giant mess.

It had never felt like a good time to ask exactly what had happened. So he hadn’t. Not that it mattered. Damianos was a prick and Auguste always took the bait. It’s not like Auguste would tell him anyway, he tended to change the subject or deflect with a rant about Damen’s latest antics in the media if Laurent ever brought him up.

“Right, well, wish me luck,” Ancel said giving Laurent a twirl like he could give two shits what he was wearing before breezing out of the apartment. If he slept in his own bed that night it would be a surprise.

The silence that engulfed him as soon as Ancel left was made worse by the restlessness beneath Laurent’s skin. Probably also made worse by the third glass of wine he started on as he eyed the rest of the bottle and the clock thoughtfully.

Maybe it was because he was tired and a bit wine brave. Maybe it was because Ancel had mentioned Bastian. Maybe it was because he was just needy enough not to be thinking too hard about it. Whatever it was, bad decisions were imminent.

The kind of bad decision that had him opening a new message on his phone. It was a flag; it was obviously a flag. If the conversation thread had been deleted, he shouldn’t be sending the message.

But Bastian was single again now and Laurent knew him already and he knew Laurent. It was familiar even if it was inevitably bad for him.

It was poor form, texting your ex, but Laurent had been making that mistake one way or the other for two years already. Laurent didn’t even like him. The prick had cheated on him after all. But he was easy and familiar and it was less daunting than someone new.

Laurent found new so daunting, in fact, that in the two years since his split with Bastian Laurent had only slept with one other person. An ill-fated boyfriend that hadn’t lasted long. Mostly because he’d been straight. Laurent really had terrible taste in men. But then he already knew that.

But. Needs must.

He had the place to himself, he was relatively sure there was no one sequestered away in bondage in Ancel’s bedroom tonight -which had happened more than once- and Bastian was single and back home for his sister’s imminent wedding.  And as she was an Earl’s daughter marrying a Marquess it meant Laurent was likely going to see a lot of Bastian in the coming weeks. If there was one thing the nobility knew how to do it was drag a wedding out with parties and gatherings across six solid weeks.

Laurent was inevitably going to see him soon and it would probably happen then anyway so why wait?

Fuck it.

You:
So in the name of pissing Auguste off you should come fuck me. I want it so bad xxx

Auguste hated Bastian and he’d just done an interview that took a few swings at him as Auguste was often wont to do occasionally, so Bastian would already be riled. But Auguste had it coming, Laurent was just annoyed enough at his brother after his shit all week to see it as a motivation not a deterrent. To Bastian, riling Auguste was likewise a motivation. And they always needed to play at an excuse. Or at least Laurent did.

He tossed his phone back down onto the sofa and set about tidying up the living room. In the kitchen he put away as much of Ancel’s mess as he could and the rest he dumped in the dishwasher for later.

The bedroom was messier than he remembered it being, so he put away the books scattered on the floor and then kicked a discarded blanket and his dressing gown under the bed for future Laurent to worry about. Present Laurent had more important things to be doing in the bathroom, taking care of business and the slightly less glamourous aspects of imminent anal sex when, after almost half an hour, he realised he hadn’t heard his phone go off with a reply. Which. Wow. Rude.

He went back to the living room, scowl already forming on his brow as he threw himself back on the sofa and scooped his phone up. When he unlocked it the message was still sitting right where it had been, with nice little ticks to show that it had been read.

Arsehole. Was Bastian ignoring him? Oh god was he ignoring him? Fuck. That hadn’t even crossed Laurent’s mind. Was he…

Wait.

That wasn’t Bastian’s name.

Fuck. With a shriek he would never admit to making Laurent half threw his phone, not caring as it landed with a thud on the coffee table and slid right off the other end because holy fucking shit.

It would be better if it was broken. It would be better because then he’d never have to look at his mistake ever again.

Holy fuck. Fucking fuck.

The reason Bastian hadn’t replied was because he hadn’t text Bastian. He’d been so sure. How could he make that mistake? Was he drunk? Because Laurent definitely didn’t feel drunk, especially not after the mini-heart attack he’d just given himself.

This was how he died. Ancel would come home to find Laurent dead of humiliation on the sofa. Why was this his life?

He was such a fucking idiot. He didn’t deserve a degree. He didn’t deserve the University of Marlas, he deserved to go back to fucking primary school to learn how to fucking read. Fuck. In his defence, in his slim, tiny slither of a defence, he had text the contact right above Bastian in his phone. A contact that didn’t have a thread either.

He’d been so close to not fucking his whole life up. Or fucking it up in a totally manageable normal way. Because Bastian getting a half-drunk booty call at eleven at night was wildly, wildly different to fucking Damianos getting one.

Fuck. Laurent threw himself backward, tipping his head against the sofa and covering his face in his hands. He could feel how red he was going. This was bad. His stomach had sunk somewhere through to the other side of the fucking world and his heart was pounding like he was being chased by a rabid dog.

Barbarian. Barbarian. Why the fuck did he save him as that?

Aside from the fact that it was Auguste’s favourite word for him. And oh fuck. Auguste.

If the shame didn’t get him then Auguste was going to. Laurent was mad enough at his brother to text Bastian but he wasn’t fucking insane. Auguste hated Bastian, sure, most people did. But it was nothing to the Damen thing. Bastian was an prick but Damen? The thing with Damen was personal. Inherently personal. Too personal really, not to mention one of the media’s favourite topics. Especially after their run-in last night.

Fuck.

Auguste and Damen had been friends before, both the heirs to two of the premier dukedoms in the country, destined for politics, media darlings before they were out of school and natural companions as they were born only months apart. They’d been practically inseparable. It was one thing Laurent remembered most from his childhood. Where there was Auguste then there would be Damen. It was an unshakeable fact. Until it wasn’t.

It changed overnight. Overnight Damen changed and before anyone could blink they were physically fighting and Damianos, huge hulking barbarian that he was, took a swing at Auguste that had nearly knocked him unconscious.

Damen, who had just received a booty text from Laurent. Damen, who he had not spoken to since the Ceremonial Games in July. Also incidentally the last time he’d seen Bastian. Laurent had barely interacted with Damen in seven years. Why did he even have his fucking number? Why did he keep it?

Oh! Damianos had put him in his car the last night of the games when Laurent was pretty fucking drunk and he’d put his number in his phone and made Laurent promise to let him know he got home okay. Which was ridiculous and moot because Damen’s driver wasn’t going to be stupid enough to so something terrible like murder him.

Laurent only remembered the incident in flashes because he had been tequila drunk -thank you very much Nicaise- but Damen had been huge and strong and infuriatingly nice about it all. He hadn’t told anyone he’d held Laurent’s hair whilst he threw up in the gutter like a fucking commoner. And considering his willingness to shit talk and bait Auguste to the press Laurent had been incredibly surprised not to find it front page news afterwards.

The only other interaction they had shared was back when Laurent was still a child. Or thirteen and maybe-sort-of-definitely realising he wasn’t straight when he saw Damen naked and dripping wet coming out of the lake at Arles like some crazy hot demi-god that had no fucking right.

But!

Damen hadn’t been mean to Laurent in all that time. Maybe he wouldn’t sell him out to the press. Or his brother. Or any of the hundreds of people in their shared social circle, all of whom would be at the wedding in six weeks.

Fuck his whole fucking life.

How did he fix it and stave off a panic attack at the same time? What could he say?

LOL sorry not meant for you would definitely make it seem like he was getting annoyed over the fact Damen hadn’t replied. Or maybe make him look like a teenage boy who might as well have said LOL that was my friend he’s sitting next to me or something equally as embarrassing.

It was made all the worse by the condemning ticks confirming Damen had read it. Laurent was hoping like hell Damen hadn’t saved his number or had deleted it so it was just a random faceless number appearing on his screen right now.

When he heard his phone vibrate against the wooden floor he flinched a mile. Reluctantly, like a man going to the gallows, he slid down off the sofa and crawled around to retrieve his phone. He’d either be able to laugh it off or he’d have to throw himself off a cliff and all of that depended on the tone of the reply he’d just gotten. And after a half hour interval Laurent wasn’t hoping for the former too ardently.

He unlocked his phone, squinting down at his screen to prolong the blissful ignorance and read Damen’s reply. Because it was Damen. He had to read it five times before the words actually made sense to him.

Barbarian:
Pissing Auguste off and sex are 2 of my fav things. But do u always make a habit of asking relative strangers for sex??? xxx

And oh. Well. He hadn’t expected that. He should have expected that. Damen was the only other man who could give Ancel a run for his money. In a social elite whore-Olympics the two of them would place podium for sure. Laurent wasn’t sure which one of them would win gold. Probably Damen, he had consistently won both Bachelor of the year from the media giants, and a tongue-in-cheek award for most front-page love affairs every year for the last 5 years, saving that one year with the Jokaste scandal instead. Not that Laurent paid much attention to those things of course.

Laurent wasn’t sure what to make of it. Part of him was suspicious. A much more dangerous part was curious. Did Damen know it was him? Or was he just reacting to Auguste’s name from a sender he didn’t recognise?

Was he out? It was a Friday; chances were high that he was. Was he wasted?

It didn't matter. He should just take it back and move on.

You:
No, I usually only ask complete strangers. Ignore me xxx

There. That sounded alright. Not too stressed, not too embarrassed, totally cool. Yeah. Except no, because this was stupid and Laurent was an idiot and he was doing the matching kisses thing like he was fucking fourteen.

He didn’t expect a reply so when one came as he was halfway through typing a new text to actual Bastian. He was surprised and intrigued enough to click out straight away before he’d even finished composing his text. He was almost embarrassed by it.

Barbarian:
Well I usually only fuck ppl who haven’t thrown up on my shoes. Suppose it’s a compromise for us both. That is if ur still in the mood to piss ur brother off? ;) xxx

And wait. What? Laurent fish mouthed for a long moment as he reread it. Damen did know who he was. And wait. What? He knew who he was and he still wanted to come over? Well of course he did, Laurent had sent him a needy sex request and Damen fucked for sport but seriously?

Did he have to bring up the tequila incident? And would he really fuck him just to have ammo against Auguste? Or did Damen actually want to?

Laurent hated that the answer might kind of matter. Not that he was going to agree to this insanity that he’d accidentally suggested, of course. He wasn’t that desperate. Or stupid. He definitely wasn’t thinking about it.

Except where he was. Damen was, unfortunately, arguably the single most attractive man Laurent had ever seen. There was a reason he hadn’t been able to form a sentence in front of him when he was thirteen. There was a reason his inner teenage self was chanting yesyesyes. There was a reason Laurent sometimes lingered over Damen’s photo on Instagram or twitter, but there was also a reason why his self-preservation instinct was telling him he couldn’t trust Damen. Paschal would probably agree.

You:
First of all, I threw up next to your shoes not on them, not that it would matter, your style is horrible. Secondly, please don’t compromise your no doubt oh-so exacting standards on my behalf and lastly, if you only want to bait Auguste I take it back and you can unkindly fuck off. Xxx

He kept his phone face up in his lap, watching the screen intently as he waited for a reply he knew would be forth coming. He hoped at least. It would probably take a while for Damen to formulate some actual sense and in the silence that followed he was aware of his pulse and the skittish squirm of his stomach that felt almost like nerves.

There was nothing to be nervous about. He would find a way to skin Damen alive if this ended up online and it’s not like he was ever actually going to let Damen come over for sex. It was outrageous. Ridiculous. Definitely not happening.

Laurent had slept with a grand total of three people in his life. He wasn’t about to start randomly hooking up now and especially not with Damen. It wasn’t his thing. He didn’t do stuff like that. He didn’t trust anyone enough to do that. The idea always made his skin feel too tight. It was too vulnerable. Too much.

It would be weird anyway. Inappropriate. And weird. Had he said weird? Yes, well, it would be. He was Auguste’s ex-friend turned enemy for god’s sake. He was Laurent’s first real wank fantasy. He was a notorious player, probably riddled with god knows what, and he was loose lipped with the media whenever he felt like it. Add in Laurent’s many, many, many trust and sex issues and well. A veritable crucible of disaster.

He would probably be selfish in bed anyway. But then, so was Bastian sometimes. Most of the time. Whatever. Damen would be the worst kind of selfish and then he’d use it against Laurent and Auguste both in the future and sex wasn’t worth that.

Not even with men who looked like they’d just stepped down off some stone plinth in a museum, or out of some painting about ancient gods and their pretty faces and perfect bodies and alright- maybe he was thinking about it.

No one would blame him. it wasn’t his fault. It’s not like he was actually going to but imagining wasn’t a crime and-

The phone lit up and Laurent swiped at it instantly, not even bothering to care about how quickly those little ticks would show up for Damen.

Barbarian:
It was on them!!! But u can make it up 2 me ;) I promise the only thing I’m really compromising is my ability to hear ur name without getting instantly hard. Auguste who???? Never heard of him xxx

Laurent found his lips twitching without his say so. The dangerous squirm of his stomach as he read and reread his message made Laurent feel hot all over. Damen liked what he saw then. It wasn’t anything new, people told Laurent that all the time, but he might not be as immune to it from Damen. 

You:
I’ll make it up to you by putting you in touch with a decent stylist. Am I supposed to be swooning? That you might want me? Tell me, do you think there’s even a small chance I haven’t heard that a thousand times? Xxx

The reply was almost instant this time and it was probably a good job because Laurent was spiralling.

Barbarian:
Ppl write songs about faces like urs and play them on repeat. The song doesn’t lose its meaning just because you’ve heard it before. And I’m not as interested in my clothes as I am in urs. Specifically, taking them off xxx

He had to swallow, read it again and again and what the fuck? There’s no way he didn’t steal that line from somewhere. It made Laurent flush despite himself; a smile curling his lips upwards.

You:
Oh, are you a poet now? And how do you know I’m not already naked? Xxx

Barbarian:
I could be for u, if its what u want. Ur not naked, I don’t think you’d deny me the pleasure of undressing u, would u?? xxx

You:
Yes, I’m desperate for some plagiarised drivel. And do you want to undress me? Or is it the tease that you like? xxx

He sent it nervously, body thrumming with misplaced energy. He bit his lip, holding his phone in his hand and not even trying to play it cool with himself as he waited for a reply. His stomach was full with anticipatory little flutters and his heart was beating excitedly in a rhythm he couldn’t really deny to himself. Damen didn’t make him wait long.

Barbarian:
Send me ur address sweetheart. I’ll show u xxx

He hesitated, mind spinning and stomach fluttering and could he even do this?

Well yes. Probably. What was it his therapist said about opening himself up to new experiences? He probably didn’t mean it as literally as this though.

Plus, it was Damianos and Laurent would be lying if he said he didn’t occasionally still think about him when he was getting himself off, or having sex, which was a horrible thing to admit to. But it wasn’t his fault, closing his eyes and imagining wasn’t a crime. It was shitty though, really, to think of someone else like that.

Damen wasn’t safe though. He’d be different. The whole thing was different. He didn’t trust him. But then, Damen’s lovers were usually splashed all over magazines or twitter threads and it was always from them. Damen never said anything about them in the press so maybe Laurent could trust that at least.

He typed out his refusal. Hovered over send and bit his lip. He would still be horny and if he text Bastian now he’d inevitably think about Damen when he fucked him. The not knowing would drive him mad. His teenage self might manifest at the end of his bed during an episode of sleep paralysis and smother him with one of his throw pillows for letting this experience pass him by.

Fuck it.

He sent his address and waited until Damen told him he’d be twenty minutes before ditching the phone and grabbing for the wine bottle. He absolutely could not be blamed for the long swig he took to gear himself up. What the fuck was he doing?

This was stupid. He was stupid. This whole thing was insane and it was definitely going to come back to bite him on the arse. Had he really just agreed to have sex with Damen? Yes. Yes he had.

The nerves were second only to the excitement and he resolutely shoved them both down. He wasn’t a virgin. He could do this and it was fine, it was just sex. Just sex. With Damen.

But he had been horny before and now he was fucking gagging for it. He contemplated getting changed or splashing on more cologne or texting Ancel to ask what the fuck he was supposed to do in a situation like this.

But he didn’t, because one upside of Damen coming over instead of Bastian was he didn’t have to change or make himself look pretty for Damen. The fucking weirdo was answering a booty text from a relative stranger so Laurent felt like it was perfectly okay not to give a shit what he looked like.

Just over twenty minutes, endless amounts of pacing, several typed and swiftly deleted texts to tell Damen he’d changed his mind, and one more swig from the wine bottle later, there was a knock on the door.

Laurent flinched despite himself, eyes swivelling to the door he had not been pacing in front of. It couldn’t be Damen. The building had security; they didn’t let just anyone in. But then, would he bet against Damen’s ability to charm even the balding middle aged night duty guards? Besides Damen was the infamous son of the Duke of Ellium and cousin to the King, his face was very well known. Fuck.

He counted to ten, sucking in a nervous breath even as he tipped his chin up and resolutely shoved it all down in favour of just throwing the door open.

Damen was even hotter than Laurent remembered him, all skin tight shirt and bulging muscle and curls that Laurent really wanted to tangle his fingers in. He didn’t even try to hide the fact he was checking him out, so he fully expected the half smirk on Damen’s pretty mouth when he finally lifted his eyes. Nothing could have prepared him for the heat of Damen’s gaze though. Laurent sucked in a breath, arousal flooding him from nothing but a fucking look and it must have shown on his face because he swore he watched Damen’s gaze darken.

Laurent was in so much fucking trouble. He had underestimated the severity of this situation. Or what it would feel like to actually have Damen’s spotlight attention on him. His teenage self was combusting.

“Laurent,” Damen said and fuck, had his voice always been like that?

Serious. Fucking. Trouble.

“I’m assuming it is a rarity for you to remember your lover’s names at all, isn’t it? Shall I congratulate you that you seem to have remembered mine?”

Damen’s smirk was instantaneous and Laurent had a second to suck in a breath before he was being herded backward into his apartment. Damen took only the exact amount of steps he needed to cross the threshold and kick the door closed behind him and somehow he was bigger on the inside of Laurent’s apartment than he had seemed even on the threshold.

“Lovers,” Damen said and Laurent flushed at the low intimate tone he used “is that what we are?”

“Not if you keep ruining it by opening your mouth,” Laurent said trying to cling to whatever visage of haughty he could when he felt like his breath had been punched out of him, and there was liquid fire pooling low in his belly; nothing had even happened yet.

Damen’s expression this time was predatory and Laurent loathed the easy arrogance of it even when the look alone made him want to start panting. It was ten shades of annoying and insanely hot and Laurent really wasn’t sure what that said about his psyche. He’d ask Paschal.

“Having my mouth open is in your best interest, I assure you,” he said “at least, with what I’m planning to do to you,”

Visions of Damen sinking to his knees flashed through his mind and the harsh pull of air he had to suck into his lungs was most definitely audible. Damen definitely heard it. Yeah, he was fucked. 100% fucked.

“Plan on panting like a dog?”

It didn’t escape his notice that Damen was prowling, coming forward in lazy increments and like a well-choreographed dance Laurent was shifting backward, an unconscious enticement. He was breathing unevenly well before his back hit the wall and it left him in a rush as Damen took the opportunity to crowd him.

Up close and caged in Damen felt singularly huge. Laurent had to tip his head up to look at him and his eyes got caught on the dimple that appeared when he smiled. Roguish said his very interested cock. Endearing, said his much less interested heart. His mind was too busy focusing on the way Damen was planting a hand at the side of his head to give it a name.

“I love the way you talk,” Damen said leaning in just a little, close, intimate, eyes alight with something like laughter; only softer.

Despite himself an aborted breath of amusement left him. It was not the usual reaction to his manner; which Laurent had been told was caustic at best and impossible at worst. Damen looked delighted. Laurent didn’t flush. He did not.

“If it’s talk you’re after you could have just called me,” he said arching an eyebrow “you didn’t need to come all this way just to have me insult you, I’d have obliged,”

“You would make a fortune on a sex line,”

“Being paid to call men pathetic?” Laurent smirked “I do it for free, I’m very rich already see,”

“Just for the enjoyment?” Damen said free hand shifting up toward Laurent’s face, a ghost of a touch at his jaw, the promise of it, but carefully withheld “can I touch your face?”

Laurent blinked, nodded “I enjoy-“ when Damen touched his jaw his tongue decided to take a moment for itself, distracted by the feather light caress of fingers that ghosted along to his chin and back before stroking up across his cheekbone. Which still wasn’t rosy. At all.

“Yes?”

Laurent snapped his mouth shut, frowning “I enjoy you when you’re not babbling incessantly,” he said as Damen tucked a strand of Laurent’s hair behind his ear.

“But you do enjoy me,”

Aggravating, arrogant, annoying, accurate arsehole.

“Less and less by the second,” Laurent said, swallowing as Damen swayed closer, enough that Laurent could feel the tantalising heat of him, the promise of the hard press of his body.

Damen, he was realising, liked the anticipation to build. In Laurent’s opinion, the anticipation was already built. The electricity had been connected, the scaffold was coming down, there was a fucking sold sign on the front door and Laurent was moving the fuck in. What was he waiting for? A bloody invitation to come inside?

He was half hard from nothing and his insides were squirming delightedly and there was a pooling throb in his groin that made him want to clench down. If he had thought he was gagging for it before, he found himself quite re-evaluating now that he was building up a steady pulse of want, made all the more interesting for the knot of nervous energy that sat right alongside it.

Damen hummed, eyes scanning Laurent’s face like he was memorising him, fingers toying sweetly with his earlobe and the strands of hair he’d just tucked behind it.

“Pity, I’m experiencing the exact opposite,”

Laurent opened his mouth to retort, unsure what was going to come out but Damen cut across the first breath of his impatient huff.

“Can I kiss you?”

It was oddly endearing and entirely disarming and not at all what he’d expected.

“Yes,”

It came out in a breath; surprise, tinged with relief, and soaked in incredulity.

Damen didn’t immediately dive down and crush their mouths together, he let Laurent see the pleased expression on his face, the flick of his tongue over his lower lip, the dip of his eyes as he dropped Laurent’s gaze in favour of Laurent’s ready parted mouth.

He fought back the desire to lick his own lips in anticipation, focused on Damen’s eyes and how dark they were, on the feel of him in the spaces between blinks, between breaths, as he leant closer in slow increments.

The first press of his lips was a spark of sensation. His hand fell away from Laurent’s face, leaving their mouths the only place they were physically touching. Yet Laurent felt him everywhere, like invisible strings tugging them together even as Damen held them carefully apart; a slither of space that simmered with heat and agonising promise.

It was soft, testing, teasing; a gentle slide and shift that was more breath than kiss as Laurent’s lips parted and Damen hovered for a long second before finally pressing in. He groaned, hands rising of their own accord, drawn up into Damen’s artful curls. Reaching for him must have been the green light he was waiting for because Damen’s hands settled instantly at his waist and he stepped closer, into him, against him.

Laurent bit back another noise at the feel of him, the weight and heat and the gentle teasing lick of his tongue as Damen begged an entry, willing given, to dip inside. It was slow, a kiss that Laurent felt in every inch of his body. Fuck, Damen was good at it. Laurent was breathing like he’d been running and all Damen did was press him against the wall and kiss him like this was all he’d come here for; this slow, deliberate kiss that shifted and burned like molten fire beneath solid earth.

It was surprisingly intimate; the way Damen kissed. It wasn’t the rough claiming of his mouth or bruising clench he had expected. He made kissing feel like fucking; like Laurent was laid bare by this alone, like this was art and he was curating a masterpiece in Laurent’s mouth.

Laurent was melting, tugging on Damen’s hair and huffing at every shift of him, every unhurried press of his body that moved in such slow undulations Laurent wasn’t aware of his own body rippling until Damen’s thigh pressed into his hardening cock.

Tearing his mouth away, head hitting the wall, Laurent bit back a noise. Damen shifted without pause, mouth finding Laurent’s neck and picking him apart with more slow caresses beneath his ear, mouthing down the tendon, tonguing at his pulse and raking his teeth against his skin until he had Laurent whimpering.

Another cue, it seems, in whatever script Damen was reading from, he came back for his mouth, his kiss harder, more insistent and his hands skimmed downward until he was gripping hard at Laurent’s thighs and hitching him up.

Laurent gasped against his mouth as he was lifted, unaccustomed to being manhandled or thrown around like this but it was done so effortlessly that he could do nothing except let his legs fall open around Damen’s hips. Let Damen closer.

It was all tongue then, breathless, insistent and hungry as Damen started to grind against him. Laurent was helpless, could do nothing but tighten his legs around Damen and squirm against him for the friction he desperately wanted. They were still fully clothed and hadn’t made it out of the hallway and at least one of those things needed to fucking change.

“Bed,” Laurent said against his mouth, hitching himself higher so he could grind against him better.

Damen hummed, pulling away from the wall, hands going straight to Laurent’s arse and squeezing him closer. His hands were wide, burning even through the layers as his fingers worked to spread Laurent apart through his clothes.

He didn’t break the kiss, even as he carried Laurent to the hallway like he weighed absolutely nothing. He probably wasn’t even straining a little bit. The thought did all kinds of crazy good things to Laurent.

“Which one?” Damen asked, slowing as he turned his head enough to be nipping at Laurent’s jaw.

“You could put me down,”

“No, I really can’t,”

Laurent huffed amusedly “keep going,” he said against his mouth, nipping lightly at Damen’s bottom lip.

Damen groaned, clenching his fingers against Laurent’s arse and started walking.

“This one, stop,” Laurent said when they reached his bedroom door and laughed as Damen froze, turning his head.

“Yeah?” he grinned, turning to push Laurent against the nearest door.

Laurent breathed a laugh, nodding as Damen reached for the handle blindly and the wood fell away from Laurent’s back. He didn’t rock backward even a little, Damen held his weight entirely. Still. He didn’t even seem a little bit effected.

As soon as they were in his bedroom, Damen kicked the door shut and moved confidently, without direction, to drop Laurent down on the bed. He went with a bounce, half splayed and in complete disarray as Damen stared down at him.

The room was lit only by the lamp on his bedside table and in the soft glow Damen looked ethereal. Dark and huge and magnetic. Laurent propped himself up on his elbows and he half expected Damen to say something but he didn’t. He just stared, slow and sure and precise, and Laurent felt his gaze as surely as he’d feel his hands.

When Damen took a deliberate step back Laurent could only watch with ever increasing amounts of interest as Damen kicked his shoes off and reached for the hem of his shirt. He removed it slowly, to a purpose and with good reason. Laurent’s throat went dry watching him remove it, every single muscle in his impressively carved abdomen rippling as he did so; unveiling himself to Laurent’s hungry gaze.

Damen knew how he looked. And he looked fucking spectacular. He was bronze all over, his arms were huge, his chest and stomach hairless and defined like he’d been made not born. He took off his jeans in the same fashion, every sensual shift a tease, designed to deliver. That Damen knew his own body and how to work it was a fucking given. When he was naked he let Laurent look his fill, entirely comfortable and entirely correct to be. Laurent had never seen a body like that.

Laurent, already breathless and painfully turned on, barely held back a groan at the sight of him. He drank him in, head to toe and every space in between, eyes lingering for a long breathless moment on his cock. Damen, aware of it, reached down and wrapped a hand around himself, tugging slowly. Laurent didn’t need to look up to know Damen’s eyes were on him, he could feel the heat of his gaze against his skin, lighting him up like the intense beam of stage lights. He couldn’t have looked up even if he had wanted to. His mouth had flooded with saliva and heat was rushing him to his core because holy fuck. Damen’s cock. It was thick and long and slightly curved near the tip and fuck. Fuck. He was going to feel him for days.

Damen chuckled because apparently Laurent’s thoughts were plain as day on his face.

“Think you can take me?”

Laurent scowled, made himself shrug as idly as he could “my anatomy isn’t a problem,” he said.

Because if people -Ancel- could take a dildo the size and shape of a horse’s cock then Laurent didn’t see why he couldn’t take Damen’s very human cock, even if it was thicker and longer than Laurent had taken. What an absurd arrogant thought.

Damen misunderstood it seemed “I’ll go slow, I won’t hurt you or-“

“I’m not a virgin,” Laurent said, cutting him off and as though to prove it he sat up and reached behind himself, tugging his hoody and t-shirt off in one move before settling back.

Damen smirked again, predatory as he stepped forward until his shins were pressed against the mattress  “good,” he said simply as he started to lean up, making the bed dip, poised as if to pounce “I’d hate for you to gain any unrealistic expectations about what this is supposed to be like,”

Infuriating bastard. Sexy as hell though. Infuriating sexy bastard.

“Oh, are you just that good?” Laurent asked even when he was swiping his tongue at his bottom lip.

“Yes,” he said simply.

If Laurent’s cock wasn’t all but throbbing in his joggers, and if he hadn’t clenched down on air at the sound of the word, then he might have been able to think of a rejoinder witty enough to not have to later retract when Damen no doubt turned out to be right. Instead he fixed him with a look that Damen could read as he wanted and stilled him with a foot planted against his chest.

Damen didn’t drop his gaze, even as Laurent let his head hit the pillow, air rushing from his lungs as he let his body go docile in unconscious invitation. Damen reacted, corner of his mouth lifting as he settled on his haunches between Laurent’ legs and made quick work of laying Laurent bare, joggers and underwear discarded to the floor in a matter of seconds.

Damen’s focus was razor sharp; his attention was microscopic. He didn’t even move for several long moments, just rested his hands on Laurent’s spread thighs and stared, bottom lip firmly in the purchase of his teeth. Ordinarily Laurent was not overly self-conscious, he knew the appeal in his body. It was all anyone ever said to him; his body and his face. But there was something in Damen’s gaze, something intense and wild and different that had Laurent’s heart beating harder and his body thrumming on the edge of embarrassment. Damen was gasoline and Laurent was a match, waiting for the strike and spark, undulating with the tension born from the intensity of Damen’s eyes.

He took a moment to appreciate Damen, all defined muscles and long limbs, dark hair and olive skin and a face lifted straight off of a magazine. That Damen was beautiful had never been a question, his beauty wasn’t the revelation lighting Laurent up inside, the revelation was in the reaction; in the alchemy of attraction and the pinpoint precision with which Damen had managed to reduce Laurent’s entire world to one bed and two eyes in a matter of minutes.

“Like what you see?” Laurent said, noting the bob in Damen’s throat as he swallowed.

Damen didn’t reply with words, just reached down to fist his cock and hissed a groan that spread a rosy flush across Laurent’s pale cheeks. He swallowed dryly, arousal thrumming low in his stomach, making him aware of just how hard he was and Damen hadn’t even touched him yet.

When Damen moved it was with a grace that belied his size. It was still predatory, even as he slinked forward, hands gliding up Laurent’ thighs following the breathy path he made with his mouth.

“You have no idea,” Damen said with a voice like gravel, as he licked a trail up the V of Laurent’s groin, all the way up to his naval, skirting his cock which was flat against his belly and aching and Damen’s intention was clear.

“I won’t do that for you,” he said on reflex, hands clenched into his duvet beneath him as he made himself meet Damen’s gaze.

Damen paused, turning his eyes up instantly, mouth hovering over Laurent’s cock, so close Laurent could feel his breath. They both ignored his cock twitching at the caress.

“Why? Saving it for marriage?”

He didn’t know how to say it, how to say I don’t trust you enough without ruining the vibe but he opened his mouth anyway. Damen halted him instantly with his hands up in the age-old sign of surrender.

“That was a joke, I’m kidding, I don’t want it if you don’t want it,” he said eyes gone wide “I wouldn’t-“

“Thanks,” Laurent cut him off, cheeks gone pink as his stomach squirmed in an altogether different kind of way. Warmer. Endeared. It was awful. Truly pathetic.

Damen canted his head like Laurent had said something strange.

“Of course,” he said “so, save your thanks for after I’ve sucked your cock,” he winked “unless you don’t want me to?”

“No,” Laurent choked out, heart pounding and stomach flaring with the annoying warmth as Damen waited for his go ahead. Again “knock yourself out,”

“My pleasure,”

Laurent’s head hit the pillow anew as Damen’s mouth closed around him, suckling gently and whatever the fuck he was doing with his tongue made Laurent want to fuck up into his throat instantly but he held himself down, made himself stay still.

In the next second he knew nothing but the searing heat of Damen’s throat as he swallowed him all the way down in one long bob and held himself there. Laurent could feel his throat working around him, a half choke erupting into the room accompanied only by the whine that ripped itself from Laurent as he tangled helpless hands in Damen’s hair, torn between pushing him down further and pulling him back in sheer surprise.

Instead he just let them rest there, holding on for dear fucking life as Damen bobbed and lathed and turned his gloriously dark eyes up to meet Laurent’s gaze. It was hot, watching Damen’s obscene mouth stretch wide around his cock, taking it almost without gagging and then purposefully choking himself by slamming down hard and fast. And all the whilst he worked his hand; a maddening counterpoint around his cock that had Laurent’s breath getting choppy.

He felt his orgasm creeping up on him, stomach getting tight as his hips snapped up without his direction and he tugged hard on Damen’s hair to draw him off. He didn’t want to come yet. Not like this. He wanted more. If he came now then his part would be done and Damen would flip him and fuck him fast and hard and he didn’t want that. Laurent wanted to savour it.

“I’m close,” he said tugging at Damen’s hair

Damen only hummed, sucking harder, faster, his hand circling the base of Laurent’s cock a rhythmic squeeze that made his stomach jump.

“Damen,” he gasped, barely staving it off “not yet,”

Damen let him go, but he kept his fingers around him, still stroking. Laurent’s cock was still angled toward the wet warmth of his sinful mouth, nudging his bottom lip distractingly.

“Trust me sweetheart, it’s better if you do, you might need it,”

Laurent moaned as Damen flicked his tongue at his glistening head, bit his lip to stave off another when Damen smirked around it.

“But I want more,” he said, voice a shaky whine and god he’ll be embarrassed about it later for a certainty.

Damen just nodded “oh I’m nowhere near done with you, don’t worry,” he smirked “so come for me, let me taste you, I’m still gonna make a mess of you,”

Laurent’s breath hitched, mouth falling open as his hips pushed up reflexively at his words. Shit. Fuck. Trouble. Seriously. Laurent was fucking done for. He couldn’t remember how to form words, he could only nod, swallowing thickly and struggling for air as Damen swallowed him back down.

He came in mere moments, moaning his name, fingers clenching hard in Damen’s hair, hips pushing up into the inviting heat of his throat, filling Damen’s mouth until it ran over, dripping down the side of his cock, spilling past Damen’s lips and dribbling down his chin.

Damen looked satisfied when he pulled back, opened his mouth and flashed his tongue, let Laurent see the mess he’d painted there before he was swallowing pointedly. Laurent could only pant back at him, body gone lax and heart pounding wildly as he watched Damen make a show of wiping off his mouth, that fucking smirk yanking his lips up in a decidedly wicked expression.

Laurent couldn’t look away, just stared and stared and wondered what on Earth he could have possibly done to deserve this because Damen was the hottest thing that had ever existed ever. He knew it too. So did Laurent’s body because he was still mostly hard, barely softening even when he was still panting. He could go again. From the look in Damen’s eyes, again was about to be right now. Fuck.

“Laurent?” he asked, voice shot to shit, tone making it apparent that it was not the first time he’d said his name “where’s your lube?”

Laurent sucked in a breath, body moving on autopilot as he stretched toward the bedside table. He threw the draw open and rummaged around until his hand closed around a bottle of lube and a couple of condoms that he prayed were still in date. He wasn’t particularly proud of the way he all but threw them at Damen.

Damen chuckled, low and dark and fucking filthy seeing as he was coating his fingers in lube with his eyes locked with Laurent.

Laurent mustered a half-arsed glare and shoved his foot against Damen’s stomach “hurry up,” he demanded, giving voice to the simmer still sparking in his blood, the anticipation coiling back around him as he stared at Damen’s thick fingers, felt the empty space inside him like an ache.

“Patience,” Damen scolded, even as he was settling between Laurent’s legs and encouraging them back “hold them open for me,”

He did as bid, pushing down on the instinctive twist of discomfort at the inescapable intimacy of it. The exposure. The submission. Discomfort pushed words out before he could really stamp them down.

“I already prepped,” he said for lack of anything better to say to distract himself from Damen’s perusal and the intimate vulnerability.

“You wet baby?” Damen reached down as he spoke, pressing his finger against Laurent’s hole, testing the resistance.

Laurent’s eyes fluttered shut at the pressure and the surprise endearment, shifting into both the word and his finger despite himself.

He hummed, tongue feeling thick “yeah,” he breathed turning his eyes down to meet Damen’s gaze, aware he was flushed all the way down to his chest “wet for you,”

Damen’s entire expression screamed arousal as he held Laurent’s gaze and sank two fingers into him. It had Laurent lifting his hips, breath hitching as he clamped his mouth instantly shut, trapping a groan in his throat as he let himself sink into the sensation.

Damen groaned “fuck, you already feel so good,” he said

Laurent groaned again, fingers clenching hard into the meat of his own thighs as he fought the urge to close his eyes. He couldn’t, he didn’t want to miss a single thing. Instead, he locked his gaze with Damen’s, let him hold the stare as Damen pushed up with his fingers, stroking his insides with a searching purpose.

His fingers were as insistent as his mouth had been, starting slow and sure. It felt like moments or lifetimes before he was fucking into Laurent hard and fast, pausing only to add a third finger to the stretch of it. There was more lube, more pressure, more noise and he fucked Laurent open with his fingers with exquisite perfection.

Laurent pushed back erratically, still holding himself open even though he was twitching and shuddering whenever Damen saw fit to give him what he wanted. Damen didn’t take his eyes off him, even when his fingers were splitting Laurent open, he kept their gazes locked, relentless and intense and Laurent had never felt so seen or as wide open.

Damen was annoyingly -wondrously- observant and he reacted to every single minute shift or breath that Laurent made until he felt like he might as well be commanding him out loud. He had finger tips against his prostate, keeping them there and shifting hard and fast over and over until Laurent’s stomach was clenching as hard and as rhythmically as his hole was.

“Fuck you,” Laurent gasped instead of please when Damen teased at a fourth finger, thumb pressed down over his perineum and fingers still hitting everything just fucking right. He was throbbing again, he wanted to come, his whole body was shaking like it might, like it could, but it wasn’t enough, it felt just out of reach. Or he might orgasm without coming; that’s what the fuck it felt like.

“Ask for what you want baby,” Damen said and his voice was low, dark and rough and Laurent shuddered, moaning just a little as he let go of his thighs and let them fall.

“Fuck me,” he gasped out and Damen moved at once, withdrawing his fingers to reach for the condoms.

He was a trembling wreck, unable to think through the haze of desire, unable to do much more than watch hungrily as Damen split the condom packet open and rolled it down his thick cock, the head already slick in a way that made Laurent want to taste despite himself.

Laurent was panting, flushed and sweaty and desperate for him. It was startling: how much he wanted him, how needy Damen had him. But he looked just as wrecked for Laurent and he hadn’t done a thing. Damen didn’t take his time, he slicked himself up and nudged Laurent’s legs further apart. Laurent let him, licking his lips and eyeing his cock as he pulled his knees to his chest and turned his gaze up.

Damen’s eyes were already on him, burning with want and pinning Laurent in place as he tucked his knees in against Laurent’ hips and hovered over him.

“Ask me nicely,” Damen said suddenly, voice a low growl even as he smiled

Laurent groaned, hips pushing up wantonly as he tried to wriggle back against Damen like he could get him inside him by sheer force of will.

“Now Damen,” He hissed impatiently “get in me now,”

Damen groaned and dived down, pressing their mouths together in a kiss that was bruising as Laurent let his thighs fall open around Damen’s hips, trying to encourage him closer. With his kiss he tried to say a slew of things he didn’t want to say out loud, trying to make Damen get it. Laurent needed it. He did. He was trembling with it, hovering on the edge and he’d never wanted anything like he wanted Damen right then.

Damen broke the kiss; pulling back to reach down between them, angling his cock and pushing bluntly, teasingly, against Laurent’ hole “nice enough,” he said

Laurent opened his mouth around a retort that faded and bloomed into a moan as Damen thrust forward and Laurent’s rim started to stretch wide around Damen’s cock.

Damen pressed forward and Laurent felt himself opening around him; the delicious, impossible stretch of his body around his impressive cock, pulsing as it was breached and forced open inch by sweet agonising inch.

Laurent gasped, a sucked in breath that had him squeezing his eyes shut, half trembling. It had been a while. And he’d never taken anything as big as Damen. He bit back a noise, turning his head like he might suck the cotton of the pillowcase into his mouth. But Damen paused, breathing unevenly as his careful fingers skimmed Laurent’s jaw.

“Look at me,”

It was a command given with the softness of a plea and Laurent’s eyes opened on instinct, finding Damen and blinking back at him.

“I’ve got you,”

Laurent believed him. Perhaps despite himself.

He nodded and Damen held his gaze, started to press in deeper and every slow slide forward had Laurent’s mouth opening a little wider and his body rippling.

He tried to concentrate on breathing and committing to memory the delicious stretch and burn of Damen fucking into him. But he feared if he focused too closely on it he might come apart before Damen had even settled. It was so good, too good, had Laurent jerking and throbbing from the inside out as Damen finally pushed that final bit further and stilled.

Damen above him was panting, as deep in Laurent’s body as he could possibly get and it was a fullness that made Laurent feel impaled and pinned and like he was fucking floating all at the same time. He arced upward, testing the newness and he moaned, low and dirty and fucking needy in a way that had his skin pulsing with something that felt like embarrassment; only hotter.

“So fucking full,” he whined

Damen gave a heavy pant, a moan that slid along Laurent’s jaw as Damen’s mouth found his ear “you feel as good as you taste,”

Laurent whimpered, a small needy sound that tumbled out of him before he could lock it down. It wasn’t his fault. Damen was just everywhere, so big, looming over him and filling him up, stretching him wide and fuck. Laurent felt small and oddly fragile pinned beneath him and it was as startling to him as it was fucking hot. He sucked in a breath, stomach going tight.

“Fuck me,” he said gazing up at him and Damen didn’t waste any time, pulled back and snapped forward so fast Laurent didn’t know whether to hiss or whimper. Both. Definitely both.

He kept it shallow at first, until Laurent was pushing back demandingly, trying to angle his hips to get Damen in deep again; deep, so that Laurent could feel the bright spark of almost-pain right alongside the pleasure. Damen got the message quickly, flipped Laurent’ legs over his shoulders and all but folded him in half as he snapped his hips forward, fucking into him hard and fast and so fucking good Laurent could do nothing but hold the fuck on and let it happen.

His head felt like it was spinning, his body was alive and thrumming with an electric current and his mouth hissed obscenities he didn’t recall conjuring as Damen held him tight and made him take it. The pressure against his prostate was delicious, Damen’s size was obscenely good and Laurent was so, so close, if he could just let go for long enough to reach for his cock Laurent would be coming. Might even without it because Damen’s cock was hitting his prostate on every thrust, curving just right and Laurent was seeing stars.

When Damen pulled out completely Laurent’s whimper was one of near-despair. He wasn’t made to wait long. Damen sat back on his haunches, taking Laurent’s hand and coaxing him up and Laurent went, almost surprised by how badly he was shaking as he let Damen guide him into sitting in his lap. Damen held his cock steady for him, other hand splayed wide against Laurent’s back to keep him in place as Laurent rose up unsteadily and let Damen feed his cock back into him.

He sank down, eyes fluttering closed and head snapping back. The angle made him feel impossibly fuller, impossibly aware of Damen, of every solid inch of his cock as he split himself open on him.

Damen hissed, hands sliding up Laurent’s slick skin, settling on his hips as he leant forward and latched down with his mouth, sucking at his neck. Laurent’s fingers bit into Damen’s shoulders as he rose up again, thighs already shaking and let himself go, slamming back down with a ringing slap that had him moaning Damen’s name. Damen looked up then, mouth split slick and eyes dark and Laurent had never had anyone look at him the way Damen currently was.

“Take it,” Damen said, a breath against Laurent’s mouth as he leant up “take what you want,” he encouraged, pressing Laurent down to show him what he meant.

The hands on his hips slid down, clenching on his arse as Laurent started a rhythm, slower, more undulating, a deep grind. The hands on his arse spread him wide as Damen fucked up to meet him, pushing in deep and hard and holding himself there so Laurent could rock back and forth and fuck himself the way he wanted it.

He’d been told to take it before. It had never been meant like this.

Damen let him slow it down, let him move the way he wanted and just kept looking at him. Like he was a revelation, like Laurent was taking him apart and not most definitely the other way around.

Laurent was making more noise than he usually would, unselfconscious of it, unaware of it until it echoed back at him, blending with the slick wet sound of Damen’s cock fucking into him over and over again as Laurent rose up almost all the way and hovered with his rim held open around just the head before slamming down.

It was so good, so good all he could do was clutch at Damen and stare down at him, mouth open around a steady stream of punched out whimpers that Damen fed back to him on the tip of his tongue.

It was close, stuffy and humid and just different enough for him to be entirely overwhelmed. But it was a pace that couldn’t last, his thighs were trembling, his stomach was protesting and when he leant forward to push his forehead to Damen’s it was with a gasp.

“Damen,” he said instead of saying please. Damen seemed to hear it anyway.

He flipped him easily, like he weighed nothing, and the feral thrill of it set Laurent’s already frayed nerves off with sparks of added pleasure.

Damen had him on his knees, face pressed into the pillows and legs together before he sank back in. It was fucking obscene how good it felt as Damen gave it to him. Damen behind him was talking, leaning over Laurent so that their bodies were flush, growling indecent filthy things about how Laurent looked and felt and what he wanted to do and every word made Laurent’s toes curl and his cock pulse.

It was harder, faster; headboard thumping against the wall, bed and floorboards creaking as Laurent rode out the waves of pleasure over and over as it punched wounded breathless noises from him.

When Damen reared back he took Laurent with him, holding him to his chest, caging him in close until all Laurent could do was let his head fall back against Damen’s shoulder with his mouth open around a litany of noises.

It felt too good, too much, so deep he might fucking choke on it, deeper than anyone else had ever been. The thought had Laurent moaning, cock leaking a steady wet stream, dribbling onto the duvet. Damen’s voice when it came was almost his undoing.

“God come on sweetheart, come for me, give it to me,” Damen breathed against his ear as he reached for Laurent’s cock and circled his thumb and forefinger around the head; tugging fast and soft, thumb teasing in circles every few strokes and fuck.

With Damen’s quiet encouragements and pleas still warm against Laurent’s neck he came, entire body locking down as his orgasm ripped from him, spurting come against the bed as broken moans spilled out into the quiet of the room and he writhed against Damen wantonly; with complete abandon. He was seeing fucking stars.

Damen fucked him through it, slow so Laurent could work himself on his cock, shuddering, hips convulsing unconsciously as he came but Damen groaned with him, tightening his fingers around Laurent’s cock as he leant closer to press his mouth to Laurent’s neck.

“Fuck, Laurent, so fucking hot,” he mumbled against his skin still fucking into Laurent’s oversensitive body.

When Damen came it was with a loud groan, pushing deep and pumping erratically in short fucks as he rode it out and breathed Laurent’s name.

Fuck.

Laurent couldn’t move, could barely breathe, could barely think through the lingering haze of his orgasm. Damen held them together for a long moment, his heart pounding so hard in his chest Laurent could nearly feel it at his back.

When Damen let him go Laurent collapsed forward instantly, panting, still shuddering a little in random waves like his body was a live wire. It certainly felt like it was.

He closed his eyes, rolling onto his back and away from the wet spot, arm thrown over his face and mind blissfully blank save for the glow and rush of pleasure. He was aware of Damen beside him, still panting, shifting, the snap of the condom, the pleased hum as he leant over and pressed a kiss to Laurent’s shoulder.

Damen rolled away then and Laurent turned to watch him rise, unsurprised that he was just leaving. Except he didn’t pause for clothes so Laurent watched Damen pad bare-arsed out of the bedroom, listened to the sounds of him out in the hall, opening first one door and then a second. Oh. Probably looking for the bathroom.

It was evident when he heard first the toilet flush, then the plumbing start and a moment later Damen reappeared with a damp cloth to wipe off Laurent’s sweat damp, come stained skin. Damen was gentle as he wiped him down and Laurent just let him, spreading his legs when he needed to so Damen could wipe there too. The whole thing was even sweeter and more endearing for how entirely unexpected the gesture was.

When Damen was done, he pressed a kiss to Laurent’s belly button and discarded the towel to the floor before climbing back onto the bed

“Can I sleep here?” Damen asked as his hands slid up Laurent’s calves like he couldn’t help himself.

Laurent turned his gaze up, meeting Damen’s eyes as he sat between his invitingly spread thighs and just looked for a long few seconds. The sight of him was unreal, his hair was sweat damp and sticking to his neck, face flushed, eyes glassy, skin shiny with the sheen of his exertion. Laurent might be in even more trouble than he had originally thought. May-day level trouble, Houston we have a problem level fucked. Like the poor fucker who’d seen the iceberg on the Titanic and knew they weren’t going to be able to pull away in time.

He always got too attached.

He cleared his throat, made himself arch an eyebrow “you’re a cuddler aren’t you,” he said as derisively as he could when he was helplessly endeared.

“You better believe it,” Damen said unapologetically as he dragged half the blanket down, making Laurent shift and fidget until they could both get under the duvet.

Laurent let him, didn’t even really hesitate because Damen felt safer than he should. It felt far more comfortable than it had a right to. But then he wasn’t as much a stranger as Laurent had been thinking. He still felt familiar. The decision was no doubt helped along by the fact Laurent was still floating, sated and more relaxed than he could remember being in a long time. His body was already starting to ache but it was pleasant. Well-fucked.

Laurent rolled onto his side, tucking his hand beneath the pillow and just let himself look at him. Damen didn’t seem to mind, just blinked back at him, a small shy pleased smile on his face that Laurent had never really seen on him before. It did unpleasant unwelcome things to Laurent’s chest that sounded like a soft inevitable oh no.

It should feel awkward. The silence should feel strange. Damen should be rolling over and going to sleep or getting up with his phone in his hand as he wandered away idly. Or asked Laurent to go get him some water or a beer or to go shower or maybe tell him to leave or get dressed. But he didn’t. It was unobtrusive. Calm.

“You are truly mesmerising,” Damen said, voice quiet like he didn’t want to disturb the silence either.

Laurent scrunched his nose up “please don’t bother trying to charm me,” he said, both on reflex and because seriously, he couldn’t take that falseness from him. Not when Laurent was feeling this good and this defenceless.

“You think I’m being charming?”

Laurent rolled all the way over to face away from him with a sigh, hiding the twitch of his lips “I said try, which is an indication you were failing,”

“Is it?” Damen persisted behind him, amusement in his tone as he leant forward and Laurent felt his lips at the nape of his neck “how about if I said you are entirely unexpected and I find myself quite disarmed?”

“I’m sure,” Laurent said derisively, trying his hardest to pull at his defences, to not listen, to not let the enticing lie settle under his skin.

“What if I told you I’d missed you?”

Laurent turned over onto his back so fast he dislodged Damen. Heart suddenly beating a very different rhythm in his chest. Laurent frowned, glared, as his mind leapt instantly like a fire catching “I would ask what on earth you could have possibly missed about a thirteen-year-old boy,” Laurent said voice gone harder than he intended

Damen blinked, wide and surprised, scanning Laurent’s features cautiously before his entire face transformed “Laurent,” and he said his name patiently, in a tone that was distinctly measured and made Laurent stiffen “I’m not sure what- what’s that supposed to mean?” he said and Laurent flushed instantly, the wrong kind of heat creeping up his spine.

Damen’s face changed as Laurent’s no doubt did, just a flash, a twitch of his brows and Laurent tensed, sitting up to avoid being so close to him. This was uncomfortable, too much. Too close.

“I just meant,” Damen said, sitting up carefully beside him and Laurent understood Damen was choosing his words very fucking cautiously “in a nostalgic sense,” he said with a shrug “I thought you’d feel like a stranger but you don’t,” he said

And oh. Laurent was being ridiculous. Overreacting. Damen had never been too familiar with him back then. He’d always been nice, including him, never once asking why Auguste insisted on bringing his kid brother everywhere. He used to talk to him the way Auguste did, like he actually cared what Laurent was saying even when -maybe especially when- Laurent rambled excitedly without purpose at all. Inevitably, when Laurent shut up Damen would tease him mercilessly, but was careful to back down when Laurent looked like he was getting annoyed. Of course that stopped when he hit thirteen and he was tongue tied and useless around Damen except to flush a brilliant red or simply stare at him.

But Damen had never been like that with him. He had never encouraged him. If anything, he’d been very careful about it.

He forced himself to take a breath, heard Paschal in his head reminding him of all the many things he’d had to work on over the years. He was being defensive because he felt vulnerable. He was looking for a reason not to trust him because he wanted to trust him. And he did. Maybe part of him did trust Damen. He’d let him fuck him and that was already more than he’d do for someone else. The thought shouldn’t be as calming as it was when he already knew he couldn’t trust himself.

Laurent swallowed, made himself turn his head to see his face. Damen looked concerned which felt out of place. Laurent’s skin was itching. He should get up. Get in the shower. Tell Damen he couldn’t stay.

“I mentioned it to Auguste once, asked his opinion,” Damen said, derailing Laurent’s chain of thought.

“Mentioned what?” he asked, curiosity piqued despite himself.

“The thing you had for me,” and just like that Laurent’s mind leapt from concerned to embarrassed in an instant.

He flushed and groaned, covering his face with his hands as he threw himself back against the pillows “Oh my god, let’s not,” he mumbled into his hands because hello mortifying. He better not be under the impression that Laurent had been carrying a torch for him all these years. Oh god please don’t let him think that.

Damen chuckled and then Laurent really heard what he’d said and snapped his hands down “and what do you mean you mentioned it to Auguste?”

“I asked him how I should, you know, handle it, I didn’t want to hurt you but I didn’t want to encourage it and I was laughably panicked about it, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know,”

He weirdly was pleased to know that his super fucking obvious crush had made Damen panic. But still, what on Earth possessed him to talk to Auguste about it? Laurent hadn’t even talked to Auguste about it.

“What did he say?”

Damen snorted “he called me a pussy and told me I was imagining things because I was too full of myself,”

The laughter burst out of him before he could stop it and he only laughed harder at the wry indulgent smile on Damen’s face. He could hear Auguste saying it in his head, wondered what the fuck he’d have to say about Damen knowing what Auguste apparently hadn’t and then thought about what he’d say about this and just laughed harder.

It was contagious apparently because Damen couldn’t keep his amusement in check either but it was distinctly different to Laurent’s amusement. It was relieved; indulgent. Fond almost. The instant Laurent settled, still smiling widely, Damen was leaning closer stopping just inches away from Laurent’s face.

“Can I kiss you?”

Laurent’s heart was traitorous and cruel and this was most definitely a problem. Because he nodded and it felt like the easiest thing in the world to tip his head up and kiss him, still half smiling.

“So, does missing me mean I’ve not changed?” Laurent asked

Damen snorted “you mean aside from the fact you’re a walking fucking wet dream now?” he teased “not much, you’re still the same mouthy little shit you were back then,”

“I think you like it,”

It was Damen’s turn to laugh as he groaned and pushed himself closer, burrowing until he had his face pressed into Laurent’s neck “I really do,” he said, words a tickle against his skin.

Laurent chuckled, endeared as Damen hid his face and cuddled into him harder like the biggest most adorable little spoon ever.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Damen said when Laurent had given in and wrapped his arms around him.

“That depends how well you behave,”

Damen snorted against his neck and tipped his face up “I’m always well behaved,”

“That is an outright lie, you swore on live daytime television just three days ago,”

Damen paused, slow smile curling at his mouth and Laurent felt his cheeks heat up at the implied admission.

“You watched my interview?”

Yes and it’s not like he had watched it because he gave a fuck about Damen’s sports for kids charity or whatever.

“No,” Laurent said instantly “Ancel did,”

“Now that was an outright lie,”

Laurent knew his cheeks had gone a little pink because Damen reached up to brush his thumb across the condemning colour, smile annoyingly soft and surprised.

“Oh don’t be so full of yourself,” Laurent countered to deflect from the spotlight heat of it all.

Damen’s groan was instant as he buried his face back in Laurent’s neck, cursing himself and Laurent both in faux-annoyance. It was silent then for a long while and Laurent closed his eyes, basking in the hot press of Damen’s naked body against him and the rhythm of his breathing.

Damen’s hand swept down his side in slow, soothing strokes, idle and without purpose, from his tummy down to his hip with gentle fingers. He could feel the puffs of his breath stirring the hair at his ear and felt Damen’s soft cock against his thigh where their legs were tangled together. His brain focused on it, on how warm it felt, how strangely reassuring, how easy it would be to reach down and wrap his fingers around it. Not to stroke him. Just to hold. He didn’t, but it was a near thing and it wasn’t something he wanted to analyse too closely.

It was peaceful, right up until his stomach made itself known and he realised he was almost an entire bottle of wine and one vigorous round of sex deep into a night without any food.

Laurent cringed, scrunching his nose up at the ceiling accusingly and he already knew Damen was going to draw attention to it. And he did. Because he was the worst.

“I’m starving too,” he said smiling far too widely “do you have food?”

“No, I subsist on the enrichment of stupid questions,”

Damen snorted, already rolling away from him “I’ll cook,” he said and Laurent revised his previous thought about Damen being the worst because fucking thank god.

Laurent was a disaster in the kitchen and he faked his way into pretending he could cook by being able to nail two really easy dishes. And endless amounts of take out. And cereal. Damen grabbed his underwear on his way out, leaving Laurent alone as he swanned off into Laurent’s apartment like he owned it.

Laurent followed. He picked his underwear up from where Damen had thrown them, flushing hotly at the memory and the twinge in his muscles as he bent down to put them on. His shirt had gotten lost somewhere but Damen’s was to hand and Laurent didn’t really want to leave him alone longer than necessary so he pulled it over his head. He absolutely did not inhale all that deeply as he did so.

His internal concern over whether it was weird to be wearing Damen’s clothes was abated when he entered his kitchen and Damen did a literal double take, mouth opening as his eyes scanned down him and he blinked. If he had been holding something Laurent imagined he would have dropped it.

Feeling unreasonably smug about it he sidled up to his side, smiling innocently as he pretended to stare into his abyss of a fridge from beside him. Damen probably hadn’t been wrong to ask if he had food. The answer was no.

Damen was still staring and Laurent thrilled beneath it despite himself “you’re such a caveman,” he said turning his head

“Sorry but someone insanely sexy is wearing my clothes and I’m supposed to not react? Would you rather I hadn’t blinked?”

And well. Point. Laurent rolled his eyes and nudged him, nodding at his open fridge.

Damen’s swallow was audible but he did huff “you basically have no food,” he said and his tone said I knew it even if he didn’t actually say it out loud.

“I forgot to shop,” he lied

“Well pasta it is then, where do you keep your sauce?”

Ah. That.

“Ate it last night,” he said tipping his face up to smirk at Damen who rolled his eyes.

“Alright, plan B,” he said reaching into the fridge.

He had hummus, and some olives which were both definitely Ancel’s, and he found an abandoned cans of tomatoes and something else which Laurent suspected were also Ancel’s or from an ill-fated attempt to try to cook that had never happened.

Laurent hopped up onto the counter as he pointed idly around the kitchen whenever Damen needed something. He didn’t need much, just a pot and a knife apparently. He set the pasta to boil and Laurent watched him, keeping up an easy, steady conversation which consisted mostly of making fun of Damen. And when Damen was the one making fun of him Laurent settled for just staring at his gloriously half naked body with no small amount of smugness because he’d had sex with all that. And all that was currently making him food.

When Damen was shoving a bowl of on-the-fly chickpea pasta at him Laurent took it with no small amount of reserve. But it was good. It reminded Laurent of the flavours further south. Like in Ios. He liked it but he didn’t tell him so. Damen probably read it in his complete lack of comment anyway.

When Laurent got up to go and dump their empty dishes he caught sight of the time and realised Ancel most definitely wasn’t coming home tonight which was definitely a good thing.

When Damen came up behind him Laurent was not surprised. When his hands tangled in the hem of his shirt just beneath Laurent’s arse, he scrunched it in one fist, letting it ride up as his other hand skimmed up Laurent’s waist.

“Seriously you have no idea how good you look,” Damen said into his hair

“I always know exactly how good I look actually,” Laurent said, pressing back against him “but you’re welcome to keep telling me, I was promised poetry I do believe,”

“When I can think straight,” Damen promised against his ear before leaning further, craning, and Laurent obliged, leant back and let their mouths meet.

It was an awkward angle, even if Damen’s hands skimming possessively over his front and up his sides felt good. Even if the hardening length of him was exactly where Laurent wanted him. He relented, huffing impatiently as he turned in Damen’s arms and went up onto his tip toes to kiss him.

“I’d say you’ve been good,” Laurent said into his kiss, arms draped over the wide expanse of his shoulders.

Damen groaned, hands spanning his waist and clenching hard “very good,” he agreed “not bending you over the table the second I saw you in this was an effort,” he said tugging at his t-shirt.

“Take me back to bed,” he said enjoying the way Damen huffed a low groan against his mouth before licking back in, tongue a rhythmic fuck against Laurent’s for several long beats before he pulled back.

“And what do you want?”

Had he ever been asked that before? Like this? He didn’t think he had, he’d remember the unsteady rush that accompanied it.

“I want it slow,” he said because that was how he liked it best and he was under no illusions that after so long without sex and after the way Damen had fucked him earlier, that he’d be sore tomorrow as it was “on my back, so you can do all the work,”

Damen hummed “on your back works for me,” he said already walking them backwards out of the kitchen, the look he fixed him with was absolutely filthy.

“I want to see your face when you come,” Damen breathed against his mouth

Laurent groaned, latching their mouths back together as they stumbled blindly the rest of the way to the bedroom. He slammed the door behind him on the off chance Ancel did come home and got an eyeful of Damianos fucking Laurent’s brains out. It would be public knowledge in a matter of minutes if he did, he was sure.

Damen did exactly as he’d asked, slow, breathy, intimate almost. When Damen sank back into him it was accompanied by a different kind of pain, a sweet tender ache that let Laurent knew he was already well fucked. His body took him easily, already relaxed and wet and loose enough to sink back in like he’d never left.

Laurent let himself moan, dug his nails into Damen’s back and rode it out, torn between meeting his intensely invested gaze and squeezing his eyes shut against the pressure and slow burning pleasure as Damen fucked him exactly as he’d asked; slow, deep, a grind of their bodies, pulling out and fucking in so that just the deliciously curved head rubbed incessantly against his prostate for long blissfully agonising moments.

When he came this time he was shaking, had been leaking wet and needy and telling against his stomach, his hair was curling where it was damp and his entire body locked down for a long fractured moment before sensation drowned him and he fucked back wantonly. He said Damen’s name like a prayer as he raked nails down his back and whimpered messy and broken against his mouth.

When he was boneless and panting and trembling Damen made to pull out but Laurent stopped him with a heel against his arse “finish,” he commanded, tongue feeling heavy as his eyes blinked slow and sluggish up at him.

Damen made it quick and the sparks were too much and almost painful but so good he just rode it out, punching little breaths against Damen’s mouth as it hovered over his.

He got up again once he’d come, fetching Laurent water and wiping him down before fitting himself snugly behind Laurent. He was fairly certain he was asleep before Damen even stopped fidgeting.

~*~

Laurent awoke to intense heat pressed against his back and for a second he stiffened, blinking groggily and confusedly until he became aware of his body. It came back online in slow increments and then he was aware. His arse was sore. He was aching everywhere and he just fucking knew that when he tried to stand his legs would be unsteady. He felt sticky between his thighs and he could feel bruises forming.

And behind him: Damianos, breathing softly against his neck with an arm slung over his waist.

Fucked. He was definitely 100% fucked. He always got too fucking attached.

It was bright beyond the window and one squint at the clock told him it was nearly midday. Which meant Ancel. Which meant Damen needed to go. Like, now.

He rolled over fully intending to wake him but he paused, arrested by the sight of him. In the daylight he was impossibly more attractive which just wasn’t fair. He was relaxed in sleep, looking younger than his years and Laurent fought the urge to trace his fingers down his face. It wouldn’t do.

Damen’s words from last night came back to him in a rush I’d hate for you to have unrealistic expectations.

Damen hadn’t given him any unrealistic expectations about sex. But Laurent was certainly re-evaluating his previous expectations of sex, that was for certain. He’d never been taken apart so thoroughly. He’d never felt so unbearably seen.

It was stupid. Foolish. Entirely fucking idiotic. Pathetic really.

Damen was the king of flings and one-night stands and Laurent had text him asking for sex. Anything he’d said, any words he’d given him, Laurent had to remember they were just words and words alone could not be trusted. He knew that better than most.

For a second though, Laurent let himself sink into his teenage skin, think about the stupid teenage fantasies he’d had before he knew better. When he could fantasise and want with all the reckless enthusiasm of someone young and still pure.

He’d thought about it hadn’t he? About Damen. Damen had been his fantasy and Laurent may have forgotten that until he was watching Damen sleeping on the pillow beside him. Damen hadn’t just been his gay-awakening, he had been Laurent’s first foray into the world of sexual attraction but Laurent was only right now remembering what that meant.

He had forgotten, in the years gone by, that there was a time when he could have been considered somewhat normal. When his thoughts and feelings about sex and romance had been the same as the majority of other adolescents.

It wasn’t just that he’d thought about Damen when he started to explore his own body or that his stomach erupted at the sight of him. It was all the embarrassing stuff that went with it, the stuff Laurent had forgotten how to hope for or dream about. Or want really.

The endless daydreams about stupid shit like holding hands, the three thousand note books he’d probably wasted endless amounts of time writing shudder-inducing poetry in. Or lamenting and asking the gods why he hadn’t noticed him or just drawing random hearts and his initials like he was being subtle. Like if Auguste found it he wouldn’t immediately know who he meant by D.A.

Laurent changed his mind, got out of the bed and barely held back a hiss as he rose to his feet. His legs still felt wobbly and it was with no small amount of derision that he realised his gait was telling. Plus his arse really was pretty sore.

He left Damen sleeping and crept into the bathroom with a handful of clean clothes but even when he had the water running and his head tipped back beneath the spray he couldn’t not remember what those days had been like. How innocent it had all been.

Naïve and restless, lighting up whenever someone even mentioned his name, trying to find ways to be near him that would inevitably end in him running away in embarrassment anyway. Wanting Damen to notice him and the butterflies and rush when Damen so much as smiled at him. And through it all Auguste: always leading Damen away. Laurent had been jealous hadn’t he? He’d forgotten that too.

He'd hated their familiarity, the easiness of it all and the way Auguste always had to have Damen with him. If they weren’t away at boarding school then Damen was in Arles or Auguste was in Ios. He’d been jealous of the shared language of glances and eyebrows and twitches of mouths that Laurent could never decipher fully. He’d been jealous of their affection and their preference for each other even when they were amidst their other friends. It had been as palpable then as their enmity was now.

Laurent had had it bad.

They were bitter-sweet memories. Sweet for how innocent it was, bitter for all that he had to mourn of that innocence. Snatched too soon and thus far never repeated. He hadn’t felt like it since had he? Not in that excited euphoric sense.

With Bastian, if Laurent was being honest, he was just in the right place at the right time. He’d been there when Laurent needed something, when he’d been fragile and holding his broken pieces thinking someone else could put him back together. Laurent had let himself follow Bastian’s lead, let himself get swept up and swept away because it had been easier than being alone with his fractured thoughts. Xander had been different too, a long chase, a tentative back and forth.

Maybe that’s why he’d let Damen come over so easily when this went against everything he thought he knew about his preferred sexual experiences. Because Damen reminded him of what it felt like to be normal. Damen was all he had of before so he didn’t have to question his reaction to Damen. He’d had that reaction to Damen before everything went wrong. He could trust his reaction to Damen because it had always been his reaction to Damen.

Even if Damen was nothing like he might have expected. He was so far removed from his visions that it was laughable. But it was so, so much worse because Damen was so much more than Laurent had known how to imagine. He could never have imagined the way it felt to have his eyes on him, or the way his breath would catch when Damen smirked. He could never have imagined the precise way it had felt to have Damen feed a laugh back into his mouth or the way his hands burned and soothed down his sides.

It would have been easier if his imaginary teenage version of Damen was the better version. Maybe then Laurent wouldn’t feel so adrift and caught out.

But that didn’t change anything. It wasn't real and it was stupid to even dwell on it. He said as he dwelled on it for the next twenty minutes whilst he carefully cleaned himself and catalogued the marks left behind.

There was nothing that wasn’t easily hidden anyway; bruises on his thighs and finger marks on his hips. Not because Damen had been too rough but Laurent was so fair he bruised like a peach. He would be lying if he didn’t grab the mirror and give his arse an inspection just to see Damen’s handiwork there too.

Satisfied and with an unfortunate limp that he would need to work out of his system before Ancel got home, he went back to the bedroom. Damen was still asleep, on his back now with one arm thrown over Laurent’s side of the bed. He had the duvet bunched down around his hips and he was so gloriously naked Laurent contemplated tugging the blanket down a little further but decided against it. Last night was last night. This morning was something else. And Damen really couldn’t be here when Ancel got home.

He climbed back onto the bed, tentatively, kneeling and stretching across to give his shoulder a shake. Damen groaned, turned his head and his face scrunched up adorably before he peeled his eyes open and looked right at him.

Damen smiled upon waking, blinking sleepily at him as the corners of his mouth curled up. He hummed, breathing his name as he sat up on his elbows, smiling warmly. Too sunny. Too genuine. When Laurent could only blink back at him, cheeks heating up for absolutely no fucking reason, Damen hummed again, leant across and into him and Laurent was powerless to stop himself from kissing back. Damen kissed him like he couldn’t help it, slow and gentle and agonisingly sweet and no. Laurent had to stop this. This was how Damen was with everyone. And he had a lot of people to include in his endless list of lovers. He was just good at the charade, well-practiced. Laurent wasn’t so naïve that he couldn’t see through it. This time.

He pulled back before Damen was really done and flashed him a smile he knew was probably a little tight “Ancel will be back soon and you can’t be here when he gets in,”

Damen blinked, nodding “oh,” he said smothering the frown before it truly took hold “yeah, right,” he said swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stretching and Laurent absolutely did not look at the way the muscles in his back rippled as he did so. Much.

“Right,” he said when Damen rose and Laurent’s eyes dropped instantly to his arse. He had not spent enough time appreciating it last night. Dimples. Obviously. It was as hard as the rest of him, flexed like a dream when he walked.

When Damen started to get dressed Laurent cleared his throat and dismissed himself to the kitchen, making coffee, having a much needed cigarette, and absolutely not pacing as he listened to Damen lock himself in the bathroom.

He didn’t shower which Laurent was grateful for, one eye on the clock and aware Ancel could barge in any fucking second. Then everyone would know and Laurent would be dealing with his already on-the-edge brother and Auguste finding out he’d fucked Bastian again was one thing, this though? Fuck. What had he been thinking?

Damen came in a few moments later, dressed and looking every inch as glorious as he had done last night. Both when he’d been dressed and naked. It really wasn’t fair.

For lack of anything to say he nudged the pointed travel mug of coffee in Damen’s direction.

“Milk and sugar are over there,” he said flicking his finger to the counter behind Damen.

Damen eyed the travel cup with a wry smile “do all your lovers leave with a complimentary mug?”

He didn’t miss the all. And of course he would think that. As far as Damen was concerned Laurent was the type of person who messaged random men apropos of nothing asking them for sex. His impression was probably not favourable. Or in any way accurate. What would he say? If he knew he was the first person Laurent had ever done something like this with? That he wasn’t drawing from a wealth of experience the way he seemed to think?

He didn’t want to find out.

“Only when they’ve pleased me,” he said instead and regretted it instantly when Damen turned a smile on him and it was so, so, much worse in the daylight. Blinding really. Fucking arsehole.

“I’ll take it as a compliment then,”

Laurent huffed “don’t, the ones who were really good get breakfast,” he sniffed as he moved around him into the hall, intending Damen to follow.

He didn’t immediately follow, and Laurent walked out to the sound of Damen laughing and that was not the reaction Laurent had intended or anticipated. But then in all the years he’d known Damianos when had he ever once done what was expected of him?

Laurent was left hovering at his own front door, leaning back against the wall and all but tapping his foot before Damen finally reappeared holding Laurent’s second favourite travel mug.

He came to a halt in front of Laurent, turned to face him, eyes like spotlights as they scanned his face and Laurent could only swallow and clutch his mug to his chest.

“If my brother finds out he’ll castrate you,” Laurent said

Damen nodded, at least affecting a serious expression “and wouldn’t that be a shame,”

“Your harem would be devastated I’m sure,”

“Harem? How exotic,”

“How barbaric,” he said and then flushed again at the word when he remembered how he even came to be here.

Damen snorted and his hand went up to the back of his neck in a gesture that, if Laurent didn’t know better, he would almost call shy.

“So I guess I’ll be taking my complimentary gift and leaving,”

“It’s not a gift, I want it back,”

“Pretty rude of you really,”

“Is it?” Laurent asked “what? Do your endless one-night stands get to keep whatever they leave with?”

“Pretty much, take a mint from the bowl, enjoy a free compliment card, don’t forget your novelty t-shirt from beside the door,”

“Yes, and a text three days later to tell them to get an STI check,” he said and he realised he’d gone a little too far by the way Damen blinked at him, pursing his lips slightly. But that was good. That was better.

Laurent lifted his chin and because of the ball of tension in his stomach and the skittish thrum of discomfort in his veins he knew when he opened his mouth that he was about to make everything so much worse. But he did it anyway because he wasn’t very good at holding his tongue. Or not making things worse.

“Don’t bother sending me one I’ve already made an appointment,” he said, voice harsher than intended “can’t be too careful after all, I mean your reputation being what it is I’m surprised you don’t have a dedicated wing in the local family planning clinic,”

And it was pretty much as bad as he had thought it would be. But he held Damen’s gaze anyway and only really realised how much Damen conveyed on his face by the glaring absence of it now. The slam of internal shutters.

“Right well, on that note,” Damen frowned, gesturing to the door “places to go, scores of lovers to infect,” he said as he pulled the door open.

Laurent let him leave, flinching when the door slammed closed and swearing into the echoing silence. Admittedly, he might have handled that a bit better.

But it was for the best. Damen was too soft and too endearing and Laurent was far too attracted to him. It was better to strike than wait to be struck. It was just sex, a one-night stand, an ode to his teenage fantasy. Nothing else.

So why didn’t he feel good about it?

Chapter Text

Ancel arrived home about an hour after Damianos left. His hair was chaotic, he had bruises on his neck, and a sated aura that said Ancel was well fucked.

Laurent was in the living room, curled up in his favourite armchair with a book across his lap that he wasn’t really reading as he chewed his thumbnail to death. He had his phone on the arm of the chair, turned up, and his eyes flashed there restlessly every few minutes for no reason whatsoever.

He’d had two more cups of coffee and he knew it was making the agitation worse and he could hear Paschal telling him so but he didn’t care. He had also changed his bedsheets and cleaned his room but he still couldn’t settle. He was adamantly ignoring the reason why.

Ancel breezed into the living room with a sigh, throwing himself down onto the sofa and grinning widely “I went home with a sugar daddy, he co-owns the boat bar we went to, fucking sexy as hell and very rich, so just my type,” he sighed again stretching his legs out, like a feline “so good,” he said and launched into the tale as had become his routine.

Laurent was supposed to listen, but pretend not to, hum occasionally and then say something derisive. Then Ancel would snort and tell him he needed to get laid before he went for a shower. It was tradition basically. A well-worn routine. Except this time apparently Laurent wasn’t listening well enough. It wasn’t his fault, he heard words like cock and suck and fucked and his head went spinning with images of his own night and Damen. Who he had basically kicked out and insulted.

“Wait,” Ancel said suddenly squinting at him, making Laurent look back at him from where he’d zoned out looking at the floor “you look different,”

And wait, what? Did he?

Ancel gave a little gasp “you had sex last night,” he said accusingly and Laurent’s mouth fell open because wait, what?! How the fuck did he know that from one look at him? Did he have a fucking radar for it?

“No I didn’t,” he said instantly, willing his complexion to behave.

Ancel’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he pushed himself up, coming toward him and tugging on Laurent’s hoody to see his neck like he was checking for evidence that he wouldn’t find unless he tried to tug Laurent’s pyjamas down. Which he just might, Laurent wouldn’t put it past him.

With a frown Ancel squinted at him before he all but ran out the room. Laurent distinctly heard his bedroom door fly open because it creaked a little louder than Ancel’s and he was out of his chair and following him instantly.

He wasn’t sure why he was panicking, he’d cleaned up, changed the bed, there was nothing to find. Except Ancel, apparently, knew him and went straight to the bin in the corner and Laurent saw his mistake at once. Used condoms. Fuck.

Ancel picked up the bin and instantly gasped, turning to brandish it at Laurent “I knew it,” he said gleefully “was it Bastian?” he asked before snorting with a roll of his eyes “of course it was, what am I saying, he came over, told you he missed you, told you to bend over and you came in here, lights off, ten minutes with his jeans still on before he told you he was really sorry but couldn’t stay, right?” he said dropping the bin with a loud clatter and ignoring the way it tipped on its axis.

Laurent frowned at him, chin lifting because fuck all the way off. He regretted ever telling Ancel a single detail about his relationship with Bastian. It had been like that once or twice, sure, but Laurent couldn’t take the smug look on his face.

“Wasn’t Bastian actually,” he said.

“You’re a liar,” Ancel laughed, bouncing down onto Laurent’s bed and not so subtly inspecting, he didn’t miss the eyeroll when Ancel no doubt realised they were fresh “it’s always Bastian because you’re boring and you only like mediocre cock that can fuck you physically and mentally,”

“Wow alright first of all fuck you, you ugly whore,” Laurent said and Ancel smirked, like a feline noticing a mouse “second of all it’s not mediocre and he hasn’t mentally fucked-“

Ancel laughing had Laurent snapping his mouth shut and counting to ten, folding his arms over his chest as Ancel crossed his legs on Laurent’s bed. He hated that Auguste said the same thing. Laurent thought the same thing but that was his business and he wasn’t about to tell Ancel he was right about something. There was a reason Paschal had smiled privately as he wrote his notes when he thought Laurent wasn’t looking on the day Laurent told him he’d split up with Bastian. Two years and several mistakes ago.

“I mean this in the meanest possible way,” Ancel said “but yes, it is mediocre and I know that personally, and yes he does and you just fucking let him,”

Laurent didn’t let him see the series of slaps he’d inflicted. He didn’t have to. Ancel knew it anyway. It wasn’t new information.

“It wasn’t Bastian,” he said again “but I’m not going to tell you who it was and I hope it drives you crazy you ginger twat,”

Ancel’s laugh carried as Laurent went back to the living room and picked up his book. He checked his phone. Still nothing. What was he waiting for exactly?

Something. Anything. Nothing. He didn’t fucking know.

He didn’t speak to Ancel again until well after dark when Laurent had retreated to his bedroom to attempt to write some more to his dissertation, even though absolutely nothing was coming out right.

He could hear Ancel coming so he very much expected his door to slam open and then Ancel was in the doorway in his customary silk dressing gown, mouth open and eyes wide.

“Who was it?” he asked and oh.

He hadn’t really expected Ancel to believe him. Unless he’d text Bastian himself to find out in which case Laurent had a whole different problem because Bastian would want to know too.

“I thought it had to be Bastian,” Laurent said pushing himself up so he was sitting on his knees in the middle of his bed “I thought you said, and I quote, it’s always Bastian because I’m boring and only like mediocre cock,”

Ancel just shook his head “yeah, no, I believe you, so who was it?”

“Why do you-“

He skipped toward him and Laurent realised with a start that Ancel was excited. Eager. Small smile on his mouth and eyes lit up with interest. He held his hand out, yellow sticky note attached to his thumb and Laurent took it with a huff, flipping it over to read it.

Sorry I ate your food :(
Official I.O.U :) x

Laurent was hit two-fold by the instant flare of warmth in his chest and the uncomfortable punch to his stomach because oh. Laurent had been an absolute prick, hadn’t he?

He read the note a few times, realised this is why Damen had hovered in the kitchen that morning and he only realised he was smiling when Ancel half gasped and hit him none-too-gently on his arm.

“Oh my god, you have to tell me,”

“Shan’t,” Laurent sniffed “you were rude and I told you I wouldn’t tell so there,”

“Please? Pretty please? Pretty please and I’ll never steal your things again? Pretty, pretty please and I’ll only use the sybian when you’re not home? Oh!” Ancel said flapping his hands at him “I won’t call you frigid ever again if you just tell me, I’ll keep asking and I’ll get really annoying,”

Tempting. But no.

Laurent smirked “nope,” he said popping the P just to watch Ancel scowl “and you won’t keep hassling me about it or I’ll send your OnlyFans to your brothers because that mask won’t do shit to hide your identity from them,”

Ancel gasped, taking a step back “bitch,” he hissed before sighing “fine, but if I guess?”

“You won’t,” Laurent “now go away I’m busy,”

“No, not yet, was it good?” Ancel asked bouncing down on the bed beside him “I want to know how big he was, how many times, how he made you come, and how hot he is,”

Laurent bit his lip, fiddling idly with the sticky note as he stared back at Ancel and all he could really hear was his teenage-self gushing and panicking and Ancel’s voice calling him boring.

“Really, really fucking good, it was the best sex I’ve ever had,” he breathed out and Ancel grinned wide, no doubt seven more salacious questions forming on the back of it “and he’s unreal, perfect actually in a really annoying way, and he was big too-“

“How big?” Ancel interrupted, rapt with attention the way he rarely was when Laurent talked. Ancel thought he was boring and nerdy after all, talked too much about his research or his books. But now he was listening intently.

“Weirdly, I didn’t get a ruler out,”

Ancel scoffed “your idea of big is probably different to mine though and I’m trying to paint an accurate picture,”

“I don’t know Ancel, porn star big, it felt like I could feel him in my stomach,” he said trying not to remember how good it had felt to have Damen deep like that “and I currently feel like one sneeze will ruin my day,”

Ancel cackled then “and your pyjamas,”

Laurent’s grimace made Ancel laugh harder for a moment before he flopped backward beside him, staring at Laurent’s ceiling.

“So he was big, sexy and really good?” he hedged

Laurent felt like it was a trap. He just didn’t see how.

“Yes,” he said narrowing his eyes at Ancel.

Ancel gave a lewd sigh that was all but a swoon “can I have him?”

Laurent bit back the instant and vehement no but he wasn’t quick enough to stop it from taking over his features. Ancel sat up again, eyes gone wide and gleeful.

“You like him,” he accused

Laurent’s breath stuttered out of him, valiantly ignoring the indefinable swoop in his stomach and uncomfortable twist of his insides. He turned a carefully blank expression on Ancel.

“What makes you say that?”

Ancel raised his eyebrows, incredulity splashed over his features “if looks could kill I’d be a dead man, people don’t get territorial over one night stands babe, which means you want to see him again,”

He refused those words, even when they were settling beneath his skin. He wasn’t being possessive. It didn’t mean anything. His stomach rolled uncomfortably, a pit in the middle like he’d missed a step on the stairs. Wrong-footed and clumsy and entirely unsure of how it had happened.

“It doesn’t matter either way, nothing else will happen,” he said picking idly at the edges of the nearest pillow “it was just one night, it’s nothing important,” he made himself say

From the corner of his eye he saw Ancel frown, face scrunching up like he was about to launch into a tirade and Laurent couldn’t listen. He didn’t want to hear it because Ancel didn’t know anything. He wouldn’t be saying it if he knew who he’d slept with.

“But-“

“No. Now I need to write some more to my dissertation, you might want to think of doing the same,”

Ancel snorted, rising to his feet and fixing Laurent with a look full of intent

“I haven’t started, I’m meeting my supervisor for the first time this week though,” he said “by the time I’m done I’ll have a month-long extension,” he smirked, making a show of sticking his tongue into his cheek and making lewd noises as he retreated to the door.

Laurent didn’t doubt how serious he was. During their time at University Ancel had thus far seduced two separate lecturers to get himself out of trouble. The first was for a failed exam and the second was for an extension for a module he hadn’t attended a single lecture for in his second year. He had sweet-talked countless others of course, but thus far he’d only actually gotten on his knees for two of them. He almost felt sorry for the poor unsuspecting supervisor.   

Laptop quite forgotten Laurent found himself lying on his back, sticky note held up in front of him and the disarming charisma of Damen came rushing back all over again. Damen had been nothing but perfectly charming and perfectly -extraordinarily- attentive. And Laurent had basically kicked him out and called him a whore.

It didn’t matter and it’s not like he cared.

But, a small voice said, would it be so bad if he did?

Mind made up he lifted his phone, taking a picture of the note and sending it to Damen before he had a chance to talk himself out of it.

You:
Seriously? Who does that?

It took him ten seconds to realise it still sounded mean and Damen was likely going to ignore it and Laurent absolutely wouldn’t blame him. He didn’t mean to send a second text and he really didn’t mean for it to be a full five minutes after he sent the first because Damen would see that. But he did.

He had to really. It wasn’t even about want; it was necessity. Entirely. Nothing else at all. Because he had realised something very important; Damen was still a bit of a prick. He was snarky about Auguste in the press all the time. If someone -anyone- annoyed him he wasn’t quiet about it. He could be vitriolic and scathing in his interviews or on social media when someone had gotten on his bad side. Laurent really couldn’t afford to be one of those people because then Auguste would know. Everyone would. And there were few things that made Laurent as uncomfortable as the media and general public discussing his sex life.

You:
You should have specified what was owed. Ancel is notoriously demanding xxx

Damen didn’t reply and Laurent resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t. At least he’d tried. If Damen wanted to ignore him then at least Laurent could remind himself of how right he was about him whenever that annoying niggle started acting up in the back of his head like it had been doing all day.

He forced himself back to his dissertation and when his phone went off an indistinct amount of time later he made himself not react. Forced himself to finish the sentence, then the paragraph and ignored the irritating flutter in his stomach when he saw it was from Damen.

When Laurent opened the chat it was a picture of his travel mug sitting on Damen’s kitchen counter with ?!?! written underneath it.

Barbarian:
Pretty sure IOU’s are only effective when u know who owes u

Okay. Still a bit pissed off then. That was expected. Not surprising. Laurent would be all kinds of pissed off too.

You:
So you didn’t intend to see it through. I see. Damianos exposed: food thief and liar xxx

Barbarian:
I always keep my word. Or try to. Thought I’d give it to u to pass on back when seeing u again was a possibility.

His first thought: Damen had wanted to see him again! His second thought: Past tense.

If Laurent hadn’t been a complete prick that morning and Damen had asked to see him again what would he have said? He would have panicked probably. He probably would have said no on reflex. Except that was a big fat fucking lie and he would have caved against the anxious feral little doubts and the vulturous voices in his head and he’d have said yes. With nerves fluttering in his belly that made him feel like he was floating. Kind of like he was right now. Or would be if it wasn’t ruined by the sharp twist of discomfort that he’d bought on himself.

No. He refused it. Damen only meant he would have fucked him again. Laurent may have mistaken that in the past. But it had always been true hadn’t it? It was always about the sex. Xander had just been experimenting and Laurent had let him. Bastian. Well. That was always about the sex too, one way or the other. And then of course-

Well. Laurent swallowed, mind churning slow and sluggish, grating against his skull. He hadn’t been wrong either he supposed. None of them had really cared about him. Damen didn’t either. And Laurent didn’t want him to.

You:
Oh I see. You don’t stay friends with one night stands xxx

Barbarian:
Except we’re not friends.

Laurent frowned, unsure why his stomach decided now would be a good moment to drop like he was on a rollercoaster. Damen hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. But then if they weren’t friends what were they? They weren’t strangers, Damen had said so himself.

You:
Well we’ve established we’re not strangers. Especially now you’ve been inside me xxx

He added the last bit to surprise him and because he wanted a reaction, he didn’t like the direction this was going.

Barbarian:
I was under the impression being inside u was the reason u wanted us to be strangers.

You:
And how did you arrive at that conclusion? xxx

Barbarian:
I didn’t so much arrive at it as u pushed me there, if I recall

You:
I said no such thing. But by all means, you do you xxx

Barbarian:
Ur a headache, do u know that?

Yes. He’d been told. Frequently and by a lot of people. Too much hard work and not enough pay out. Difficult.

You:
A human migraine, yes, I’m aware xxx

Damen didn’t respond and Laurent never really expected him to.

~*~

Laurent was extremely busy. He was lying face down on his bed very pointedly not having a crisis. It had been a long week. Kicking off with a call from his father asking Laurent to explain the voicemail Auguste had left him threatening to run away and renounce the title, which Laurent had no explanation for except the obvious: Auguste had been high as a kite. It was followed by a shitty week of lectures and seminars that Laurent found himself increasingly distracted from, was flavoured by two calls from Auguste which were thankfully sober but stunted and awkward, and topped off by an ever-present niggle in the back of Laurent’s head that was very Damen-shaped. Which was only made worse by the fact it was Friday again and he hadn’t heard from Damen at all.

Hence the not-a-crisis face down position on his bed.

Ancel though, did not quite understand that he was busy.

He breezed into Laurent’s room as though the lock wasn’t even there and in his defence it basically wasn’t. A bit of intent and a nudge and the door would swing right open. Which it had done three fucking times this week at the most inopportune of moments.

Ancel had a fucking radar for it he was certain. Because every time Laurent had let the restlessness of remembered pleasure get the better of him, and he’d tried to get himself off, Ancel came breezing in like he could taunt and embarrass him into texting Mystery Man.

“You still pining?”

“I’m not fucking pining,” Laurent huffed, throwing himself over so he could lean up on his elbows, all the better to glare at Ancel.

“Yeah, sure,” Ancel snorted looking smug and Laurent only just held back from launching himself at him by imagining smashing his head against the wall instead.

Ancel had been a nightmare all week. Not least because his sexual-favours-extension-endeavour with his dissertation supervisor had fallen flat. Turns out there was a lecturer on campus that wouldn’t fall for Ancel’s shit. Laurent didn’t know Dr Berenger but he very much liked that Ancel had been freaking out over a dissertation topic since Berenger refused Ancel’s offer and his extension. It was a refreshing change of pace but, worryingly, all of Ancel’s rants were coloured by an intensity that told Laurent that Ancel kind of liked the fact Berenger had said no.

The poor man wasn’t going to know what hit him. Ancel wasn’t one to give up easily and he had a feeling the prize now was Berenger himself, not the deadline. Poor fucker.

“Anyway, I’m meeting the others at The Hideout soon,” Ancel said in that specific hedging tone Laurent hated “and you’re not-pining and irritating and somehow more sexually frustrated than normal so I’m going to insist you come with us,”

Laurent covered his eyes. The Hideout was a boujee bar in the old Veretian quarter that liked to pretend it was for craft beer and cocktails and was down to earth. It was pretty exclusive, had a privacy promise in place which meant no media and no photos and cost an arm and a leg for one drink. It wasn’t Laurent’s preferred place to drink.

“No,” he said instantly

“Tough, Nicaise told me to tell you he’s still got those drunk photos from last summer and he’s going to send them to your fan pages on Instagram if you’re not at the bar by 8,” Ancel said before swanning off to get ready.

Nicaise -the little bastard- would do it too.

And that was how Laurent found himself in a booth at the Hideout on a Friday night sandwiched between Lazar and Aimeric, listening to Nicaise explain his righteous exposure endeavours with his International Relations lecturer.

Lazar predictably found the whole thing a riot whereas Vannes looked a little like she was questioning -and not for the first time- how they’d ever become friends. Laurent often wondered too because Vannes was far too good for them. Without her Laurent would have gone mad by now he was sure. Lazar certainly would have failed his first semester and Nicaise definitely wouldn’t have made it to his exams due to being hung over and completely un-arsed about University on any given day. Vannes was the only one who could get Lazar or Nicaise to do anything. Lazar by himself was a full-time job. But if Lazar was a full-time job then Nicaise was a whole fucking lifestyle.

Nicaise was what Laurent’s father always referred to as an upstart. He had been born a commoner and his mother had married a titled older man when Nicaise was ten and so he was a truly awful blend of working class fuck you and noble entitlement. He was a shit.

“International Relations is a waste of time,” Aimeric said slurping the dregs of his cocktail through his straw whilst the rest of them had barely finished half. Aimeric must be a In A Mood. Perfect.

“You weren’t saying that when you were letting the Patran ambassador skull fuck you in a car park,” Nicaise shot back instantly

Aimeric scowled “it wasn’t a car park,”

“The stairwell of the car park is still the fucking car park you fucking slut,” Nicaise grinned “how much did daddy pay to make the security footage disappear?”

“Fuck off my point is, International relations is pointless unless you’re going into politics,”

“Well excuse the fuck out of me for-“

“Oh my god don’t fucking start with me Nici I’m not in the fucking mood,”

If experience had taught Laurent anything it was to just sit back and enjoy the fireworks because neither of them would stop now they’d started until a drink had been thrown at the very least. Not unless something better and more interesting came along.

“Side-bet,” Lazar said turning to him “Nicaise will throw the whole fucking glass again,” he said speaking too quiet for the others to hear.

“Aimeric will swing first,” Laurent grinned before turning back to the table to pipe up “remember when your dad got drunk and hit on Nicaise?” Laurent grinned as Lazar beside him swore “and Nicaise kissed him just to piss you off and then put it in the group chat?”

Aimeric instantly flushed, and Nicaise threw his head back to laugh even as they traded ever more unpleasant insults. Laurent just turned to Lazar.

“Tee minus,”

“Fuck that,” Lazar said “hey, remember when Aimeric started that rumour about your mom fucking your step brother and it ended up on the front pages for weeks?”

Laurent snorted “good one,” he said as Lazar sat back, eyes ping-ponging across the table.

Laurent opened his mouth to add to the mess when a sharp kick from the other side of the table had him snapping his mouth shut. Vannes. Obviously.

“Look!” she said just loud enough to draw the attention of everyone at the table and the general vicinity as well for good measure “either get a room and do us all a favour and fuck it out, or shut the fuck up and listen to Lazar tell you about his grindr disaster,”

Aimeric and Nicaise both grumbled about getting a room as they all turned to Lazar who just knocked his drink back.

“Oh, you bitch,” Lazar said even as he was laughing and launching into a story that involved a vibrator, a greedy bottom, and a trip to A&E and came complete with one very interesting X-Ray photo.

By the time he was done the mood at the table had changed drastically, but as always sex stories only gave Ancel his moment to take the floor to retell one of his misadventures from this week. Unfortunately, it was one Laurent had already heard so he turned his head to distract himself and instantly his eyes went to the window.

It was already dark outside, but even if it hadn’t been the flash of camera’s was bright against the windows. They appeared reflective from the outside but from inside the building the car that had pulled up and the small horde of photographers that had gathered were instantly visible.

Laurent was only half interested, but when the door swung open he snapped his head back around so quickly he was surprised none of the others noticed.

Fucking perfect. Just what he needed.

Nikandros had just walked in, the unlucky Groom-to-be who was marrying Bastian’s sister, and always at his side the media’s favourite headline guarantee: Damianos.

Laurent wasn’t even looking at him but he was aware of him as he moved past their booth, aware of him even when he’d gone to the other side of the bar. He turned just a little, using Aimeric as a shield as he tried to furtively glance past him to see where Damen had actually gone.

Not far was the answer. They were up on the raised area at the other side of the bar that was usually reserved, which meant Laurent could see him perfectly well and he wasn’t sure whether it was a pro or a con. There was a group of them, most were recognisable, some less so, like the women who were probably model’s or actresses or reality TV stars. 

Damen looked distractingly good in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow in a really annoying, artful, casual way and Laurent had to make himself turn away. Not even a week ago that man had been in his bed and hadn’t fucking bothered texting him since. Which wasn’t his own fault at all.

It was Damen. And Damen fucked for sport. So obviously he never would have text him regardless of what Laurent had said when they parted. Damen was just very good at the game. What was it Damen and Auguste had always used to say?

Always leave them wanting more.

The group was loud, drawing Laurent’s attention again and again whether he wanted them to or not. He felt restless, stomach squirming and pulse misbehaving and he was on edge. He was anxious and though it was entirely unpleasant it was distinctly different to his usual anxiety. It felt less bridled, more alive beneath his skin somehow like it was clawing for a release. Perhaps that was why he turned his head quite as often as he did. Maybe that was how he noticed within the hour which of the girls seemed to have won Damen’s attention by taking shots without using her hands.

Laurent felt a little bit nauseous with it all and he wasn’t quite sure if he’d had enough to drink to even warrant that feeling. Two cocktails didn’t usually make him feel sick. He barely paid attention to the conversations going on around him, too focused on squinting past Aimeric to see Damen standing at the bar with the woman at his elbow when Lazar was suddenly giving him a rough shove.

“Fucking hell move Laurent,” he laughed “unless you want to pay for my round for me,” he said

And oh. Rounds. Yes. Bar.

“I’ll come,” he said distractedly, all but shoving past a tutting Aimeric as he let Lazar pass him and followed him to the bar.

Predictably Lazar went straight to the empty space beside the Duke of Kesus’ son. Pallas was Damen’s least offensive friend in Laurent’s opinion so he didn’t mind pretending to browse a menu whilst he listened to Lazar flirt. He was quite shameless and, predictably, Pallas was responsive. Laurent wasn’t paying them much attention. He was too busy watching Damen from the corner of his eye.

It was how he knew Damen didn’t look his way once whilst he collected drinks and left again without even acknowledging him. Laurent definitely wasn’t scowling at the menu. He didn’t care. At all.

The self-recrimination of expecting any kind of reaction when he knew the kind of man Damen was started up in his head instantly. He was very busy telling himself he wasn’t surprised or disappointed, so busy in fact, that he missed whatever Lazar was saying to him until he was waving a literal hand in his face.

“What?” he snapped

“Pallas, you know Pallas,” he said gesturing to the man at his elbow, the man currently giving Laurent a tight faux-smile. Another of Auguste’s fans then, clearly.

“He said we should join them,” Lazar said throwing a thumb over his shoulder needlessly, like Laurent’s entire focus hadn’t been on that general area since Damen swept into the bar.

“Go then,” Laurent said which was only met by a smile

“Great, I’ll get the others,”

And wait. Oh. No. Big fat fucking no.

Laurent hissed as Lazar moved past him. It was only concern for making his panic quite as obvious as it was that stopped him from tackling Lazar as he all but jogged across the bar to get the others.

Laurent was forced to let him go and turned back to Pallas with a grimace.

Pallas was already looking at him, unimpressed and not shy about letting Laurent see it. He bristled instantly when Pallas sidled closer. Neither of them spoke as the barman put down their drinks on trays, asking if they would like them to be brought over. Before Laurent could answer Pallas waved him away and they both settled into an uneasy silence, watching Laurent’s friends gather up their things and come closer.

“Does that mean you’ll be joining us too?” Pallas asked

Laurent flicked his eyes toward him “apparently,”

“Well,” Pallas said, lifting a tray and faking a smile, eyes on Lazar as he came toward them “let’s hope you don’t catch anything then,” he said

Laurent sucked in a breath, too surprised to say anything as Lazar took the second tray of drinks and fell into step with Pallas. He was left frozen, cheeks dusting with either anger or mortification or both because fuck. He knew. Which meant Nikandros knew. Nikandros who was marrying Bastian’s sister. Which meant it could get to Bastian who would inevitably rejoice in telling Auguste.

Fuck.

What the fuck Damen?

“Calm down Princess,” Vannes said as she nudged Laurent’s shoulder “there’s a lot of people and a lot of space, you can avoid him,”

And what?

Laurent turned wide eyes on Vannes, searching her face for a long moment before she burst out laughing “oh I do love to watch you squirm, but be a big boy, Damianos looks occupied enough that you won’t even have to say hello,” she said drawing Laurent around and oh.

Oh. The Auguste thing. Right. Not the sex thing.

Fuck.

Laurent was stiff with unease as he let himself be led up the steps to the seating area where Damen and his friends were holding court. As soon as he stepped into the grouping of tables it felt like every set of eyes turned to him and he could do nothing except lift his chin defiantly and take a seat beside Nicaise.

Damen still didn’t acknowledge him. He didn’t acknowledge him as the drinks eased the slight smattering of tension until Laurent and his friends might always have been sat with them. He didn’t acknowledge him even when they were part of the same conversation.

Ancel was enjoying himself at least, surrounded by men twice his size -fresh meat, Laurent supposed. He definitely didn’t notice the way Ancel angled himself toward Damen at every given opportunity. He also didn’t notice how stunning the dark-skinned woman who’d been at Damen’s elbow all night was, nor the grating, irritating feeling in his stomach that flared every time he looked up and saw Damen sat back against the leather seats with the woman on one side and Ancel on the other and both of them leaning toward him. Like magnets.

And through it all Damen didn’t look his way once.

The agitation was the worst. He couldn’t stop fidgeting, couldn’t help but notice the way his heart was beating, focusing too closely on the thrum of it in his own chest. The music was grating, every loud laugh made him flinch and suppress a frown. He hated it. He hated that he was in any way moved to any emotion, but most of all he hated Damen.

Because Laurent was painfully aware that it was likely that all of Damen’s friends knew intimate details about what Laurent was like in bed. Like what he looked like naked, or what noises he made when he came, or whether he’d been any good in Damen’s esteemed opinion. Not to mention that he’d text Damen out of the blue and asked him to fuck him to annoy his brother. He swallowed thickly and downed the garish blue shot that Nicaise put in front of him.

His skin felt itchy, pulled taut with discomfort and crawling restlessness. The heat of awareness was worse, the prickling against his scalp and neck that let him know he was being watched. Judged. This was exactly why he didn’t do stuff like this. Then the one time he did he made a mistake like this.

He was sure every whisper was about him, every snigger was at his expense, every time a set of eyes settled on him he was accosted by details of his night with Damen knowing those very details were very likely passing through their minds too. It was unbearable.

He wished Auguste would call with a crisis. Then he’d have an excuse to leave.

But Auguste had only called twice all week and both times at normal human being hours. The first was to apologise and to ask him round for coffee tomorrow and the second just to check in. So he couldn’t even count on Auguste to get him out of it.

It took perhaps two hours before Damen’s girl of the night -Cleo- leant into Damen and pressed her mouth against his ear and Laurent -only two seats away- was painfully aware of Damen’s quiet response.

“We can leave if you want,” Damen said and Laurent felt his stomach trip over itself in its haste to let Laurent know how much he didn’t like it.

She nodded, smiling, and turned to her friend excitedly as Damen excused himself to the bathroom. Laurent, too many cocktails deep and bubbling with something, waited a few moments before following. He just had to know what the fuck he’d said. And why he was ignoring him.

Laurent could take a lot, had taken quite a lot in his life, but he fucking detested being ignored.

The bathrooms at The Hideout were as rustic as the rest of it was supposed to be. Like some kind of old brewery where the toilets and taps and plumbing were all in a turn of the century style. Laurent hated that too for the unbearable pretentiousness of it all.

When Laurent pushed open the door Damen was at the sink, washing his hands.

Thankfully, one quick glance showed him they were blessedly alone.

“Leaving so soon?” Laurent announced himself, leaning back against the door.

Damen didn’t look up, just continued to wash his hands “yes well, you know how it is,” he said, fucking finally meeting Laurent’s eyes in the mirror “have to keep the local family planning clinic busy don’t I?” he said, moving to grab a paper towel.

Laurent scowled at his own reflection and refused to wince as his own words were thrown back at him.

“You told Pallas,” he said instead

“I did,”

Laurent huffed “well did you tell Nikandros as well?”

Damen paused then, turning to look at him properly for the first time since he’d left Laurent’s apartment. It sent his pulse skittering exactly as he had done that night, the heat in his eyes was a little different but it had the same effect. Laurent swallowed.

“Ah,” Damen said, an unamused smirk on his face “and are you worried about Auguste finding out or Bastian?”

The sound of his name on Damen’s lips made him nearly flinch in surprise. Damen knew about Bastian? Well of course he knew about Bastian, everyone in their circles knew everything about everyone. It had not been a secret that he’d dated Bastian, it had been well publicised actually, as had their break-up. It probably wasn’t even really much of a secret that he still fell back into his bed sometimes. But it was one thing to know Damen knew stuff like that about him and another to hear it. The idea made him intensely uncomfortable.

“I don’t care about Bastian,” Laurent grit out

“Funny, that’s not what he says,”

“You’ve-“ he struggled for a moment, unsure what the unease was as it slid down his spine “you’ve spoken about me with him?” he asked because why the fuck would he even ever come up between them? He only dated Bastian once Damen was well and truly out of Auguste’s life after all, and they had barely spared each other a glance since. Things had also been over with Bastian for two fucking years.

“Trust me,” Damen said “he talks freely and without prompting,”

The sudden flood of unwarranted shame that slammed against him made him swallow. The embarrassment was a tacky thing that seemed lodged in his stomach and made him want to fidget. But he locked it down, focused on Damen’s bored expression.

“Wanted to compare notes?”

Damen rolled his eyes “you think I told him?”

Which meant Bastian had talked to Damen about him before they slept together. Talked to him about what though was entirely beyond him. Fuck. He felt exposed. He’d always known Bastian was shitty but this felt like a slap. Several of them. In places he still had no idea how to guard. Bastian told people about him. The way he’d just accused Damen of doing. The way Damen had told at least Pallas.

It was ridiculous really, to expect anyone to keep quiet; to not tell. But there was something intensely uncomfortable about knowing people spoke about him like that. Judged him. Sex in general was something of a precarious venture and Laurent had never really gotten over how mortifying it could be, how weak it could make him feel for liking what he liked; knowing what it made him. Some days, he could talk himself out of it, recognise his own thoughts, remember his therapy. Today, clearly, was not that kind of day and he wanted to shrink into himself all over again.

“What did he say?” the masochistic part of him wanted to know

Damen grimaced, turned his face away “nothing worth repeating,”

“That bad then,” he surmised “so did he say difficult or pathetic?” he said voice devoid of emotion and calm even as the words circled like vultures in his brain, all sharp edges and claws.

Damen blinked, surprise lighting up his features enough to make Laurent snap his mouth shut, squeeze his hands into fists.

“That’s what you think he’d say?” Damen said, expression softening, almost troubled and Laurent’s eyes skittered away from him.

“What did he say?” he repeated. He just had to know.

Because if it wasn’t those things it was even worse. He chanced another glance at Damen. He was still frowning, watching Laurent keenly and he had to force his hands to unfold. His shoulders to straighten.

“Tell me what he said Damen,”

“That you were a tease who play acted at being innocent, that he had to talk you into it,” Damen said, voice equally as calm as Laurent’s.

“But?”

“That you’d take it like a whore when he did,”

Whore.

Funny, Damen had probably been waiting for a reason to throw that word at him after what Laurent had said to him. He’d all but called Damen a whore hadn’t he? And yet Damen hadn’t said it to him then. Hadn’t said anything at all. He said it now though.

He should be used to that word. And maybe he was. Maybe part of him was far too used to that word; the part of him that was always fifteen years old and wounded. Stupid. There was an ominous creaking in the back of his head like a dam about to break, old memories shaking loose like leaves falling from a tree. No. Fuck. Not here. Not now. He couldn’t do this in front of Damen. Damen had already seen enough of him. Heard enough too apparently.

Would he guess? Would he know?

It was always those questions, wasn’t it? The deep ingrained fear that someone would look at him and see it; that dark secret he tugged around with him like a shackle he couldn’t cut loose; how ugly the inside of him really was.

“Ah don’t stop there, you’ve been dying to call me that, no?” he made himself smile, but it felt fragile on his face like if Damen looked at him too long it would crack.

“I’ve not given it much thought,” Damen said and it felt worse almost but then, why would he think about it? Damen had a string of lovers; Laurent was hardly anything special.

“Just enough to agree with Bastian though right?”

“Is it about him?” Damen asked flatly, an unimpressed expression on his face.

Laurent felt the words bubbling up before he could stop them, felt them in his throat and on his tongue as an amused sound pushed past his lips.

“I text you by accident you know,” he said and watched Damen’s brow twitch, fighting whatever expression wanted to slip “I meant to text him not you, so you tell me, is it about him?”

Damen turned his face away, not betraying a single thing for a long heartbeat and Laurent was aware of his pulse at the base of his neck and the feeling in his diaphragm that felt like a weight. When Damen laughed it was not an amused sound, as he swiped a hand down his face, not looking at him. Again.

“Or did you really think I meant to text you?” Laurent prodded, like poking a stick at a wolf that would have been happy to ignore you if you just left it alone.

“Right,” Damen said and Laurent couldn’t judge his tone, didn’t know what his expression meant.

“Does that hurt your over-sized ego?”

Damen met his gaze then. He clenched his jaw, chin lifting and the fire in his eyes did absolutely nothing to stem the flare in Laurent’s stomach; running wild with want even when he knew it was not the right kind of heat.

Annoyance shouldn’t look so good on him and Laurent absolutely shouldn’t want to goad him more.

“Not really,” Damen said, almost idle, a contrast to his expression “it might not have been meant for me but you were begging me for it in the end, why would that bother me?”

Laurent’s cheeks went red instantly. He felt it two-fold, a punch to the gut and a flash of remembered arousal and he hated himself for both of them. Damen’s smirk switched the gears in Laurent’s head instantly.

“I thought about him the whole time,” he hissed and he wasn’t sure which one of them had moved, how he suddenly found Damen much, much closer, glaring down at him as Laurent seethed, refusing to tip his head back to give him the satisfaction of his height; just flicked his eyes up and tried not to think about the fact his eyes would look just like this if he was on his knees for him too. The view would be the same. Fuck.

Damen’s slow smile made him stiffen, blinking as Damen leant down, closer, so close he could feel the heat of him. Laurent had to fight every muscle in his body not to sway into him. He was half convinced he was going to kiss him but Damen did no such thing, instead he ran the tip of his nose just barely in a soft lingering caress from his cheek to his ear. Laurent closed his eyes, hands fisting at his sides as he sucked in a lungful of air that tasted like Damen.

“No,” Damen chuckled “you didn’t,” he said and Laurent hated the confidence with which he said it, he hated the dark honeyed chuckle and the tease of fingers at Laurent’s ear “but you’ll think of me next time you’re with him,”

He snatched his head back, stumbling back a step and hating the conceded ground, the way Damen’s eyes tracked him, measuring him. Judging him.

It was made all the worse because he was fucking right. The absolute bastard.

He didn’t miss the next time though. Like to Damen it was a given Laurent would end up back in Bastian’s bed. Or had Laurent made him think that? Was it wrong? He always did in the end, didn’t he?

Except he didn’t want to. Had he ever? Bastian had always been a means to an end one way or the other. At first to drown out the voices in his head, to avoid the shattering loneliness and horror of what had happened to him. Then it was familiar, easy, so fucking easy, to just go with it and follow where the world led. He never had to stop and think and Laurent would have done anything back then to not think. Since they’d split up he was just an easy way to sate his needs.

“Are you in love with him still?” Damen prodded; voice almost amused

Laurent scoffed “is that what he says?”

“He says obsessed, his psycho-ex that can’t stay away,” Damen said with a disbelieving breath of amusement “you must love him, why else would you keep going back to someone who thinks so fucking little of you?” he asked, brow knitted.

Psycho. Obsessed.

It wasn’t new. It wasn’t new information at all. Bastian had said as much to him when they were still together. That Laurent’s moods flipped too easily, that he overreacted to everything, that he was crazy for being so insecure, so paranoid, so suspicious. Even when it turns out he had been right all along and Bastian had been cheating on him. It was always like that with Bastian and Laurent had always just let him because-

Because he didn’t deserve anything else did he? It’s not like anyone was ever going to love him some people just weren’t made for that.

“And how should he think of me? The way you do?” Laurent snapped

“Who says my opinion of you is any higher than yours is of me?” Damen said one eyebrow raised

“Right, I forget, Bastian told you all about me,” he hissed remembering that Damen thought he slept around and was hung up on his ex and was a psycho “did he tell you I like it rough? That I’m pretty when I beg? That I look best on my knees?” 

Damen’s smirk at Laurent’s words absolutely under no fucking circumstances should have made him want to shove his cock down Damen’s’ throat. He should be angry. He should want to hit him, and maybe part of him did but the other altogether less intelligent side of his brain just wanted; because fuck it all that expression was sexy. He wore it well. Too well. The absolute prick.

Sometimes Laurent’s life was distinctly unfair.

It was a strange overwhelming concoction. A deadly blend. Anger and want and something that simmered in his skin like a heat he hadn’t noticed creeping in until it was upon him. That Damen made him feel a little bit like a frog being unwittingly boiled alive was apparently not enough reason for Laurent’s brain to make him walk away.

Tipping his chin up he met Damen’s eyes, mouth opening, the tang of venom waiting on his tongue but Damen beat him to it.

“He said you’re quiet in bed,” Damen said, words like nettles against Laurent’s chest where the sting was harshest “silent right up until you come,”

Laurent could only glare, seething, unsure if he was angriest at Bastian for telling him or at Damen for repeating it back at him like ammunition. He knew what Damen was getting at. He knew exactly how loud he’d been for Damen, how wanton and shameless, his moans had been ringing like echoes in his head all week that made him want to get himself off or worse; fucking call him.

“Is that true?” Damen asked, stalking closer when Laurent failed to respond.

Laurent refused to concede the ground this time, could only straighten his shoulders and square his jaw when Damen paused right in front of him again, meeting his gaze. Fire meeting fire; the air between them like the dancing lick of flames.

“I thought you’d appreciate the performance,” Laurent said, the lie tasting sour on his tongue.

Damen’s sneer was still hot and Laurent figured there really was something broken inside him because when Damen reached out and gripped his chin hard his first instinct was to go docile, pant back at him. He had to work hard to make himself pull away. Or try to anyway; Damen held him firm and refused the movement.

“Do you lie to him too?” Damen asked voice dropped down low.

“I don’t have to,” Laurent said, aware of the vibrating in his skin and the suddenly skittish beating of his heart because Damen was just so close “I actually want him,”

It was a weak pathetic lie and he knew it. So did Damen. The evidence couldn’t be more damning and he’d known it before he even spoke it. Part of him had hoped to hit Damen’s ego enough to make him doubt. He should have known he wouldn’t. Men like Damen wouldn’t be rocked by shaky lies given in a tone more breath than bite.

“And you didn’t want me?” Damen asked, eyes dancing over his face, voice gone deceptively soft; the calm before a storm that Laurent could feel gathering around them, static and tense and alive.

Before he could blink Damen was shifting, shoving him hard, sending Laurent stumbling back several paces, crowded by Damen’s body until he was pressed up against the sink, back arcing awkwardly, heart pounding and hands unconsciously gripping at Damen’s chest.

Damen hummed, coming closer, mouth a damp breath at his ear, stirring his hair and his flesh and his stomach all at once.

“An outright lie,” Damen said and like some messed up Pavlovian response to the reminder of their pillow talk Laurent could only suck in a breath, focus on the throb those words ignited.

“I feel almost sorry for him then, if he doesn’t get to hear the noises you make,” Damen said against his ear, teeth grazing the lobe as he shifted his mouth to his neck.

Laurent tipped his head, allowing him the access as his fingers tightened in Damen’s shirt, eyes slamming closed and body pulsing with awareness. He should hate it. Hate him. Hate himself for the helpless reaction but he couldn’t. Not yet.

He was in a serious amount of trouble and he had no fucking clue what the fuck he was supposed to do about it except hold on.

“You sound so fucking good when you’re moaning for me Laurent,”

Laurent’s breath left him in a rush and he felt the edges of his anger curve inward, softening, shifting gears entirely. Damen hummed, felt the surrender as he sucked a kiss to his pulse point. He couldn’t think, couldn’t remember what they’d even been saying. Damen was everywhere, overwhelming and too hot and too big. A strangled noise clogged in his throat held in by sheer force of will as Damen pressed up against him, shifting minutely, teasingly.

“Damen,” Plaintive.

Damen groaned and before Laurent could appreciate the noise he had Damen’s mouth coming down hard over his in a kiss he felt all the way down to his toes. But Laurent was stopped from truly losing himself in the glorious press of his demanding tongue when Damen pulled back too fast. In one dizzying blink he turned Laurent around, pressing Laurent’s front to the sinks. Damen caged him in, one hand on the basin and the other at Laurent’s throat; a suggestion of a grip to come.

He felt his limbs go loose unconsciously, eyes locked with Damen’s in the mirror, taking in the sight of them both; light and dark and both of them breathing like the air was getting thin. He didn’t like to be choked. He hated it in fact. But Damen’s wide palm settling at his throat, fingers resting but not yet digging in, had heat rushing him. He knew. He already knew. Damen wouldn’t hurt him.

It was like something in him switched off, or over, or maybe it was a light blinking on; the two-fold horror and awe of revelation. He wasn’t sure whether it was trust or power but it came to him on a teasing flick of Damen’s tongue at his ear, like a secret breathed between them. If he said stop then Damen would. It was in the invitation of his body, the way he left enough space between them for Laurent to press back himself, a choice for him alone, it was the way he held but didn’t press, just begged a question with his eyes as he watched Laurent in the mirror with a keen microscopic awareness the way he had done when he’d been fucking him.

The realisation almost made his knees weak and he melted back against him, want rushing him when Damen smiled, a flash of teeth and tongue as he moved his other hand from the basin to Laurent’s stomach and held him close. Those dark eyes in the mirror staring back at him as Laurent chased a breath that wouldn’t come.

“Look at yourself,” Damen said voice a caress “I want you to see what you look like right now,”

Laurent swallowed, eyes bouncing over his own reflection. He knew what he looked like. He knew exactly what he fucking looked like.

“This is what you look like when you’re thinking about fucking me,” Damen said and Laurent’s breath came a little faster “when you want me so badly not even your mouth can lie about it convincingly,” he breathed and Laurent’s hands shot out, tightening around the edges of the basin “see how dilated your eyes are? How prettily you’re flushing?” he did, he did see, could see how fast his chest was moving, how close he was to trembling with the force of it “tell me Laurent, tell me you don’t want me,”

They both knew he couldn’t.

Laurent tried, he parted his lips wider, every intention of saying something, anything, but all that came out was a drag of air as Damen’s hand shifted up his throat, tilting his chin up and head back as his mouth descended over Laurent’s hammering pulse.

“Say it love,” Damen said against his skin, a breathy whisper too close to his ear that had goosebumps erupting up his neck and down his arms.

Laurent’s swallow was audible, chased by a half-stifled gasp when Damen’s other hand began its descent. With his head tipped back against Damen’s shoulder and a marauding thumb brushing at his bottom lip he knew Damen felt him lick his lips, the minute nod of his head, the shudder that slid down his spine as Damen’s palm settled intimately low on his stomach.

“Or would you rather hear me say just how badly I want you?” Damen said, hand sliding a scorching trail from Laurent’s throat, down, down, to join his other hand, thumbs tucking possessively into the waistband of his jeans, eyes still glued to Laurent’s in the mirror “but then, that’s something you’ve heard a thousand times, no?”

“Not from you,” Laurent said, words slip sliding off his tongue before he could stop them.

He stiffened, colour deepening in his cheeks but Damen’s pleased smile was a flash in the mirror, there and gone again as he buried his face in Laurent’s neck. Laurent let himself relax back into his hold, swallowed as Damen thumbed the top button of his jeans open.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Damen said, meeting Laurent’s heavy gaze in the mirror, one corner of his mouth tweaking up at the helpless expression Laurent could see on his own face.

It was so strange. Bizarre almost, to see himself this way. He looked pale beside Damen, looked almost small with Damen’s body framing him, trapping him, holding him close and overwhelming him in all the ways Laurent had been thinking about all week.

“Part of me hates it,” Damen confessed, popping another button and Laurent swivelled his eyes down “yes, watch me,” he said, distractedly, hips shifting against Laurent, showing him he was not unaffected “I think about the way you looked riding my cock,” he said and Laurent bit his lip, watching Damen’s thick fingers pop one more button before his hand was slipping inside “and the way you said my name when you came, that sexy little noise you make right before you start really moaning,”

His hand slid down, in, cupping Laurent through his underwear, fingers moulding around the swiftly awakening shape of him, too gentle to do much more than tease at the friction he wanted.

“Damen,” he said, an echo of the way he’d moaned it before when he had Damen in his bed but Damen groaned against his neck.

“Then I think about what you said and I hate myself for wanting you,”

Laurent’s stomach sank, a whimper climbing from him that seemed to slam against the tiled walls like a condemning confession and he moved before he really knew what he was doing. Need was clawing at him, desire hot and heavy in his chest. He didn’t think. For once there was nothing in his brain. No reason, no logic, no doubts. Just Damen.

He shoved, dislodging Damen who backed up immediately, withdrawing with his hands up and his mouth open as though to speak as Laurent span around. He didn’t give him chance. He fisted his hands in Damen’s shirt and rose up on his tip toes, yanking Damen down to meet him.

Damen was on him instantly, mouth opening to the demand of Laurent’s tongue as Damen pressed him back up against the sinks. He was lifted, balancing on the rim as his legs went instinctively around Damen’s hips, arms around his neck as he kissed him with everything he had.

“Ask me,” Damen said, a command breathed against Laurent’s parted lips. Wanting permission.

“Damen,”

Damen’s hand slid back into the open front of his jeans, cupping him, fingers squeezing briefly before he was toying with the waistband of his underwear and peeling it away from his skin, reaching in and stroking him hard.

He gasped, a sound lost on Damen’s tongue as he continued to devour him and Laurent was overcome by the idea of letting Damen fuck him right there. Against the sinks, making him watch himself and whispering filth the whole time.

He was going to ask for it, could feel the words bubbling up as desperation made a home in Laurent’s chest, touching parts of him he’d never known existed as Damen kissed him like the world was going to end.

The door swinging open brought with it a rush of noise and a metaphorical bucket of ice. They scrambled apart, Laurent turning his back to whoever was in the doorway, heart pounding, mortification stinging his cheeks as he tucked himself back into his jeans and swiped at his mouth with a shaking hand.

When he turned back around he made himself lift his chin, met Pallas’s wide furious eyes for a beat before his gaze flickered back to Damen. He was still panting, chest rising and falling as unevenly as Laurent’s and the reality of what they’d just been doing started to trickle in.

“Cleo is waiting,” Pallas ground out, eyes boring heavily into Laurent like he could set him on fire with his gaze alone.

Cleo. Right. Damen’s girl. Asshole!

“Mustn’t keep her waiting Damianos,” Laurent said striding to the door and pushing past Pallas so he could escape his own embarrassment and Pallas’s disapproval.

The door swung shut behind him on what sounded like an incensed what the fuck do you think you’re doing and Laurent couldn’t agree more.

What the fuck was he doing? How had that even happened? Laurent didn’t do stuff like that, he didn’t.

When he made it back into the bar it felt too loud and too bright and he was still shaking from a truly fucking awful blend of arousal, shame, and adrenaline. He’d made his decision before he could really stop to think about it. He was, after all, in absolutely no condition to go back to his friends. Ancel would take one look at him and would scent it on him like some Great White Sex Shark.

The air outside was welcoming and bracing, it made him shiver as he was pulling out his phone to call one of Auguste’s drivers. If he chain-smoked three cigarette’s and had to think about something grim to get his body to calm down it was hardly his fault. It was Damen’s fault. Damen and his stupid fucking everything.

He felt shaky, like he’d just stepped off a spinning ride and his body hadn’t adjusted yet. Even when he was getting into the car ten minutes later and leaning his face against the window, Marlas just a blur of blinking lights and darkness around him.

He waited until he was safely inserted in his bedroom, at his window seat, his bedroom lights on low and the window cracked open so he could smoke whilst glaring at his own reflection before texting the group chat. It wasn’t the first time Laurent had left somewhere without telling them pleading boredom. They wouldn’t be worried.

He hated himself for the war of emotion in his chest. Hated that he couldn’t cling to his anger over Bastian, or at Damen for having the audacity to knock him sideways. Instead, all he could focus on was his all-consuming annoyance at himself for letting it all happen so easily. And the horrid winged beasts that seemed to be occupying his stomach whenever his mind inevitably drifted to the way Damen had tasted, or the helplessness of it all, or just the fact Damen had said he wanted him. Had been thinking about him.

Would Damen ever stop making him feel so knowingly foolish? So young?

No not young. Just. Excited. Which was worse, wasn’t it? Damen made him feel frantic; on edge and anticipating. It didn’t feel bad though, or wouldn’t, if it wasn’t soured by the confusion.

Laurent didn’t do stuff like that. That wasn’t how he had sex. That wasn’t who he thought he was. He certainly didn’t know he could feel as consumed as that. And yet Damen coaxed it out of him without even trying; made him just want. Beyond reason. Without shame or thought or anything besides red-hot desperation.

The worst part was how good it felt. Damen’s attention felt good and Laurent feared that kind of feeling could become addictive.

Was it such a crime to admit he might want it?

It might not be a crime but it was most certainly stupid, ill-advised, and terrifying. He knew better. Except apparently where he didn’t.

Damen was an arse. An absolute prick really. A prick who, at that very moment -twitter dutifully informed him- was leaving The Hideout with Cleo and getting into a car together. He was still taking her home.

But then why wouldn’t he?

It wasn’t his problem that Laurent had apparently Thelma and Louise’d himself right over that edge without ever fucking meaning to. Stupid. So fucking stupid. He knew better, he did, it was just sex for Christ’s sake. It wasn’t Damen’s fault no one else had ever made Laurent feel like this. Just like it wasn’t Laurent’s fault he’d never had such a visceral physical reaction to anyone else and didn’t know what to do with it.

He should want nothing. He should be able to put it behind him and pretend it had never happened but he couldn’t. Because despite himself, despite everything, Damen was magnetic. And Laurent was hopelessly attracted to him. Where Damen was concerned he was just hopeless it would seem.

Because despite what he had been telling himself -and Ancel- all week he wanted more. Not just sex either. He knew he could have Damen again if he wanted. Laurent knew his own appeal; knew he was hot and Damen had all but told him he could have it. But he didn’t just want to fuck him. He wanted to be the only one fucking him. Which meant he was well and truly fucked.

With one last scowl down at the twitter thread he turned his phone off so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at anything else Damen related and made himself go to bed.

~*~

Laurent didn’t turn his phone on again until he was on his way to his fraught mid-afternoon coffee date with Auguste. He noticed, and absolutely didn’t care, that he had two unread messages from Damen from the night before. Which was fine. He wasn’t bothered. Not even a little bit.

He had decided it didn’t matter. At least not whilst he was about to see Auguste. It could be future Laurent’s problem. Present Laurent was too busy grumbling to himself about the ever indecently-bright foyer of Auguste’s pretentious steel and glass high rise. The plan had been to go to Laurent’s favourite coffee shop but Auguste had asked him two days ago to just come over instead. Which didn’t bode well.

So here he was. And knowing the absolute state Auguste had been in he did not have high hopes for his pantry or the coffee machine.

Laurent let himself into Auguste’s penthouse and was immediately accosted by the stale smell of old beer. Venturing in he found the curtains were drawn, there were empty beer bottles all over the place and everywhere there was a mess. It was just so un-Auguste. He had always been the neat one. If it was a mess it meant he’d told his cleaner not to come.

The apartment was quiet. So quiet that for a long moment Laurent thought no one was home. But he knew Auguste and Instagram said he hadn’t been seen out in a few days which meant there was really only one likely place for him to be.

“Have you been in bed all day?” Laurent asked once he was stood on the threshold of his brothers’ bedroom.

He tried not to notice the mess there too. He tried not to notice any of it; the stale smell, the mugs piling up on the side. The random debris -books, a laptop, a remote control, a box of tissues, a half empty bottle of coke- collected on the empty half of the bed; like a neon sign, an ode to Auguste’s mental state.

Auguste didn’t turn to look at him “might have been two days,” he said, voice muffled by his pillow before he rolled over “is it Saturday already?” he asked, squinting at Laurent

“Yes,” he said “so go shower and I’ll clean up your front room,”

Auguste rolled his eyes but he didn’t protest overmuch. He stopped on his progression to the bathroom only to ruffle Laurent’s hair. Laurent added Auguste’s frame to the list of things he was choosing not to notice. Or think about. But it was hard not to. He was losing weight again. Which meant it was worse than he’d thought if he wasn’t eating. Or wasn’t hungry.

The only other time Auguste had lost a drastic amount of weight was the first time he’d gone off the rails and he’d started taking as many drugs as he could.

It had been a horrible time. Laurent only let himself remember it in flashes. Feelings more than moments. He remembered Auguste avoiding him, the awkward fissure that had appeared between them over night and the way they couldn’t meet each other’s gazes. He remembered terrible nights spent on the floor of his bathroom with his head in the toilet, his nightmares too real, the monster not at all imaginary. And Auguste down the hall in his room at Arles, probably doing the same and pretending he wasn’t. Laurent having to pretend it hadn’t been his nightly routine for months before that. All of them just pretending.

It had been the worst two years of his life. Of Auguste’s life too. Everything had changed and even now several years later neither of them were any closer to getting back to how it had been. There was, after all, a difference between moving forward and moving on.

It felt almost normal, sometimes. There were even whole stretches of days where Laurent didn’t think about what he’d done or had done to him. About Auguste. But it was harder to do when he was watching Auguste spiral again; painfully aware of how much of it was Laurent’s fault.

They’d been down this road before and it looked exactly as it had looked last time. It hadn’t been Collette then. No, he hadn’t even known her. And Collette was the excuse now, or the catalyst. But Laurent knew that it was probably the exact same reasons as before. Pain. Guilt. The ugly weight of the truth. The burden that came after.

And what an ugly truth it was, what a terrible burden they both now had to bear.

Auguste most of all. Laurent could scarcely imagine.

The sound of the shower door slamming was loud, knocking Laurent from his morbid, morose chain of thought. Which was just as well, the present was about as much as he could handle, let alone the past.

He waited until he was absolutely sure Auguste was in the shower before beginning his sweep. He cleaned up as much as he could and ordered food, eyes flicking to the clock agitatedly as he counted down the minutes. Auguste was a long time and Laurent had nothing better to do than flick through his phone; wishing he was the kind of asshole who could stomach going through Auguste’s things to see what he had in the apartment.

He stared at the text notifications from Damen, thumb hovering over it for a long moment before deciding better of it. Now was not the time. Not here. He ended up, predictably, on twitter frowning down at a set of photos of Damen leaving the Hideout with Cleo, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm like it belonged there. And from there it was an entirely coincidental leap that had him skimming through Damen’s Instagram.

And his many, many, many thirst-traps.

Which were admittedly working. If Damen had one shirtless photo he had a hundred and Laurent was only as far back as September. He was hovering over a photo of sweaty Damen in nothing but grey joggers with gleaming abs that looked harder than rocks and the outline of his cock a teasing shadow; Jesus fucking Christ.

Laurent knew what he looked like naked. What he felt like. He’d been fucked by possibly the most attractive man in the known universe and he should feel smug not sad.

Damen really was hot as hell.

“Boo,”

Laurent squeaked at the word spoken against his ear. He slammed his phone into his chest, heart pounding as he whipped around to see Auguste dressed, dry, and grinning. He definitely wouldn’t be grinning if he’d seen what he’d been looking at.

“You were away with the fairies then, what’s up?”

Laurent breathed out, watching as Auguste padded to the kitchen to his very fancy coffee machine thank god.

“Oh nothing, just erm- reading,” he said flipping his phone back down and oh. Right. Yes. Perfect.

How many weeks ago was that photo? 22 weeks. Brilliant. And Laurent had just liked it. Of course he had. Thank you Auguste. And universe.

He breathed in, exited out of the app and took a moment to stare at Auguste’s ceiling. He wasn’t even embarrassed really. He was beginning to suspect his subconscious of sabotage. Maybe it was just a cosmic joke.

Or possibly Damen was a witch.

Or -most likely- Laurent just lost his fucking mind around even a photo of him.

That too would have to be future Laurent’s problem.

When Auguste padded back to the sofa he came bearing two garish mugs that were thankfully full of coffee. Immediately upon sitting himself down next to Laurent on the sofa he was reaching for his cigarettes and lighting the end before the throwing the box at Laurent.

And well it would be rude not to. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

“So,” Laurent said through an exhale of smoke

Auguste hummed, pulling his leg up so he could rest his mug on his knee, stare adamantly at it instead of at Laurent. He looked so much younger than his years. Twenty-five wasn’t anything really. Still a boy playing at being an adult in so many ways. In other ways Auguste was ancient.

“I’m alright,” Auguste said, flashing him a tired smile, frayed around the edges. It highlighted how deep the colour beneath his eyes was. How weary he looked.

“Aug-“

“How are you? Alright? How’s Uni?” Auguste asked, cutting him off and then staring expectantly, eyebrows raised, smoke curling from between his lips.

“I’m good,” Laurent lied “I’m great actually,”

Auguste’s smile turned, became more genuine, warm and familiar as he snaked an arm around Laurent’s shoulder and drew him into his side “see, as long as you’re good then I’m fine,”

“It’s okay if you’re not though, maybe you can let me-“

“I don’t need it Loz,” Auguste said drawing back and stretching his legs up onto the coffee table in a show of indifference Laurent didn’t buy for a second “I’m good, honestly,”

It was the honestly part that set it in stone. Auguste was only ever honestly anything when he was lying. He was a good liar; he always had been. Except to Laurent. Laurent knew his tells as Auguste knew his.

He didn’t know what to say or how to ask. He let them lapse into silence, nothing but the TV and the quiet sizzle of embers as they both smoked their cigarettes down to the filters. Like they were both using them as shields and were unwilling to part with them. One of them had to go for it and Laurent knew if he waited on Auguste they’d be there all day.

“Are you having nightmares?” he asked, perhaps a tad blunter than he had meant to be as he put his cigarette out.

Auguste didn’t flinch, not exactly, but Laurent knew him well enough to take notice of the way he ground at his teeth, the slow blink, the too-casual breath as he reached for the ash-tray to stub his cigarette out.

“Why? Are you?”

“Stop deflecting please,” Laurent sighed “and stop lying to me, I can’t-“ he rubbed at his forehead “please,” he said instead

“They’re just stress related,”

“The drugs aren’t helping,” Laurent said and Auguste rolled his eyes which was all well and predictable “is it just coke?”

He already knew because it was never just one was it? That’s not what he’d done last time and it wasn’t what he was doing now.

“Mandy,” Auguste confessed “Benzo’s on the come down, but I’ve got a handle on it I-“

“You don’t look like you have a handle on it,”

Emotional phone calls at stupid hours. Not getting out of bed for days. Numerous messy nights out. Public spats with Collette. Public arguments with Damen. None of that said he had a handle on it.

“I’m trying my best Laurent, it’s not like before, I know, alright? I know,”

“It looks exactly like last time to me, you can’t possibly know that you have a handle on things, taking them in the first place is a sign that you don’t,”

Auguste sighed, agitated as he pushed his hair back from his face and discarded of his cup on his equally as garish end table. The scrunchy he tied his hair back with was silk and sparkly and Laurent would bet money it was hers. He’d be annoyed in an hour when it went curly because he put it up damp. It was a strange detail to get lost in but it was easier than focusing on what Auguste wasn’t saying.

He knew this game. His lack of patience versus Auguste’s distract-and-drag-out tendency. If Laurent had to bite his lip and focus on the way Auguste was running his fingers through his own hair to tie it up well; no one had to know how close to was to caving.

“I haven’t taken anything all week alright?” Auguste huffed eventually, aware Laurent was not playing “not since I called you and i-“ he swallowed, rubbing at his palm with his thumb, eyes flashing to Laurent and down again before settling on eye contact after all “I didn’t mean what I said to you, I was- they get me all- I didn’t mean it Loz and I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve that, least of all from me,”

He might deserve it. It was true anyway. It wasn’t what he was caught up on though. 

“You said you wouldn’t lie to me,”

“I’m not lying I didn’t mean-“

“You called dad in the week and threatened to leave, am I supposed to believe it was alcohol?”

Auguste groaned, huffing as he slumped down in his seat and smacked his head against the back of the sofa.

“I forgot about that and in my defence, it was Monday anyway, I haven’t since then, why do you think I’m holed up here?” he said casting his hands out to encompass the only slightly neater-than-an-hour-ago apartment.

“Holing yourself up isn’t any better for you Auguste, not when it means you have time to do nothing but think,” Laurent said, talking down to his hands, his cuticles suddenly very fucking interesting because this is what they did, wasn’t it? Speaking between words and around the subject and never directly to each other.

Auguste definitely heard what he was saying. Laurent heard his audible swallow, the soft sigh, felt the sudden tension in the air like the tightening of a bow string.

“It’s not forever,” Auguste said, clearing his throat “I mean, I couldn’t even if I wanted to, I’ve got that board meeting in Acquitart for the trust and we’ve got that fucking party for Gaby and Nikandros in the week and there’ll be too much media there to-“

Get fucked up. Which he would. Probably.

When he turned his head to look at Auguste his concern must have been shining in his eyes because Auguste shifted, moving so that he was sitting on the coffee table in front of Laurent. His face was the most familiar thing in Laurent’s world and even knowing Auguste was not okay his smile made something in him unravel. Believe it would work out.

“I haven’t taken anything since Monday, there’s nothing in the apartment, Jord has been over twice a day to check-up on me, I checked in with Paschal, I’m not too bad, I promise,” he said, taking hold of Laurent’s hands like he could make them both believe it if he said it with enough sincerity.

Laurent wanted to believe him. He did. And maybe it would be different this time. Or maybe Auguste would get himself killed and then what would Laurent do?

“Let me help,” he said, squeezing Auguste’s fingers.

“You don’t need to do anything except exactly what you’re doing,” Auguste grinned, reaching up to tug at Laurent’s chin like he had used to when he was a boy “it makes it all worth it, having you here and safe and occasionally -when your face betrays you- seeing you smile,”

Laurent did smile then and hated the victorious expression on Auguste’s face so he smothered it quickly. Auguste knew exactly what he was doing though and laughed, the sound hoarse, probably from the overcompensation of cigarettes he’d been smoking.

He wanted to protest but Auguste was smiling, properly, with light in his eyes and actual colour in his cheeks and Laurent didn’t want to spoil it. So he let Auguste sit back down beside him and start off on a tangent about some scandal in some sport Laurent couldn’t care less about.

It wasn’t until after the food had come and gone again that Laurent let the worry start to sink back through him. It didn’t escape his notice that Auguste didn’t finish his meal and that despite the three cigarettes he smoked in quick succession afterwards he was restless, biting at his nails and fidgeting. It was impossible to ignore.

“You don’t blame me, do you?” he asked quietly and apropos of nothing into the otherwise peaceful quiet between them “for this? For everything?” he explained waving a hand that didn’t really mean anything.

It didn’t matter, there was only really one thing he could mean.

“No,” Auguste said vehemently “I made those choices, I made all of those choices Laurent and I’d do it the exact same way to the exact same end every single time,” he said and when Laurent opened his mouth to protest Auguste cut across him, voice darker “do you blame me?”

“What?” he asked, blindsided. For what?

“This,” Auguste said “all of it, everything, you could you know, it would be fair, I’d deserve-“

“No,” Laurent said, horror making him sit back. No. No. How could he even think that? Did Auguste think that? Did he think Laurent blamed him or did he blame himself?

The sickened swoop of his stomach gave him his answer before he could think about it. It was in the too-serious lines of Auguste’s face. It was in late nights phone calls and the spaces between words. Between blinks.

Auguste did blame himself.

“No,” he said again “it wasn’t your fault, of course it wasn’t-“

“Then it wasn’t yours either,” Auguste said “I’d blame myself before I blamed you,”

“I’d blame me before I blamed you, fucking idiot, how can you think-“

“Laurent look at us,” Auguste said helplessly, raw emotion clogging in his throat and instantly Laurent felt the stinging press of it in his nose, an itch behind his eyes.

Look at them indeed. How was that fair?

“There’s only one person to blame Auguste,”

The words came without thought, the tail end of a train in his head he hadn’t been wholly aware of. Perhaps it had always been there, going around and around just waiting for Laurent to call the station. He didn’t blame Auguste, would never blame Auguste. He didn’t even really blame himself anymore; he was far too tired for that now. Their Uncle was the only one to blame.

“I-“

“There’s only one person I blame,” Laurent reiterated and he meant it. Maybe not every day, on bad days he’d always blame himself too but he was getting there. Auguste didn’t need to hear the distinction.

Auguste’s exhale was shaky, his nod when it came was slow, sombre; serious.

“I hope he’s burning,” Auguste said, his voice like the malice of rage and the chill of death burning hot and cold all at once.

When Auguste shifted forward it was easy to slide to the edge of his seat, open his arms for Auguste’s embrace as they wrapped themselves up. Like this was enough. Maybe it was. Auguste had always been his safe place. Home in all the ways that mattered.

“You know,” Auguste said, voice purposefully light as he pulled back from Laurent’s arms “it would annoy him, more than anything, if we just stopped-“ he pursed his lips “thinking about it, the harder we hold on the more he wins,”

“So we should get better out of spite?”

Auguste snorted “is there a better motivator?”

Well. No. not really.

It was weirdly liberating to think it, even if they both knew it was going to take much more than that. Laurent still appreciated the levity. And the notion. The idea that they were in it together. He supposed they were, two separate paths that they’d doggedly been walking alone for too long. Perhaps that had been the problem. It had been years and they tiptoed around it still despite the fact that it lingered in every room with them; an elephant that would never disappear. The harder they tried to ignore it, the more noise it seemed to make.

“I want you to call if you’re not feeling good, or text me,” Laurent said, meeting Auguste’s gaze “I’ll do the same, you could come with me to Paschal, we could talk to him together or something?”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s got to be better than this,”

“Fine, for you,” Auguste sighed, feigning dramatics “because I’m a really good brother,”

“You are,” The best actually. Few people would do what Auguste had after all. Even fewer wouldn’t blame Laurent for it.

And Laurent repaid him by soliciting sex from the one person still breathing Auguste honestly hated. He was wrong and what he’d done with Damen was wildly unfair. Childish even. Laurent should never have let himself get so annoyed that he even thought about doing something so callous. Auguste was far too unstable for that. He couldn't bear to be a single reason that Auguste slipped off the precarious cliff he was balancing on.

It was an uncomfortable thought that burned in his chest and made his stomach want to sink all the way down to the lobby thirty floors below. Not for the first time he wanted to ask what the fuck had happened between them, how they could go from inseparable to enemies in the space of moments. Like if he knew he could help them fix it. 

He thought about it. He thought about it for the next hour, half listening as Auguste rambled about Jord and Collette in turn, the board, a plan to visit Acquitart, to go see their relatives in Kempt, some other grand adventure he wanted to take Laurent on. Laurent thought about Damen, and the unread messages on his phone, the way he could still feel his hands on his skin and the shape of his mouth.

He almost asked. But he couldn’t. Auguste looked too calm, too content, and the perils of their earlier conversation still felt fraught between them, like a landslide they had only narrowly avoided. Mentioning Damen was a way of slapping the smile from Auguste’s face and Laurent couldn't bear to do it.

It didn’t feel right.

But then none of it felt right. Laurent was a terrible brother for even entertaining the idea of Damen let alone liking it. Liking Damen. So much so that he may or may not have totally embarrassed himself yet again by liking a photo too far down in his Instagram timeline to be casual. But it was hardly worse than the way he’d embarrassed himself last night. Or last week. Or unwittingly whenever Bastian said whatever the fuck he felt like saying.

When he left the penthouse it was with a tight hug, a promise to call, and a smile that felt brittle with guilt as the unread texts from Damen burned in his pocket like a bomb about to go off.

Laurent waited only as long as it took the lift doors to close behind him before he was scrambling, much to his own mortification, to get his phone out of his pocket. His Instagram slip was either a mishap or a fucking disaster and all of that very much depended on what Damen had text him last night whilst his phone was off. He was just checking. It didn't mean anything.

Damen:
Im sorry about Pallas but I promise he won’ say anything. And I didn’t tell Nik, Pallas is the only 1 that knows. I’m not him Laurent.

Not him. Not Bastian. Not any of them really. He was so much more wasn’t he? Unexpected and exciting and so easy to like and the one person he really wasn't allowed to like. And then, the second, several minutes later.

Damen:
R u ok? xxx

For the first time, possibly ever, Laurent had no idea what to say. Damen had text him quite late, but not so late that Cleo would have been asleep or gone or whatever. The fact that he’d bothered at all was more than Laurent would have banked on last night and part of him wished Damen hadn't text him. It would definitely make it easier.

He didn’t reply; he couldn’t. He had no idea what to say or what he wanted. Or what he should do, given that Auguste was only barely hanging onto sobriety.

There. Easy. Done. He would ignore it. He had to ignore it.

Except it wasn’t easy and it didn’t feel done and if Ancel accused him of moping once that evening when he got home he was accused a hundred times. Which was entirely fair because Laurent was moping. Moping was distinctly different from pining though. He wasn’t that pathetic for him just yet.

“Oh piss off, go whinge about your supervisor to Nicaise,” Laurent snapped eventually when he’d had enough of Ancel’s bullshit.

Ancel, lounging on the couch with a fairly tame white silk robe just pouted, turning his eyes down to what was on show of his body.

“Why didn’t he want me?” he whined, not for the first time.

Laurent snorted despite himself “maybe he has -and stay with me here- but maybe he has morals, ethics, all that good stuff,”

“He’s a man,” Ancel pouted back

“It’s like you’ve never heard no before,”

“Look at me Laurent,” Ancel snapped, rising to his feet and giving Laurent a twirl “of fucking course I haven’t heard no before, I am a ten,”

Laurent laughed “yeah if the grading scale was out of a hundred,” he said just to watch Ancel scowl “maybe he just likes his job and doesn’t want to risk it, or maybe he heard from one of your other lecturers that you’re not that good,”

“You take that back,” Ancel said sounding genuinely upset “I will willingly admit that I am not the smartest and I have absolutely no talent for academics, and I’m really not very good at sport but if there is one thing on earth I know I do well it’s a blow job, and I won’t take that slander from you unless you’re willing to let me prove it,”

Laurent grimaced, half a laugh bubbling up despite himself “no,” he enunciated as clearly as he could “there, twice in one week, you’ll get used to it,”

Ancel groaned, threw himself back on the sofa “you’re the worst person I’ve ever met,”

“Thanks,”

“How’s mystery man?” Ancel sighed “can you call him and ask him over? I’m bored and sad and need immediate validation,”

Laurent had to school his expression carefully, kept his eyes on the TV as he hummed even though his instinct was to threaten him with castration if he went near Damen. Which was an unfortunate possibility given their reputations.

“Ancel please do me a favour and call literally anyone, go fuck Aimeric, god knows he needs an orgasm,”

“Only about half as much as you do, which is still a lot,” Ancel said and then added almost thoughtfully “besides I can’t cope with Aimeric in bed, he’s too much of a princess and I don’t know whether you’ve noticed but I like to be the centre of attention,”

Laurent snapped his head around “I didn’t know that,” he said “the you and Aimeric thing, not the princess thing I can see that a mile away,”

Ancel just grinned, like a big slutty ginger cat and Laurent narrowed his eyes at him.

“Are there any of our friends you haven’t slept with?” he asked

Ancel just shrugged “you,” he said “I even ate Vannes out once,”

He wasn’t quite sure what it was about the sentence or about Ancel’s tone but he burst out laughing and once he’d started Ancel followed. Of course he had.

“You know,” Laurent said once they’d both stopped giggling “if you need it, I can help you with your dissertation, at least get an outline together to show Berenger so he doesn’t drop you,”

“They can do that?” Ancel asked, sitting up, eyes gone a little wide “he can’t do that! I have to crack him first,”

“So?”

“Yes, help me, fucking hell what do you want a written request?”

“Tomorrow-“

“Can’t tomorrow, I’m going to my brothers, father has decided to leave his lofty perch and he’s torturing us by insisting we have a full five course meal like it’s Christmas,”

“Maybe he has news?” Laurent offered, gathering the books he’d brought into the front room ready to head to bed.

“Oh maybe he’s dying!” Ancel said, far too excited by the prospect.

“You’re shameless,”

“Thank you,” Ancel said blowing him a kiss as Laurent retreated.

Sunday morning saw Ancel scowling for a full fifteen minutes at his own reflection both because of the clothes he was having to wear -boring according to him- and because it was before ten am on a weekend and he was facing the prospect of a three-hour drive to go to a meal he didn’t want to go to in the first place.

He was gone for perhaps twenty minutes before the knock on the front door made Laurent scowl, stick his head out of his bedroom like he could glare hard enough to make it stop. The building had security so it could only conceivably be Ancel returned with an excuse not to go. Or a neighbour. Neither of which he was much in the mood for.

“I swear if you’ve lost your key again I’m going to-“ Laurent pulled the door open, expecting a pouting Ancel and instead had to tilt his head up. And up a little more for good measure.

Damen. Oh.

Chapter Text

Shock had Laurent’s breath lodging in his throat, and his stomach at once swooping and squirming as Damen smiled at him tentatively.

“How do they keep letting you up here?”

The words fell out of his mouth as he blinked at Damen, surprise making his tongue feel loose and thoughts shaken free. Damen just shrugged, like it was entirely commonplace for security to conveniently look the other way when his very inconspicuous 6’6 frame just went wherever it wanted.

“If I’d have called you wouldn’t have answered,” Damen said “can I come in?” he asked holding up what he had in his hands for Laurent’s inspection.

No. Not hands. One hand. One large, wide, palm. Laurent’s travel mug. And a jar of expensive looking hummus. Oh. The IOU. For Ancel. Laurent was not endeared and despite the slightly hysterical eruption happening in his chest he could do nothing but blink and step back to let him in.

As the door closed behind him Laurent realised three things very quickly. The first, Damen looked really fucking good and if he stared too long he was going to salivate because hello arms. The second, Laurent was wearing his rattiest pyjamas which were a little too short for him, and his baggiest -possibly grossest- sweater. Third: Damen had bought take out. Three bags of it.

Laurent’s eyes must have lingered on it because Damen held it up.

“I brought breakfast, I mean- I’ve seen the inside of your fridge,” he said as Laurent, still unable to formulate a sentence, met Damen’s careful concerned gaze “if you want?”

“Ancel could have been here,”

Damen nodded “I spoke to Marcel yesterday,” Ah. Ancel’s brother, right. At least he’d known Ancel wouldn’t be in.

“I see,”

Laurent directed him into the living room and went to fetch plates. He usually hated eating in the living room but he needed a moment. Which he took immediately upon entering his kitchen by trying against hope to frantically fix whatever the fuck his hair was doing. He wished past-Laurent had had the presence of mind to get changed instead of planning to mope for the rest of the day.

He leaned his head against the fridge and he wondered if this was what a crisis felt like in real time. He tried to breathe, closed his eyes and ignored the screaming part of him that said Damen needed to leave and leave immediately. Because that part of him could go to hell. Laurent’s much more curious part was winning by a very large margin. And his admittedly horny-for-Damen part.

Laurent hadn’t expected him to show up but he couldn’t deny the pounding of his heart or the fizz of something bright in his chest and stomach that was indecipherable between excitement and nerves. Laurent was wildly out of his depth but then, since he’d sent Damen that first text, he’d been wading into ever-deeper-more perilous waters.

Or maybe he’d taken a turn in his tiny boat, or maybe said boat had a hole and he couldn’t bail out the water fast enough. Or he’d lost his paddle.

Up shit creek indeed.

He thumped his head one last time against the fridge for good measure before snatching up the plates and taking a deep breath. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Laurent had been rude, Damen had still gone home with Cleo, Auguste was still a mess; Laurent was just seeing what Damen wanted and being polite. That was it.

Any misconceptions Laurent thought he had about how totally-okay and level headed he felt went out the window the second he went back into the living room. Damen had pulled the coffee table toward the sofa and he’d opened two of Ancel’s magazines to put the containers on. The smile Damen turned on him was cautious, if not a little embarrassed and Laurent wanted to melt.

“I didn’t know if you still liked- so I just-“ Damen turned back to look at the array of food, crease appearing between his eyes “got everything apparently,”

It was overkill for sure. Thoughtful. It was the kind of gesture he never would have expected from anyone much less Damen.

“Yes I can see that,” Laurent said taking a seat beside Damen on the sofa, folding his legs up and crossing them beneath him.

He’d gone to a place down the street that Laurent was ashamed to admit he ordered from at least three times a week. He’d never ordered breakfast though and he had been meaning to. Damen couldn’t know that he’d basically just brought Laurent the entire breakfast menu from his favourite place to eat. And coffee. A big one.

Laurent chose pancakes and at least pretended he was going to eat fruit with it. Damen looked like he was having something inescapably boring like eggs and a side of some baked oats. But then he supposed Damen didn’t sustain a body like that without eating well.

Fucking figures. Laurent, by comparison, had never met a salad he didn’t think belonged back in the ground. He was going to be fat one day, Auguste kept telling him that Aleron was Laurent’s future and. Well. He’d deal with it when he turned 30 and his metabolism went on strike.

They lapsed into silence and Laurent focused on his food as he cut it up into pieces. And by that he meant every single atom of his body was hyper-focused on Damen. It felt surreal and it reminded him of summer holidays in Arles, with Sunday breakfast spread out on teenage-Auguste’s bed; Auguste still in it and hungover, grumbling as Damen teased him and wafted food at him that made Auguste hide his face. And Laurent against the headboard beside Auguste, just happy to have been included, torn between laughing at his brother and staring at Damen. It was practically a Sunday ritual from his childhood, trying to hide how hungover Auguste was from an unimpressed Aleron; Damen somehow immune despite the fact he still smelt faintly of alcohol the whole time.

“I wanted to apologise,” Damen said and Laurent whipped his head up so fast his neck protested with a twinge.

“Apologise,” he parroted staring at Damen and very aware of it, but he wasn’t sure what he meant. Surely Laurent was the one who should be apologising?

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you,” Damen said “it wasn’t fair of me and i- I’m sorry,”

Laurent blinked, frowning as he prodded at his food. His annoyance at Damen for that had melted pretty quickly and Laurent wasn’t even really mad at him to begin with anyway.

“I asked you to tell me, it’s not your fault Bastian said it,”

Damen pulled a face but turned his head away to hide it “he’s a prick and he’s always been a prick and I won’t pretend that anything that comes out of his mouth isn’t utter shit,” he said and Laurent could hear the strain in his voice; Damen was holding back.

Laurent didn’t respond, just waited and with a huff Damen turned to look at him, expression hard.

“The very last thing I want to do is validate a single thing that bastard has ever thought or said so, for that I’m sorry, and it’s not really my place to comment on… whatever you have with him,“

Laurent swallowed, dropped his gaze and pushed his food around his plate.

“So you don’t-“ He began, biting his lip and nearly rolling his eyes at his own hesitance “never mind,”

“No, I don’t agree with him and I try to have as little to do with him as possible,”

Damen drew his eyes back up, the finality in his voice and the graze of his gaze had Laurent unable to respond, just stare. He wasn’t sure why it was so important to him. Except he did know why and it would kill him if Damen had only ever looked at him because Bastian had said he was easy or worse; as some kind of pissing contest with him.

He didn’t think so. Not really. But thoughts of Bastian usually walked hand in hand with his inescapable insecurities. And Laurent didn’t want Damen to think those things of him. He didn’t want Damen to think he was hung up on Bastian. He’d accused him, hadn’t he? Of still loving him.  

“It’s probably not my place to say but Bastian retweeted a flat earth group yesterday so please don’t take anything he says to heart, he’s a clueless moron,”

“Yeah I know, I don’t know why I was surprised, you should hear what he said when we were together,”

Damen didn’t look at him but Laurent watched his brow draw down and the muscles in his jaw clench as he speared a piece of melon “I’d rather not,”

Laurent’s lips twitched despite himself and he turned his eyes down, contemplating.

“I’m not in love with him,” he said “I never was, I said it because-“ he shrugged “I was seventeen and sad,” Damen turned a soft understanding expression on him that made Laurent feel uncomfortably seen so he cleared his throat “despite all evidence to the contrary I’m really not his biggest fan,”

He could see the question swimming in Damen’s eyes as he nodded. The echo of his words before: why do you keep going back to him. Laurent didn’t want to answer that.

“I’m sorry too about- well, everything,” Laurent said, mostly to distract him from asking but also because Damen deserved to hear it “I say a lot of shit I don’t mean,”

“Makes figuring you out pretty difficult,” Damen said and it wasn’t an accusation. More a flat observation.

“So I’ve been told,”

Most people followed it by saying it wasn’t worth the hassle.

Damen hummed, nodding, and Laurent hated the stunted silence that lingered after he’d spoken, the way he was keenly aware of the clock on the mantel piece and the rush of the wind against the window panes.

He shovelled food into his mouth, made himself eat even though his stomach felt like protesting from the influx of nerves. Laurent had only really spoken to Damen a handful of times as an adult but he couldn’t recall a time when conversation had felt difficult. Even when he was younger and Damen had him tongue tied and awkward; Damen had always had something to say but he opted for silence now.

Maybe Damen was as clueless about where to go with it or what to say as Laurent was. Or maybe he was hesitating. Either way Laurent absolutely could not deal with it.

“I assume you didn’t come here to eat in silence,” Laurent commented watching Damen from the corner of his eye

Damen’s expression didn’t change as he popped more fruit into his mouth “I did actually, I’ve had a busy weekend and I thought hmm, where could I possibly go where I’m guaranteed to be able to eat in peace?” he said dryly.

Laurent turned his eyes up to look at the ceiling, breathing in deep and clutching his fork tighter as he pursed his lips “Cleo too loud for you?” he said, his voice waspish from the clenched teeth and the mild attempt to reign in that thing that absolutely was not jealousy.

He hadn’t meant to say it. But Damen had a really irritating habit of annoying Laurent into saying things he didn’t mean to say.

Damen paused then, shifting to look at him fully, his knee touching Laurent’s and Laurent hated himself for how impossibly aware of it he was through the admittedly fraying material of his worst pyjama bottoms.

“So it is Cleo that you’re angry about?”

“Why were you ignoring me?” Laurent fired back putting his fork down and shifting too, just enough to be meeting Damen’s gaze. If it pressed his knee harder against Damen’s that was entirely coincidental. Entirely.

“You can’t basically tell me to fuck off and then act like I wronged you, it doesn’t work like that,”

“You can’t fuck me and then not talk to me,” Laurent snapped back “you can’t all but fuck me in a public fucking bathroom and then go home with someone else and expect me not to be annoyed at you, you have no right to just mess everything up and then-“

Damen laughed “you text me,” he said “you called me a whore, you followed me into that bathroom and you’ve been blowing hot and cold from the start so what did you want me to do exactly? I’m a lot of things Laurent but I’m not a mind reader and I don’t like games,”

Laurent sat back, blinking. He’d been accused of a lot before but he’d never been accused of playing games. It wasn’t the first time Damen said something to highlight the drastic difference between Damen’s assumptions and Laurent’s reality but it might have been the funniest. Games; like Laurent had any fucking clue what he was doing.

Damen’s opinion of him probably couldn’t get worse but then, if it was so very low why did he bother apologising in person?

“So why are you here?”

Damen let out a breath, long and slow and he stared back at Laurent like he was trying to become a mind reader. He had a horrible feeling he knew exactly what Damen was there for. He’d pretty much said he wanted him. If he was there for sex Laurent was going to feel it like a sucker punch. But then, what else would he be there for? Why bother paying for all the food if he didn't expect an exchange?

It had to be sex. And Laurent was probably stupid enough to let him have it except- No. It would hurt to let Damen fuck him and then watch him walk away. If Laurent was this caught up in him after one night with him, what the fuck would it do to him to have more of him and none of him all at the same time?

No. Even if he wanted it that wasn’t going to happen. He’d already realised what he wanted and he already knew how stupid that was. He shouldn’t entertain anymore of it. He’d feel worse afterwards.

“Let me guess,” Laurent said and he wished his voice was stronger, more than an accepting sigh “you came to fuck me,”

Damen looked at him sharply and Laurent couldn’t decipher his expression. If he didn’t know better he might say he looked disappointed.

“You know,” Damen sighed “I don’t even know why I bothered, I thought it would be better, if we talked,” he snorted swiping an agitated hand at his brow like he was getting a headache, like Laurent was giving him a headache “I thought it would put things to rest at least and I’d be able to stop thinking about you but this is just-“ he cut himself off, an amused noise leaving his mouth that Laurent figured wasn’t very amused at all “this was a mistake,”

Blinking, he watched as Damen rose to his feet, food abandoned as he left without even turning around. Laurent jumped up, heart hammering. This was not how it was supposed to go and he had a horrible nagging feeling that if he let Damen leave that would be it. Over and done with just like Damen said.

He very really did not want that to be true and it was only as he was following Damen into his hallway that he realised just how bad he had it again. Or still. Totally fucked, royally screwed. Pathetic enough to pine from three feet away apparently. Good god he barely even fucking recognised himself let alone the riotous whirl of too-quick emotions bombarding his chest.

“Why did you come over? When I text you last week?” he said to Damen’s back as he reached for the door handle.

He wasn’t sure why that was the first thing he blurted but it worked and it stopped Damen, made him turn back, expression entirely flat, one eyebrow arced in that really annoying sexy way he had a habit of when he was unimpressed.

“Am I supposed to pretend I’m not attracted to you?”

Laurent’s reaction was genuinely a little bit pathetic. He already knew that. Damen had told him; lots of people told him regularly that he was pretty but he had the same reaction to it then as he had the first time he opened his door to find Damen on the other side of it. Damen had breezed in then like he owned the place, like he could and would do whatever he wanted with Laurent and acted like Laurent would thank him for it afterwards. Which wasn’t an incorrect summation. He felt overwhelmed.

“If you text me by mistake why’d you still let me come over?”

Laurent just snorted, eyebrows raised “you know exactly why,”

“I want to hear you say it,”

“What? That I’m attracted to you? That I want you? Have I ever appeared unaffected? In the whole time you’ve known me have you ever not been aware of it?”

“Finding someone attractive doesn’t necessarily mean anything though does it?” Damen said “I find a lot of people attractive it doesn’t mean I sleep with them or want anything from-“

“Don’t you?” Laurent interrupted. He found that hard to believe. Damen’s reputation was extensive.

“Don’t I what? Want something from you or sleep with every attractive person I’m photographed with?” Damen said voice hard and Laurent was aware, for the first time, that he may have just entered land-mine laden territory. If this had been a game then he had a feeling he'd just hit one of Damen's battleships. 

Damen looked at him expectantly, closed off in a way he hadn’t seen him before. Not the last time they argued. Or even with Auguste when they were fighting. Except, maybe with-

The media. When they got too close.

Laurent hesitated

“Are you surprised I’d ask about either of those things?”

“I didn’t fuck Cleo,” Damen said and Laurent felt something in him unwind, aware even as he did that it made his stomach sink a little. It eased the rampant jealousy but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever was to follow.

Damen pursed his lips, staring at him like Laurent was a puzzle and he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to figure it out or wipe the board and start again.

“You’ve made your opinion of me perfectly clear, but if you’re going to think so ill of me then let it be based on fact and not what you think you know,”

They’d definitely taken a wrong turn and everything in Laurent was screaming abort, stop, re-evaluate.

“Damen-“

“I was just turning sixteen the first time the media had me on the front pages because of my love life,” Damen said, idle, just a fact “the woman was twenty-five and everyone acted like that was okay, and I was an idiot kid and thought it was funny, so I went along with it,” he shrugged and Laurent folded his arms over his chest, staring at him hard. Fifteen was so young.

Laurent knew exactly how young and dumb fifteen was. How easy it was for an adult to get a kid that age to do anything.

“Nothing happened between us, but her team let it run because it was publicity for the reality show she was on and my father charged Kastor with looking after it- me,” he snorted

Kastor. The brother who had slept with Damen’s girlfriend. Long enough ago that Kastor wasn’t public enemy number one in the press anymore, but not so long ago that Jokaste had managed to shrug off what the media had labelled her afterwards.

They’d never been close, not for lack of Damen trying, as far as Laurent could remember. But there was something in his tone, in Damen’s eyes that said there was far more there than Damen was willing to say.

“Anyway, Kastor had control of all that stuff and he always let them run the stories. And like I said,” Damen said dryly “young and stupid and far too trusting, and well, you can see what he did to my image,”

Laurent did know. Was guilty of thinking of him that way; the eternal bachelor, the stud, mister-steal-your-girl. The party boy with a bad attitude and a string of broken hearts behind him. Scandals. Affairs. Would be love-children. Fights. Parties. Hedonism at its finest.

“The second I’m photographed with anyone people just assume and most of the time those people are all too eager to talk to the media about me, even if it’s not true,” he said “Cleo is just a friend, she has an album coming out and I said I wouldn’t mind helping her out with some easy publicity as a favour,” he said “I won’t pretend I’ve been an angel, or that I can even remember the name of everyone I’ve slept with, but that’s not been me for a long time, I’d have thought -given the way the press treat Auguste- that you would have known that at least,”

The worst part was that he was right. Laurent should know that. Did know that. The media loved to run their mouths about Auguste all the time. About everyone they knew. He did know better. So why hadn’t it even occurred to him?

Probably because Damen was insanely attractive so it felt like common sense to assume those things of him; of course he had an endless string of lovers, of course he took what he wanted without thought. And Laurent remembered him at eighteen, when Damen was young and stupid, when he partied all the time and slept with whoever and Laurent had never even considered that he’d be different at twenty-six because just enough of what the media said was true enough to invoke fallacy of composition. Some was true; therefore, all must be true. Truth by proxy.

His fucking teenage fantasy version of Damen died a little bit more every time he spoke to him it seemed. And Laurent felt ever more chastised for getting things wrong every single time.

And he had. Gotten it wrong. So maybe Damen didn’t come to fuck him and he really did just want to apologise and -once again- Laurent had struck out instead of waiting to see. It wasn’t really his fault though, habit had him doing it, it was Damen’s commitment to proving him wrong that kept fucking it up.

Laurent cleared his throat. Thought about saying sorry or insulting Kastor, or asking how the fuck he’d dealt with that all his life when just Pallas knowing something about Laurent’s sex life had sent him spinning.

“I can’t eat all that food by myself,” he said finally, hands balled in the sleeves of his sweater as he nodded toward the living room “if you’re still hungry that is,”

Damen’s shoulders relaxed and he let out a breath that could almost have been a sigh, but the corner of his mouth tweaked up and he followed Laurent back into the living room, where said food was most likely cold by now.

Damen didn’t seem to mind, just sat back down and resumed his food like nothing had happened. Laurent tried to, he crossed his legs beneath him, beside Damen but facing him this time. But he couldn’t eat past the bubbling niggle in his chest that told him turnabout was fair play. Damen hadn’t had to tell him anything but he had.

“I don’t do stuff like this,” he confessed going rigid as Damen turned a gaze on him that was much less troubled than it had been when he arrived.

“Like what?”

“One-night stands,” Laurent said flicking his fingers at Damen “or any casual sex, or just sex, any sex really which- not often and-“ he cut himself off, scrunching his nose up because Christ. His filter had had a meltdown apparently; rushing to get it all out of him.

He cursed his delicate thoroughbred complexion and lazy too-close-for-comfort recessive genes as he felt his face get hot.

“Three, well, four now,” he spat out, cringing as he clutched his fork tighter, felt the sharp edges of steel bite into his palm “that’s how many people I’ve- so you see, and it’s not- I’m not- well, there it is,”

Damen didn’t say anything so Laurent huffed and forced his head up, eyes meeting Damen’s. He looked, bless him, a little confused. And why wouldn’t he be? Laurent had most certainly given the impression that he had more experience than that and after everything Damen had already known from Bastian- well. A pretty picture it did not make. Perhaps Damen thought he was lying. Bastian had thought he was lying, when he told him there had only been one.

Christ.

“You’re surprised? Or uncomfortable? Both? Or do you not believe me? Either way you should tell your face to stop being so loud it’s very irritating,”

Damen shook his head, smile cracking just a little, enough to tame the ratcheting anxiety in Laurent’s chest. It’s not that he cared about Damen’s opinion. It’s just that he most definitely cared about Damen’s opinion.

“I believe you,” Damen said and Laurent breathed out, conscious of how loud it sounded “four or four hundred it’s not something I’d judge you for,”

“Oh,”

Well. Damen didn’t give a shit either way which was- a surprise.

Damen added “I’m not really a one-night stand person either, not anymore,”

Laurent felt the heat of Damen’s gaze, the thrill of his words, and the way he was almost positive there was meaning there. The way he wanted there to be meaning there. Laurent swallowed and he let go of his fork. He was 99% sure something stupid was about to come out of his mouth.

“Maybe we should start over,” Damen said, careful but apparently hopeful if the look in his eyes was anything to go by. Saving Laurent from whatever had been waiting on his own tongue.

Laurent nodded held out his hand “I’m Laurent, I’m rude when I’m nervous or when I’m awake, I have a coffee addiction and a general book buying problem, I like history, the cold side of the pillow, and being right,”

Damen grinned, took his hand but didn’t shake it, instead stroked his thumb over his knuckles “you left out the fact you never outgrew your sweet tooth,” Damen said, taking his hand back

Laurent mock-glared “you’re supposed to tell me I’m sweet enough so don’t need it,”

“I wouldn’t dream of lying to you though,”

He laughed despite himself and reached out to punch Damen in his arm. Damen was quick though, grabbed hold of his wrist and turned Laurent’s hand over in his lap, fingers dancing along his palm and at the flutter of his pulse point. He wasn’t sure what was more distracting; his fingers or his smile.

“You go,” Laurent said, forcing his eyes away from where Damen was holding his hand.

“I’m Damen, I’m a Scorpio, I like long walks on the beach-“

Laurent groaned, snatching his hand back to hit him again as Damen laughed.

“You’re Damen, you’re a massive idiot, and you have a bigger dick in your personality than you have in your pants and that is saying something,” Laurent groused

Damen though just smirked, leaning into Laurent’s space “strange way to compliment my dick,”

Laurent pressed his eyes closed, fighting a laugh.

Damen ignored him “give me a second, I can probably come up with a comparison for your personality and your arsehole,”

Laurent’s eyes shot open, mouth opening, and it was only the teasing glimmer in Damen’s eyes that stopped him from scowling the way he would if Ancel had said it.

“Are you always this annoying? I don’t remember you being this irritating,”

“I think you like it,”

Laurent didn’t reply, couldn’t without lying completely anyway. Damen just stared back at him and Laurent watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, the flash of his dimples, the slow track of his gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Damen said voice dropped low and edged with an echo of the pulse Laurent could feel thrumming beneath his own skin.

“Like what?” Laurent asked, unconsciously shifting closer

Damen watched him with keen awareness, eyes dark on Laurent as he shifted to close the space between them. The groan Damen let out was soft, endearing even.

“I’m trying to be good,”

“I’d say you’ve been good,” Laurent breathed into the scant inches between them before he leant the rest of the way and pressed their mouths together.

Like he couldn’t help himself and really, he very much couldn’t.

Damen didn’t hesitate, he reached up, cupping Laurent’s jaw in one large palm, using his thumb to tip Laurent’s chin up as he kissed him back; slow and soft and brimming with promise.

Damen’s kisses, he had begun to realise, made him feel drunk. Made his entire body go loose even as his stomach tightened and his heart beat harder. He pressed closer, hands sliding along Damen’s shoulders until he was cupping his neck, fingers travelling up to tangle in his curls.

When Damen’s tongue begged an entry Laurent’s mouth opened instantly, a sigh sliding between parted lips that made Damen breathe deep, his hands start to wander. Damen tipped him backwards and Laurent went, shifting until he was pressed into the sofa with Damen’s body a tantalising hard line against him, covering him. The weight of him made Laurent groan, made his body unspool and lift against him to feel the contours of Damen; all hard lines and edges.

He lost track of time almost instantly, until he had no idea if it had been moments or minutes or hours.

Laurent couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this. Kissing for the sake of kissing. Or maybe he never had. Kissing always felt like a precursor, like something unnecessary. Damen didn’t kiss like that. Damen kissed him and he didn’t move to take it further, acted like this was all he wanted, like he couldn’t get enough of kissing Laurent and would be happy to stay there for hours.

Damen kissed him soft and deep, let his hands wander, glide down Laurent’s sides and over his hip, down his thigh where thick fingers dug into Laurent’s skin through the worn material, hitched his knee up, wrapped an arm under him, holding Laurent so close the air between them felt humid and all he could do was copy him.

Reverential hands making tentative explorations; a brand-new topography Laurent wanted to memorise. From the stubble along his jaw, down across a firm chest that felt immoveable beneath his hands, bulging arms, a trace of veins in his forearms and his deceptively soft palms. When Laurent reached up, back, he let his hands slide down Damen’s back, tracing the flex of muscle as Damen ghosted kisses down his neck, his breath and the wet press of his lips the only noise Laurent could hear beyond his own pulse.

When his hands found the back pockets of Damen’s jeans, he squeezed, enjoyed the small noise that Damen let him have, an affirmation that Laurent chased, squeezing harder and pushing his hips closer.

Damen didn’t dip beneath his clothes. Every time he expected him to Damen teased and drifted away, changing his kiss; harder, slower, more tongue, less breath. Laurent felt like he might melt straight through the sofa, might melt right into him. Maybe he already had. He couldn’t think, didn’t want to, just kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, nursing the spark between them like a flame waiting to catch.

When Damen pulled back he didn’t go far, fingers still stroking at Laurent’s neck. Laurent was undone, senseless with it, blinking up at him like he was emerging from a fog.

“Go on a date with me,” Damen said staring down at him as his fingers played with an errant curl at Laurent’s ear.

“Yes,” he said and felt himself blush at the embarrassing swiftness of his response. He wasn’t thinking about anything else, none of the things that he should be thinking about anyway. Just Damen and his stupid smile and endearing sincerity. And the way it made him feel.

He wanted to be selfish.

“I’m busy all week, I’m on Nikandros-duty because of the benefit, is Friday okay? Pick you up at 7?”

Ah. The charity benefit on Wednesday that Laurent was absolutely not looking forward to.

“Friday is good, it can’t be too public though,” he stipulated and when Damen canted his head quizzically he added “not yet, Auguste- I’ll have to work on that,”

Which was being polite about it. But it could hopefully be put off until Christmas. Or until Auguste wasn’t balancing on a knife’s edge. Or Laurent messed things up with Damen. Or until Damen messed it up.

Whichever of those came first.

Damen nodded, understanding lighting his features “that’s okay, whatever you need, I know it might be a bit- awkward,” he said, flashing him a tight smile

Awkward might have been the understatement of the century but what else could he do? He wanted this. More of it. Of Damen. Now that he’d had a taste of the way it felt to be like this he didn’t want to give it up yet. Damen made him stop thinking, he made his head quiet, he made him want with an ease that was terrifying and exhilarating and entirely new. He made Laurent want to trust him.

And inescapably, part of him did.

Damen groaned then, pressing their foreheads together before dropping a kiss on the tip of Laurent’s nose. When he rose to his feet Laurent pushed up onto his elbows, heart beating erratically in his chest. He expected the hand Damen held out to him, expected the way Damen pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him. He didn’t expect the kiss that followed; he’d expected to be dragged to his bedroom.

“I have to go,” Damen said against his hair

Laurent blinked, pulling back to stare up at him, trying to make his brain shift gears. His confusion must have been evident on his face. Damen had paid for all that food; Laurent had agreed to a date. He’d been at his place for ages and Laurent hadn’t done anything. Surely that was just a waste of his time.

“Don’t you want-“ he dropped his eyes, arced a brow

Damen smiled, pressed his face against Laurent’s hair again “yes, but not right now,” he said

Which. What did that mean?

“But you came all this way and paid for breakfast, it- surely that’s not…” Laurent trailed off “I don’t mind, I can-“

Damen’s expression, which had been quizzical at best, went tight and Laurent snapped his mouth shut. He wasn’t sure why he was very suddenly mortified but he stiffened despite himself. Damen looked troubled, which Laurent was willing to bet was no good thing for whatever misstep he’d just made.

Damen smoothed his expression quickly, concern replaced by a soft smile, earning Laurent a view of one perfect dimple for a flash as Damen reached up to stroke a thumb at his jaw.

“I don’t expect sex in return for anything Laurent,” he said, voice barely more than a breath “I wanted to spend time with you and we very really could have sat here in silence and I still would have left with nothing but you on my mind,”

Which- oh. Laurent really should have expected that; Damen had a very annoying habit of turning all of his expectations over that was for certain. He’d said it once, hadn’t he? How he didn’t want to give Laurent any unrealistic expectations. He’d been talking about sex but the really annoying thing about it was how he made all of Laurent’s previous expectations about anything seem- wrong.

No not wrong. He’d just let himself be treated like crap and he’d known that. He had, he had a therapist and a logical brain he knew people had treated him like shit and he’d just let them. But knowing it and knowing it were two wildly different things and it turns out his bar hadn’t been low it had been basically non-existent.

“Besides, it’s not something I want if you don’t-“

“I want it,” Laurent cut him off and if his cheeks hadn’t already been pink well they fucking were now. How entirely subtle of him.

Damen grinned “yeah?”

The pleased look in Damen’s eyes appeased Laurent and he nodded, mollified that he hadn’t made a complete arse of himself yet. Or at least he had in a way that Damen found endearing apparently.

Damen nodded back, drawing Laurent back against his chest to he could kiss his head again “I need you to know it’s not about the sex Laurent,” he said “and it’s not something I just expect okay?”

Laurent’s expression must have been dubious because Damen’s tight smile returned “you already know I want to rip your clothes off,” Damen said and instantly Laurent’s body perked back up, wildly pleased “but I want to get to know you too, just be around you,” he said before smirking “unless of course you’re only interested in my body which I wouldn’t blame you for really I-“

Laurent tutted, scoffing a laugh as he gave Damen a shove. Damen let him have it too, stepped back, chuckling with a hand to his chest where Laurent had hit him. Like he’d even felt it.

“Every time you talk you make me regret not just wanting sex,” Laurent groused and span around, going toward the door and knowing Damen would follow.

It was a strange déjà vu; being stood at his front door with Damen looking at once satisfied and sheepish and the hottest thing Laurent had ever seen.

“You know you really don’t have to go,” Laurent said, not proud of how breathy he sounded or the way his eyes tracked unapologetically down Damen’s body.

Damen noticed, tongue flashing against his bottom lip for a moment before his hands were finding Laurent’s hips and Laurent’s back was finding the wall. He exhaled, a rush of air against Damen’s mouth as he angled their faces together, teasing, a suggestion of a kiss into the slither of space between them.

“I have to go,” Damen said

“You don’t-“

“Laurent,” Damen said, voice serious as he pulled back enough to fully meet his gaze “if I don’t go now I’ll not stop until I’ve fucked you on every available surface or until you’re begging me for a break,”

Laurent groaned and let his head thump back against the wall as Damen chuckled and pressed a lingering kiss to his pulse point. When Laurent opened his eyes he didn’t have his body under control at all and Damen’s smirk said he knew it.

Bastard. Glorious, sexy, bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Soon,” Damen said, kissing him one last time, soundly and deeply, before letting himself out.

~*~

The rain had stopped about an hour ago but the skies beyond the 5^th storey window were still heavy and smudged grey. Laurent had been staring at it, not quite out of it, for perhaps ten minutes already. It had been half an hour of stunted silence and stilted conversation.

Paschal sat across from him as normal, reclined in his wide arm chair affecting an air of attentive ease. On the other end of Laurent’s sofa, Auguste was drumming his fingers on the arm, one leg restless and bouncing. It had been three days since Auguste had agreed to this and it had taken Laurent practically two hours the night before to convince him to follow through with his promise. He had a feeling Auguste was only there because he was getting cabin-fever in his self-imposed and ill-advised isolation. 

Paschal was good with silence. He liked to let it sit, let it linger, give Laurent space to think and ultimately break it by just spewing whatever was in his head. It wasn’t working so well on Auguste. Paschal’s entire office felt stuffy with it, with the words Paschal had said and the words Auguste wouldn’t say.

It wasn’t going as Laurent had hoped therapy would go but it was going about as well as he had expected.

“Okay, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Paschal said finally, apparently giving up on Auguste “Laurent is there anything you would like to say?”

He drew in a breath, huffed it out, fidgeted on the dark green leather and tried to focus on Paschal. Not on Auguste.

“I wish I’d been as strong as Auguste,” he said and Auguste beside him flinched like it was an accusation and not a compliment “I wish I was more like him, that I’d reacted the same way, I think about how different it could have been if I were… different,”

Auguste’s answering breath was bitter at best “trust me Laurent you don’t want to be like me,” he said almost to himself, leg still bouncing as he chewed on a nail and stared adamantly anywhere other than at Laurent.

“I think,” he continued, choosing his words carefully “that we both seem to think we blame each other,” he said aware that Auguste had gone perfectly still beside him between breaths “and I don’t blame Auguste, what happened wasn’t his fault-“

“You’re wrong about that and you should blame me,” Auguste interrupted

“Now why do you-“

Auguste tossed a glare at Paschal, swivelling in his seat enough to be talking directly to Laurent.

“Laurent I could have stopped it; don’t you get that?” Auguste snapped “I knew Laurent, I knew what he was after what he did to me-“ Auguste drew in a deep breath, visibly counting to five “after what he tried to do to me, and I never said anything,”

The familiar nausea that rose up whenever they deigned to mention something about him had a strangle hold on Laurent’s stomach. He was aware of the rhythm of his heart, the way the air felt thinner and something like dread was making his spine stiffen. The ghost of a long-gone grip on the back of his neck making his ears ring.

“I know Auguste, but I also know how hard it is to talk about and-“

“Jesus Christ Laurent,” Auguste snapped “I’m not stronger than you or whatever you seem to think, I wasn’t better, I didn’t do anything that is worthy of praise,”

“You said no, you pushed him away-“

Auguste had said no, told him to get the fuck away from him; fourteen and drunk and confused and he still saw through it. That was what Laurent meant when he said he wished he’d been more like him.

“Yeah and? I didn’t tell anyone and I should have, it happened five and half years before he bothered with you and I could have saved you and I didn’t, did I? I let it happen,”

He was an adult now, fuck they both were, and he still didn’t know how to talk about it. Auguste still couldn’t talk about it. How the fuck was he supposed to expect a child to do it? Their Uncle would have turned it around anyway, talked Aleron round, made Auguste seem crazy. That’s just what he did.

“You didn’t hold me down Auguste for fucks sake,” Laurent snapped back “I let it happen,” he added just to watch Auguste flinch.

And he did, face contorting for a flash, there and gone again. 

“You were a child, I could have told you to jump off the roof at Arles and you would have fucking done it because kids are fucking stupid,” Auguste retorted “and if you only brought me here so you could make me listen to you talk absolute shit then we could have done that at home,” he hissed before he was rising to his feet and storming for the door.

Laurent was willing to admit the last comment he’d made had been unnecessary. But Auguste was really testing his patience. He groaned, turning back to Paschal who was smiling at him sympathetically.

“Auguste is carrying a lot of guilt Laurent, there’s no quick fix-“

“But he didn’t do anything, he couldn’t predict the future, he couldn’t possibly have known that I’d- react… differently,”

“The worst kind of guilt is an unearned one,” Paschal said “you and Auguste both know that,”

“So why-“

“Auguste handles his trauma differently to you,”

Laurent hunkered down, a muscle in his jaw ticking. If Paschal was going to go over trauma coping mechanisms again then he was going to jump out of his window.

“He stopped him, he fought back, I just- rolled over,” Laurent said

Paschal’s eyes were annoyingly sympathetic “the responses are both perfectly normal Laurent, there is no right or wrong way to react for either of you,”

Laurent would have to politely -and silently- disagree with him. He knew his response was normal and that it wasn’t his fault but his life would have been better if he'd responded the way Auguste had.

“How do I help him?” he asked instead, rubbing at the sudden throb of tension about his eye.

“First and foremost, Auguste has to want to help himself and it’s important for you to focus on yourself too-“ Laurent let his mind drift as Paschal expanded, talking in calming tones that always put Laurent at ease. He’d been seeing Paschal for so long it was his automatic response to him now; to let it soothe him. He wished Auguste had seen him long enough to help himself more but of course, Auguste didn’t think he needed it.

Time was almost up anyway so he thanked him, promised he’d call if he needed it and said he’d see him next week. When he could tell him about Damen and the date that would have happened by then. Hopefully it would be a better session.

Or it would be ten times worse but Laurent had no idea how things with Damen were going to go. It could be a total fucking disaster, after all.

He found Auguste already in the car, sitting inside with the window down, breath and cigarette smoke pluming in the frigid March air around him.

Laurent sighed as soon as he got in to the passenger seat.

“Don’t bother Laurent, I tried alright,”

No, he didn’t. But he supposed the first session was always going to be the worst. It would be better next time; if he could ever convince Auguste to come back with him.

“I know you did Auguste,” Laurent said “I just wish you’d talk to him properly-“

“And tell him what Laurent?” he asked, voice gone hard as he flicked the end out of the window and turned to him, unimpressed “When he asks what my nightmares are about or what makes me anxious? Shall I just tell him the truth? Do you think dad pays him enough that he’ll just let it slide?”

Laurent turned his face away, stomach sinking all over again. He clenched his hands in his lap, digging his nails into his palm and tried to concentrate on the bite of almost-pain.

“I don’t think he’d tell anyone,” Laurent said

Auguste laughed and it was cold, hard.

“Pretty sure patient confidentiality doesn’t extend to murder,”

The word clanged through the car and Laurent held back his flinch. It was a word they rarely said. It was right up there with all the words that properly described what had happened; what their uncle was. They didn’t say them, like not talking about it made it less real.

“It wasn’t murder it was provoked, or self-defence and-“

“No it really wasn’t, it was first degree murder Laurent,” Auguste sighed and it was surreal, a moment that made Laurent feel slanted, like he had vertigo or this was a horrible dream. Auguste said it with the same sigh and tone he used when he was trying to correct Laurent’s old Veretian pronunciation for the 1000^th time. Like he was bored of it. Like it was fact.

Laurent supposed it was.

He didn’t know what had happened that night, and every version he’d imagined over the years all seemed to fade or morph somehow. He just couldn’t imagine Auguste like that; enraged enough to kill. Intending to kill.

It would have been rage too; Laurent knew. Auguste wasn’t an ice-cold kind of person. He was passionate, always. He loved and he hated and he lived with an intensity that Laurent had always envied. Auguste had too much feeling to have done it coldly. It would have been rage. And love. For Laurent.

All he knew was that no one asked any questions. Their Uncle’s car, his phone, and his credit card all made it out West, on the other side of the world where they had an estate. For a while at least there had even been regular transactions. They faded over time until they stopped entirely but now it had been so many years that it didn’t seem to matter. No one asked. No one missed him.

And they’d never have to see his face again. It might have been murder but Laurent would never think of it as a truly bad thing.

Laurent breathed out “I still don’t think-“

“Jesus Laurent don’t you get it? If I told him I’d have to tell dad that I’d told him, and then he’d have to do what he does best,” Auguste snapped “he’d make it disappear,”

Disappear. The same way he’d made the entire problem disappear in the first place. The way he’d made Auguste disappear when he sent him away for three months to rehab in the arsehole of nowhere.

“This is all my-“

“Do not start with me,” Auguste hissed “I went to his house Laurent, what do you think I went there to do? Ask him why? To yell at him for hurting you?” Auguste snorted but it was not an amused noise “it was a choice Laurent, my choice,”

“Did you go there for that?” Laurent asked.

It had been over. It had been done. Laurent had told him what was happening. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Auguste had pushed, ever-more concerned about Laurent’s changing behaviour, the circles beneath his eyes, why Laurent was hungover or smelt like alcohol sometimes. Noticing the marks on him that were left behind sometimes, or how Laurent didn't want to be around Auguste anymore; or anyone.

Auguste had figured it out and Laurent just got tired of hiding it. It’s not like he hadn’t known it was wrong. It’s just that it got him so turned around and confused and like he owed it to him and- well.

As soon as Laurent told him, Auguste had told Aleron, dragged Laurent to see him, spat words like rape and groomed and paedophile out into the air; words that could never be taken back or unheard or washed clean. And Aleron had said he’d take care of it. But it had been Auguste who did in the end.

Auguste didn’t answer him.

“Dad said he was taking care of it,”

Auguste’s laugh was bitter “Dad knew what he was and if you think otherwise you’re fucking lying to yourself, dad’s version of taking care of it meant shipping him off for real, out of sight, out of mind,” Auguste said “it wasn’t enough,”

Aleron hadn’t wanted to call the police when he found out what had happened to Laurent. None of them had. Too much attention. And Laurent couldn’t bear the idea of everyone knowing. Or even guessing. Their name? Their family? The brother of one of the most powerful men in the country accused of something like that? With a young boy in the same house? It would have been all over the papers and Laurent absolutely could not have coped with that kind of speculation or scrutiny. 

Auguste shook his head, staring out the window with the knuckles of one hand going white around the steering wheel.

“Can we just drop it? I can’t talk to Paschal, not properly, and if I have to lie then what’s the point? I thought I could talk around it but I can’t Loz, I just can’t,”

Laurent nodded reaching out to squeeze his arm “it’s fine, we’ll- I’ll think of something,” he said, mostly to stop Auguste from getting worked up.

He wasn’t wrong, which was the worst part. If you weren’t honest in therapy then there really wasn’t much point in going.

Auguste let out a long breath, deflating and sinking back in his seat with his eyes pressed closed. Laurent let him have a moment, fixated on the rhythmic flex of Auguste’s fingers around the steering wheel.

Auguste started the car in silence, lit another cigarette the moment they hit a red light and Laurent had no idea what to say. Auguste was tense. Restless. And given the absolute state Auguste had been getting himself into recently it really didn’t bode well. Laurent could be forgiven for worrying.

He’d been doing so well. Auguste had had a bad six months after he- After their uncle died. It had been one binge after another until Aleron stepped in and shipped him off to rehab for three months. Five years ago.

It hadn’t happened since and Laurent couldn’t help but wonder: why now?

He knew things weren’t great with Collette but things were never that great with Collette. They’d split up before and got back together. Fuck, Auguste had gone through worse break ups before without spiralling like this. So why now?

“Why did you argue with Collette?” he asked “you were doing so well and then-“ he trailed off, stared at Auguste’s profile.

Auguste sighed, pulling over outside Laurent’s building. He didn’t turn to look at him.

“Christ I don’t even know Loz, lots of things, one thing then another- you know how it is,” he said “I was drinking too much or she felt like I wasn’t prioritising her, she was jealous, she said I was hiding something-“ he snorted, bitter and frustrated and Laurent could hear the no shit in the air between them.

Maybe there was nothing in particular and Laurent was just looking for something to blame.

“Are you going to be okay tomorrow?” Laurent asked after a long few moments in which the passing traffic and chatter of the outside world were the only sounds between them.

“Probably,” Auguste said and at least he hadn’t lied completely “Jord will be there so, maybe,”

Jord. Like Jord alone could keep Auguste on the straight and narrow; stop him doing something stupid in front of all those people and all those cameras. Tomorrow every media outlet in the country worth a damn was going to be at Gaby and Nik’s benefit ball, ready to report on everything from what they were wearing to what whispers were circulating around the hall.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go,”

“Yeah and then I’ll have journalists calling me asking me where I was and why I was too busy,” he said “the speculation would be more annoying, we’re expected to be there, so we’ll be there,”

The Earl of Chastillon was, after all, affiliated to their father: a traditional relationship. And Gaby was his daughter. Auguste was right, they had to be there.

“When does dad get here?”

“About two hours, he’s opening up the beach house, I said I’d go over and told him you were busy with Uni,”

Their family had had a manor house just outside of Marlas once. But their father sold it after their uncle died. He’d been the one to stay there most and none of them wanted to go back there. Ever. Now the beach house was the only one their father still kept in the city.

“Thanks,” Laurent said distractedly, glad he didn’t have to go say hello immediately. At least he had until tomorrow.

“Look, sorry that didn’t go too well,” Auguste said “and don’t worry about tomorrow I’ll handle it,” he said and Laurent saw it as the dismissal that it was.

Auguste was practically vibrating, chewing on his nail again agitatedly and Laurent had a horrible feeling the past week of Auguste’s isolation was going to come back to bite them both.

~*~

As expected La Place Royale was decorated to the height of Nikandros and Gabrielle’s taste, which Laurent didn’t think much of at all. It was bright white and dazzling gold at every turn save for the blood red carpet that had greeted them at the entrance and seemed very unoriginal. The ballroom was as pretty as always and orchids hung from the balustrades and were wrapped around the pillars, in vases on every table; the scent was almost overwhelming. Mostly, he would warrant, due to the fact there were too many varieties of orchids around and the aroma was… incessant. Almost sickly.

Laurent was on edge. He was aware of the packed-out room, the approved media dotted around snapping photos, he was aware of his father rubbing shoulders and fake-smiling, he was aware that Damen was stood over by the bar throwing his head back to laugh at something Erasmus was saying.

Laurent could barely keep his eyes off him. Damen looked good in a suit. He looked good pretty much all the time but there was something about a suit that made Laurent want to pant like a bitch in heat. It was the trousers. How tight they were. And also the shirt and how tight that was. And the casual way he’d pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, how the tie was artfully loose making him look rakish and debonair, and okay Laurent really needed to tear his eyes away lest Auguste catch him staring. Or drooling.

Because that was another thing Laurent was hyper-focused on. Auguste was being his usual charming self, thankfully on the other side of the room to Damen, Jord and Orlant at his elbow. So far Laurent had counted five glasses of wine and two-bathroom breaks. He had also seen Jord scowl a great deal more than he would have liked. Which meant Auguste was absolutely not handling the night the way he had said he would. If he wasn’t mistaken Auguste was almost swaying already and Jord was steadying him frequently with a hand at his waist.

It felt like a time bomb.

“You look tenser than normal,” Nicaise said, sidling up out of nowhere.

“Blow me,”

“Speaking of,” Nicaise said, shifting into Laurent’s line of sight and cutting off his view of Auguste. And Jord. And that whole pending disaster. He was in the process of craning around him when Nicaise drew his gaze with a-too-casual-sigh.

“Bastian’s looking for you, thought you’d want a heads up,” Nicaise said “I sent him on a wild goose chase but he’s catching up, so this is your only warning not to do something stupid,” Nicaise said, pointedly “And Bastian is something stupid just FYI,”

Laurent rolled his eyes “Bastian can go to hell and if he comes over I fully intend to tell him that,”

“Good,” Nicaise nodded “here’s your chance, he’s heading this way,”

Laurent hissed and tried to stop Nicaise’s retreat but the little bastard just slipped into the crowd. Laurent was stopped from following by a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice saying his name.

He took a deep breath and turned around. Sure enough Bastian was right there, wine glass in one hand, eyes scanning down Laurent twice as a slow smirk spread over his face. Laurent fidgeted beneath the appraisal, tensing for a remark.

“You’re eating properly this time I see,” he said with his eyes still on Laurent’s thighs and wow he knew he’d put a bit of weight back on since the summer when he’d last seen him but he didn’t think it was that noticeable.

“Charming as ever,” Laurent said folding his arms across his chest, taking a half step back when Bastian took one forward.

“You’re tense,” Bastian observed

“Yes, happens when I’m somewhere I don’t want to be,”

“Well we could get out of here, the tension isn’t anything I can’t fix, I know what you’re like,”

Laurent blinked and really it was not a surprise, it was how conversation with Bastian usually went but that had to have been a record even for him. Laurent must look really good. He grimaced, turning his face away. To think two weeks ago he’d actually considered having sex with him again.

“True, maybe I should go find someone who can… talk me into it?” he asked arcing a brow and looking at Bastian expectantly.

“I’m well practiced with that,” Bastian said either ignoring or not hearing the point of the remark.

Laurent bit the inside of his cheek “right and I was always a- what would you say? A tease playacting at innocence?”

Bastian, again, didn’t seem to hear Laurent’s tone, which was nothing new. He slid closer, one hand going unerringly to Laurent’s waist as he leant toward him, closing the distance,

“You are good at it, until I give you what you need,” he said

Laurent was aware of the rush of shame those words elicited, the way he had to fight not to drop his gaze or let his shoulders curl. The way it made his stomach turn over. He might have, in the past, mistaken that feeling for something like butterflies once or twice but it fucking wasn’t. It was anxiety.

He knocked Bastian’s hand from him and stepped away again, putting space between them. Bastian watched him, rolling his eyes

“Can we not do the hard-to-get routine for tonight? I’m not in the mood for that and a couple more drinks and you’ll be asking for it anyway so let’s just cut to the chase,”

He folded his arms again, tensing despite himself and he knew what was coming. Bastian always talked him round, knew all of his buttons, knew exactly what to say and Laurent was always stupid enough to let him. Never felt like he had a good reason not to.

Except he did this time. He had several very good reasons.

One such reason appeared as though Laurent had summoned him, smiling like nothing was amiss even though the way he swapped a glance with Laurent let him know there was most definitely something up.

“Damianos, nice to see you, but we’re kind of in the middle of a private conversation,” Bastian said, nudging Damen’s arm, all but fucking winking at him like some I’m-trying-to-get-laid bro-code; some Alpha male joke and Laurent was the punchline. He certainly fucking felt like one.

He shifted his weight, gaze drawn to Damen, watching him clench his jaw, even as his smile widened.

“Yes, very private, in the middle of a crowd,” Damen said dryly

“Well, we’re about to move it somewhere quieter, you know Laurent, right?” Bastian said, apparently not noticing the way Damen’s eyes were boring into him. A smarter man might have stepped back not prodded him further.

“We should probably go before Auguste sees us, you know what he’s like,” Bastian said and Laurent scowled at him, biting his tongue “can’t blame him for being protective though, I mean, look at him,” Bastian laughed, eyes bright on Laurent’s flushing face.

Fuck, this was what being embarrassed to death felt like he was sure. He wanted to tell Damen to go, to just leave it before Bastian said something else anything else.

“Bastian,” he hissed instead

“Don’t worry Damen gets it,” Bastian said nudging Damen again and Laurent watched as Damen’s expression thinned “you should see him naked,” Bastian added, a mock-whisper and a wink at Laurent that made his insides retreat as shame slammed him.

Fuck. Not good. He flashed an anxious glance at Damen, frowned when he saw Damen smile.

Damen clapped a heavy hand down on Bastian’s shoulder and Laurent watched Bastian flinch from the impact, but try to hide it by shifting his weight.

“Do you hear yourself when you talk?” Damen asked and Bastian only looked at him, confused apparently “No? Well I can, Laurent can, and it is an unfortunate waste of oxygen,” he said picking imaginary thread from Bastian’s collar. Bastian appeared to be holding his breath, face drawn into a frown even as he stood stock still, like Damen was a particularly dangerous creature and any movement might see him bite.

Damen’s tone was casual, conversational, but the rumble beneath was just as prominent and Laurent was not entirely proud of his reaction.

“Generally if you want to avoid getting punched in the face again -I am assuming someone somewhere has had the pleasure of punching you at some point- then it would probably be best to learn to just keep your mouth shut,” Damen smiled, deadly and not at all sweet “at least in front of me,” he said smoothing out the non-existent wrinkle in Bastian’s lapel.

Laurent just watched, eyebrows raised as his gaze went between them, Damen’s’ expectant expression, oozing a calm that said there was a storm approaching and Bastian, confused but annoyed nonetheless.

“Are you threatening me?” Bastian hissed

Damen chuckled, eyes sharp on Bastian’s face and Laurent absolutely should not be tracking the way Damen’s tongue worked against his lower lip for a beat, or the way the tendons in his neck tensed as he canted his head and if he dropped his gaze to the way his arse looked in those trousers well; it wasn’t his fault.

“Don’t be silly Bastian, do I look like the kind of person who needs to make a threat?”

No. He looked like the kind of person who was a threat; entire body a silent demand for attention. Predators don’t need to tell other animals that they are predators, prey just know to be wary.

And Bastian was wary. He chuckled; a noise that sounded strained as he took a wise step back. Damen noticed, smiled, just one corner of his mouth turning up like a smug: see.

It shouldn’t be sexy but fuck it all, even embarrassed and anxious Laurent still had room to be turned on.

“Ah I forgot he was always a touchy subject with you, wasn’t he?”

Wait. Was he? Laurent was a touchy subject with Damen? Him?

“Or maybe that’s not it this time and you just want to fuck him?” Bastian laughed, taking another step away from Damen “good luck, he’ll make you jump through hoops and-“

Laurent watched Damen’s hands flex and Laurent stepped forward, closer, let his shoulder brush Damen.

“Do finish your sentence, personally I would quite like to see what Damianos does. Do you?” Laurent interrupted before Bastian could do any more damage.

“Fine, I’ll bite, we can pretend you won’t come to me,” Bastian said looking right at him “find me when he’s gone,” he said and disappeared into the crowd.

Laurent watched him go, holding his breath to try to calm his pulse down and to avoid looking at Damen. Damen, who was most definitely looking at him. He became aware of the crowd again, aware that Auguste was somewhere in that room, and his father, and too many cameras and he had no idea what his face was doing or what he was feeling. Damen was still staring at him and he didn’t need to look to know he had concern splashed all over his stupid pretty face.

Laurent tutted, huffing out a puff of air “perfect,” he said more to himself than Damen.

He didn’t pause or look at him, just headed for a door. Any door. He didn’t even care where it went just as long as it got him out of that room. If there were no photos of that exchange it would be a miracle. He just needed to be out of there. Get a grip or something.

He found his way out into the lobby and there were still so many people, too many bright lights. He took a left, picked a corridor and found some stairs. On the next level he picked a door and flung it open, slammed it closed behind him.

It was some kind of conference room, most of the chairs and tables pushed to the sides in vaguely neat stacks. There were floor length curtains all along the far wall and Laurent could hear the music from beyond. He knew if he peeked he’d have a view of the ballroom below.

It would do.

There was perhaps a five second window between Laurent taking a few steps into the room and the door swinging open behind him and every single atom in his body was aware of who it was before he even turned around.

“Following me? Really smart,” Laurent snapped at him the second Damen closed the door.

Damen didn’t look remotely phased.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he said

“Because of Bastian or because you were really un-subtle?”

“He won’t think anything of it,”

“Maybe not, what was it he said? About me being some kind of nerve for you?”

Damen frowned “I already told you he talks pretty freely though I admit, I didn’t realise he did it right in front of you, like you weren’t even-“

“What? So you’ve chastised him before?”

Damen shrugged, hands a helpless spread in front of him, like he was offering a surrender “Auguste and I fell apart but that doesn’t mean I stopped caring about any of you, or did you think I’d just let him run his mouth? Disrespect you?”

No, no he didn’t suppose that was much in Damen’s nature. He felt exposed but, he already knew Bastian had said things to Damen that Laurent couldn’t ever make him unhear, so what did it matter? Damen had cared enough even before they slept together to tell Bastian to shut up so why was he worried?

Damen had already told him his past didn’t matter to him. Well not quite. Bastian didn’t matter to him. Laurent highly doubted Damen would be thinking the same if he ever knew about how he’d lost his virginity, for example.

Laurent grimaced at his own thoughts and Damen, seeing it, mistook the look.

“I’m not sorry so if you’re waiting for an apology you won’t get one,” Damen said lifting his chin like this was something he was willing to argue.

“I could have handled it, I wasn’t going to go with him, I was telling him to fuck off he just wasn’t listening,”

“I know that,” Damen said “I know you had it, but I have been told I’m pretty big and that’s pretty intimidating and well… putting him in his place never gets old,”

It did get rid of Bastian.

And he would be lying if he said it wasn’t satisfying to see Bastian skulk off. Or to see Damen flex or come to his rescue. Not that he needed one. But it did touch a few buttons he hadn’t realised he had. It wasn’t possessive exactly. More protective than anything. Whatever it was he didn’t hate it.

Laurent let out a long breath, pressing his palms into his eyes.

“He’s such a fucking dick,”

“Does he always do that?”

“Pretty much,” Laurent sighed, pulling himself up onto the nearest table “I don’t always notice when he does it which I guess means he does it a lot,” he frowned “I just- I should have let you hit him,” he said, scratching at the varnish on the table and scowling at it like it had personally offended him.

Damen came toward him, leaning against the table a careful distance away, letting Laurent have the respite of not meeting his microscopic gaze.

“There’s still time,” Damen offered “I’d be more than happy to oblige,”

“Maybe then he’d shut up,” Laurent said, a tight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Damen sighed “Kastor used to do stuff like that, talking like I wasn’t there, like the insult was just a joke. I never noticed either, never listened to Nik when he tried to tell me, it wasn’t until Jo that I realised,”

The ever-lovely, ever-venomous Jokaste. It must have been brutal. Few things could hurt like that; realising your brother was sleeping with your girlfriend. He wondered if Damen would go to their wedding. Probably, he didn’t seem the type to run or hide.

“It’s weird, isn’t it? What we just let ourselves believe, what our brains can be tricked into,” Laurent offered

“Yeah,” Damen said “it seems crazy to me now that I didn’t see it, or maybe I did and just didn’t want to believe it,”

“I know that feeling well,”

And he did. He was very well versed in Paschal’s cognitive dissonance. It was funny to him that the theory itself was somewhat dissonant; he understood it as a theory but in the application to reality he didn’t really understand it at all. Because yes, very good, justification, rationalisation, mental stress- but how does the brain just snap itself closed against something it already knows?

You know it. You also don’t know it.

A mechanism Schrodinger could enjoy.

“You don’t deserve it,” Damen said taking Laurent’s free hand and drawing Laurent’s gaze toward him.

He lifted Laurent’s hand slowly, squeezing his fingers gently and pressing a lingering kiss to the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry Kastor’s such an unfathomable prick too,” he said and Damen laughed, dropping their hands back to the table but not letting him go.

Laurent squeezed back, concentrated on the feel of Damen’s palm and the tickle of his fingers when he started to move his hand, digits dancing in and around Laurent's, toying with his fingers and watching, like he was entranced by the way their skin looked all tangled like that.

Laurent certainly was.

“Thank you for getting rid of him,” Laurent said “but about what he said-“

“Stop,” Damen said, pausing his caress of Laurent’s fingers to squeeze again “I don’t care about a single thing he has to say beyond it upsetting you, you don’t have to say anything Laurent,”

“Really?” he asked.

Damen made a soft noise of assent and shifted, coming closer, until Laurent could feel the heat of him against his side. When Damen’s arm went up around him Laurent let himself fall against his chest, closing his eyes as Damen stroked his hair.

“Promise,”

Laurent breathed out, wrapped his arms around Damen’s waist and buried his face in his chest; maybe surreptitiously inhaling his scent a little too but Damen smelt good and Laurent’s defences were on the floor so it felt like a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

When he turned his head up Damen was already looking at him and it felt like the easiest thing in the world to tip his head up further, let his gaze linger on Damen’s lips. Damen understood, leant down and sealed a kiss to Laurent’s upturned mouth that made the past half an hour seem worth it.

Laurent opened his mouth beneath his kiss, eager for more of it, of that feeling of being swept away; his brain switching off. Damen’s kisses had become a bit of an addiction but he really didn’t care, just slid his hands up Damen’s chest and tugged on his collar to bring him closer. With a chuckle against his tongue Damen did as bid, pushing Laurent’s knees apart so he could fit between them.

Laurent was losing himself, pressing up against him as he kissed him, all tongue and no finesse and wondered if Damen wanted it as badly as he did. Wanted him as badly as he wanted Damen.

The loud crash and yell that interrupted the quiet made them pull apart, frowning first at each other in confusion before a familiar voice saying a name somewhere down the corridor had them frowning at the door.

“Auguste!”

“Fuck,” Laurent said shoving at Damen’s chest and running for the door.

That was Jord. And he did not sound pleased.

He didn’t have the presence of mind to tell Damen not to follow him down the hall, where it was pretty easy to find Jord. And Auguste. He could hear their raised voices easy enough.

The door was open and Laurent skidded to a halt on the threshold, trying to take in the scene as quickly as he could; assessing for damage, worry lodged in his throat.

Jord was fuming, breathing unevenly, face mottled with what Laurent assumed was rage. Auguste was opposite him, swaying, unfocused, and half smiling like this was in anyway funny.

“I believe this is where you tell me I’m making a scene,” Auguste said, stumbling backward until he was hitting the wall and sliding down it, legs splaying out in front of him as he tossed his phone and his cigarettes to the floor beside him “go on then, say it,”

Laurent took a few steps into the room, eyes on Auguste who didn’t even register him. Or Damen, who was coming into the room behind him, staring at Auguste with a carefully blank expression.

Laurent swallowed over the concern making a lump in his throat and turned to Jord. It took him all of two seconds to realise Jord wasn’t angry. He was hurt. Really hurt.

When Jord realised Laurent was looking at him he turned away, made a swift retreat and with a groan Laurent followed him out into the corridor.

“Wait, Jord, when did he start?” Laurent asked and Jord still paused, let Laurent catch up to him. Laurent hadn’t been distracted for that long. Had he? Auguste hadn’t been that bad when he left the ballroom.

Jord fixed him with a dark look “he was like it when I picked him up,”

But that didn’t make sense. Auguste had arrived with Jord and their father. He’d greeted Laurent with a hug, pretended he was going to ruffle his hair to mess it up. He’d been fine.

“My father-“

“Didn’t notice,”

No and neither did Laurent. How many other times had Auguste shown up somewhere like that and he’d been none the fucking wiser? He wondered what he’d taken. How much he’d drank that Laurent didn’t see.

“Look-“ Jord said throwing a thumb over his shoulder “I’m sorry-“

“I know, go, I’ll get him out of here, thank you for trying though,”

Jord just nodded, throwing one last lingering look down the hall before taking off back down the stairs. Laurent hurried back, very aware that he’d left Auguste with Damen of all people and that was bound to be a fucking train wreck. They hadn’t been alone together without arguing since they were fucking eighteen. And Auguste let his mouth run away from him when he was drunk. Or high. Laurent had several hard phone calls to prove that.

Auguste was where Laurent had left him, slumped against the wall. Damen was crouching beside him, eyes roving over him in assessment.

“What did you take?” Damen asked, voice calm and even and oh.

Perfect. Damen knew it wasn’t alcohol. And of course he did. He must have seen Auguste drunk a thousand times before that. But now he knew. Laurent was frantically trying to come with an excuse, a way to play it off as the first time. Anything to stop Damen from realising this was, in fact, a huge problem.

The last thing he could bear was Damen making some snide implied remark with the press.

Auguste didn’t seem phased by Damen’s question. And of course he wasn’t. He was too fucked up to give a shit. His smile was teasing, deceptively bright.

“Oh no, you’re doing that eyebrow thing, you must be pissed at me,” Auguste sniggered as he reached up to prod Damen’s forehead.

“Auguste, what did you-”

“Nothing,” he said

“Don’t lie to me,”

“Ah, not very fun on that side of the fence is it?” Auguste said apparently bemused and very pleased with himself

Damen’s hand shot out and for a second Laurent thought he was going to hit him but he didn’t. Instead he just gripped his chin and Auguste let him, let Damen turn his head, inspecting the red mark on Auguste’s face.

“Did Jord hit you too? You’re making that a habit I see,”

Auguste snatched his face away, nearly over-balancing in the process “yeah well, don’t worry D, you’ll always have been first,” he said, Laurent didn’t get to hear Damen’s response because Auguste spotted him then and scowled.

“There was no need to get Damen,” he said and is that what he thought? That Laurent had asked Damen to come?

Well. Intoxicated logic was better than the questions sober-Auguste would have had, that was for sure. Like why were Damen and Laurent up in a conference room instead of down at the party? And alone? And why did Damen’s hair have traces of Laurent’s fingers all the way through it? Why was Laurent's mouth kissed pink?

Yes, he could quite do without that thank you very much.

“Get up,” Laurent said, clicking his fingers at him and it didn’t escape his notice that Damen rose to his feet when he did it. Shifted so that he was stood behind Laurent, watching Auguste keenly.

It also did not escape his notice that Damen was tense beside him, not quite the way he’d been with Bastian but close enough that the comparison between the situations made Laurent unreasonably sad.

Auguste sighed, tipped his head back “great, you’re in a mood,”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be if my idiot brother hadn’t gotten trashed at a charity event,” he said, irritated as he leant down to attempt to drag Auguste up.

“If I’m such an idiot how come you keep saying you wish you were more like me?”

Laurent pulled up sharply, overly aware of Damen who was hovering just behind him.

“I wish I was more like the sober you,” he ground out trying to ignore the way Damen was glaring at Auguste.

Auguste laughed, tipping his head back against the wall “don’t, sober me is the one that likes to get fucked up, after all,” he said “what you mean is that you wish you were more like the person you think I am,”

Laurent nodded down at him. Auguste wasn’t scowling, wasn’t smiling, was just looking at him, eyes an impossible blue, glassy, and blown wide, hair a mess, clothes askew. Maybe he wasn’t wrong.

“Get up, I’m done pandering,”

“Unlikely,” Auguste said under his breath as he struggled to his feet.

He swayed almost immediately and Laurent didn’t move to help, just watched derisively and half hoped he’d fall. Damen reacted though, catching him and hauling an arm up over his shoulder to keep him steady.

“I had it,” Auguste said, tipping right into Damen’s space to squint in a manner Laurent was sure Auguste meant to be intimidating.

“Shut up or I’ll throw you over my shoulder,” Damen said

“Get a new trick,” Auguste groused but he did make an effort to walk even if it was mostly just Damen dragging him along.

Laurent directed them to the back of the building, a different stair case that would lead them all the way down to the garage. He’d called Auguste’s driver and had been assured he was waiting at the door and that there was no one around.

Laurent hoped he was right.

Halfway down the stairs Auguste groaned, dragged himself to a stop despite Damen’s protests.

“My phone,” he said trying to turn back around.

Laurent heaved a sigh “I’ll go, just- get him in the car,” he said waving a hand at Damen to continue.

It had taken far too long to drag Auguste down the corridor after all. He was conscious of every second as he ran back up the stairs and back to the room Auguste had co-opted. Every second he was gone was time Auguste and Damen were practically alone and that increased the argument potential ten-fold without Laurent there. He found the phone on the floor where Auguste had been sitting and practically sprinted the rest of the way. He saw only a few staff members who didn’t even ask him where he was going. He supposed they wouldn’t; they all knew well enough who was occupying the ball room tonight after all.

He was out of breath and regretting every time he’d taken a lift instead of the stairs by the time he got down to the garage. Auguste’s driver was right where he said he’d be and Auguste was sitting in the back seat. Or half in the backseat. He was facing Damen who had one hand on the car door and one on the hood of the car, caging Auguste in like he was trying to get him to put his legs in.

“You mean it’s easier when I’m mad at you,” Damen said, voice brimming with impatience

“Obviously and you’re very easy to distract, as soon as I mention it your hackles go up and you get all surly and serious,” Auguste laughed before snorting, inelegant and undignified “it’s almost like-”

Damen slammed his hand on the hood, posture stiff and voice hardly more than a growl “would you just get in the fucking car?”

“What? Are you going to make me?”

Laurent must have gotten close enough for Damen to feel him because he turned, something like relief in his eyes.

“No but he will,” he said directing Auguste’s gaze to Laurent.

“Auguste, legs, now,” Laurent said, standing beside Damen and throwing the phone at Auguste’s chest.

Auguste rolled his eyes but he did comply and Damen slammed the door behind him. It wasn’t as bad as he had thought it would be but about as much as he could have hoped for. At least neither of them had swung as far as he could tell, which was apparently more than could be said of Jord and Auguste.

Damen turned his back to the car, effectively blocking Laurent from Auguste’s view and Laurent absolutely did not get distracted by how wide Damen’s shoulders were to accomplish that feat.

“I have to go,” Laurent said, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from Damen’s chest “don’t say anything-“

“I won’t,” Damen said voice markedly softer than it had been a moment ago “and I’d check his inside pocket if I were you,” he said “call me if you need me?”

“Yeah, I will, but it should be fine he just needs to sleep it off,”

Damen nodded and they stared at each other, a kiss pending in the space between them. Damen stepped back, flicking a look around before holding his hands out in the space between them, fingers making a heart.

His own heart absolutely did not do anything different, it didn’t skip, or pound, or try to tell him just how fucking endeared he was by Damen and his ridiculousness.

Laurent smiled, nodding “thank you,” he said again, meeting his gaze one last time before getting into the backseat beside his brother.

It was a stiff silent ride for the first ten minutes, Laurent chewing his lip as he stared out of the window and listened to Auguste fidgeting in the seat beside him.

“If Damianos tells anyone or asks questions-” Laurent said finally, turning to watch as Auguste tipped his head back against the seat, stretching his legs out as much as he could.

“Damen won’t be a problem,” Auguste sighed “he knows how to keep his mouth shut,”

Laurent’s brow pulled down “doesn’t seem like it to me,”

If anything Damen was mouthy as fuck and Laurent couldn’t exactly count on whatever… affection, he might have for Laurent stopping him from saying anything.

Auguste snorted, swivelled his head idly along the back of the seat so he could look at Laurent “that’s because you don’t know him,”

He felt his jaw clench, tension racing up into his temples where a headache was beginning to form. The very fucking last thing he needed was the errant eight-year-old spike of jealousy in his stomach; however misplaced.

“Threaten him if it makes you feel better, the worst he’ll do is some interview where he calls me a lazy, self-indulgent, prick who has absolutely no self-control,”

Laurent made what he hoped was an affirmative noise and listened to Auguste jump from Damen to Collette and finally to Jord, where the whole situation had apparently started.

“He called me messy,” Auguste pouted when Laurent was finally depositing him on his bed.

Auguste immediately flopped over onto his stomach and Laurent had to wrestle what appeared to be three shirts and several pairs of trousers out from beneath him.

“Well good for you for proving him wrong,” Laurent said, not-so-gently yanking Auguste’s shoes off and throwing them in the general direction of his wardrobe.

“I asked if he wanted to fuck me,” Auguste mumbled into the pillow and Laurent paused, staring hard at Auguste who was valiantly attempting to divulge himself of his very expensive jacket.

Laurent took pity on him and yanked it off, putting it over the arm of the chair.

“No wonder Jord hit you,”

Laurent had been telling Auguste for a while that Jord had a bit of a crush on him. He couldn’t tell whether it was genuine affection and attraction or whether Jord still hero-worshipped Auguste the way he had when they were younger. Back when Jord had been constantly pushed aside in favour of Damen.

“I was offering,” Auguste huffed, lifting his head out of his pillow enough to at least attempt to glare at Laurent.

“You were going to fuck Jord?” he asked sceptically

Christ he could imagine how that conversation went down. Auguste: drugged up, drunk, missing Collette and horny… how romantic an offer.

“He’s attractive,” Auguste said hand groping around on the bedside table.

Laurent knew what he was looking for and he figured the fire risk was less hassle than trying to tell him not to smoke in bed. He thrust the half empty packet at him and found an empty mug that would do as an ashtray. Watching Auguste and his uncoordinated body roll over and push itself up might have been funny if Laurent wasn’t so concerned. Or annoyed at him.

“Auguste, you don’t want to fuck Jord, you’re just fucked up and horny,”

“Maybe I was just in the mood to suck a dick,” Auguste said, giving him a shit eating grin like he knew well enough he was being a prick. And was enjoying it.

Laurent just looked at him, so many things he wanted to say and not a single one of them would come out. It was pointless anyway when he was like that.

“I’m getting you water, don’t set anything on fire,”

On his way out the room he snatched the jacket up and as soon as he was out of sight he was fishing through the inner pockets. Sure enough he found a silver case, engraved with their family crest. It looked like an old cigarette case and when he popped it open he found a bag with two pills and a wrap with what was left of whatever he’d snorted.

They both went into his pocket to be flushed down the toilet. The case he turned over in his hands a few times. He had seen it before; he just wasn’t sure where. Probably in one of the display cabinets back home in Arles. Auguste always did have a habit of taking things out of them. It was a nice piece, late 1800s; sterling silver with rounded edges and a hallmark Laurent couldn’t decipher. It was classy at least.

He went back into the bedroom with a bottle of water, drugs burning a hole in his back pocket as he took a seat in the armchair and pulled his legs up. He stayed with him until he fell asleep which took a very long time. The sun was beginning to rise when Auguste finally gave in and nodded off.

Asleep, Auguste looked so much younger than his years, with his hair a fan of golden waves across his pillows and his face relaxed in ways it rarely was when he was awake.

He wished he knew how to help him. He wished, more than anything, that Auguste would let him in, would let him help. If there were words, the right words, he’d say them, over and over, scream them until his lungs gave out, but there wasn’t.

He wondered if this was how Auguste had felt. Back then. When he’d figured it out and all the dark broken twisted pieces had fallen into place for him. When he’d had to watch Laurent fall apart and claw himself back together. Laurent had been too young back then to notice how Auguste fell apart beside him; too overwhelmed himself with his own darkness to do much more than blink as Auguste changed.

Laurent remembered the night their uncle had died. The night Auguste had killed him. He remembered their father taking a call just as the grandfather clock in the foyer was striking 8pm. He remembered the way his father had cut his eyes to Laurent, face impassive and voice calm when he spoke. Told Auguste he was on his way. He was gone within the hour and was back again by midday two days later with Auguste in tow; pale and blank.

Laurent remembered his father’s voice when he told him only that he was dead and that they’d taken care of it. They’d never speak of him again. Part of him had been glad.

Now, all these years later, he’d have him alive and breathing if it meant Auguste would be better.

When he was sure Auguste wasn’t going to do something stupid like choke on his own sick he went next door to the guest room; lay down on sheets that probably hadn’t been changed since the last time Laurent had crashed.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and was typing before he really knew what he was doing.

You:
Thank you for earlier. Please don’t say anything xxx

He was surprised when a reply came barely two minutes later. It was nearly 7 am, what the fuck was he still doing up?

Damen:
Any time. I had to carry Nik out of there 2, it was a night for it I think xxx

Laurent smiled despite himself, eyes feeling heavy.

You:
That’s what you get for being as big as a pack horse

He wondered what he was still doing up. What he was doing. He half wished he was there with him which was absolutely the most ridiculous thing to happen to him all night. Laurent wasn’t a toddler; he could self-comfort just fine.

Damen:
I should b paid at least, it’s exploitation

You:
You should start a union

Damen:
I luv tht u think I know anything about unions

You:
Himbo Union it is

Damen:
My pretty face thanks u but my master’s degree resents that

You:
I’ll make it up to your very pretty face

Damen:
by sitting on it preferably

Bastard.

Laurent groaned and rolled over, too tired to stop the play of images that sentence called forward. He’d never done that but then he’d never done a lot of things that Damen seemed to make him want. And he really, really, wanted. If Auguste wasn’t right next door he might have called him. Gotten himself off by listening to Damen telling him what he wanted. But he couldn’t.

Delayed gratification.

Two more days. Well, it was more like 36 hours now but who the fuck was counting. Certainly not Laurent. And he didn’t exactly intend to fuck him on their first date. But… he already had so it didn’t count.

You:
I was also promised every surface if I recall

Damen:
My face is a surface, we can start there

You:
I’m holding you to that

Damen:
I’m counting on it

You:
Goodnight. And thank you again xxx

Damen:
Goodnight and I mean it, any time xxx

Okay, so maybe he could self-comfort but he didn’t think he could be blamed for wishing Damen was right beside him. Because now he was introspective and endeared and horny and that just wasn’t fair.

Friday felt very far away.

Chapter Text

Ancel was staring. Laurent could feel his beady judgemental eyes on him as Ancel shadowed him from the living room, to the kitchen, and back to his bedroom. He didn’t need to be stalked; he was quite beside himself as it was thank you very much. If his heart beat any harder he might even start to be concerned.

“What?” He snapped eventually, spinning to block Ancel from following him over the threshold to his room.

“You’re wearing earrings,” Ancel commented, squinting at them like he was trying to figure out if Laurent had stolen them from his vast collection. Like Laurent wasn’t perfectly rich with some very expensive jewellery himself. And a much higher level of taste.

“Your observational skills are truly unparalleled, Dr Berenger will be surprised when nothing gets past you,”

Ancel rolled his eyes “no, you don’t wear them, ever, not unless-“ he pursed his lips, eyes raking down him critically “in the past few hours you have spent an ungodly amount of time in the bathroom, you’re wearing the jeans that make your arse look best, you’ve smoked as much as an old man who props up a bar for a living, and you can’t stay still,” he said hands on hips and oh. Maybe nothing did get past Ancel. Or maybe Laurent was just being painfully obvious.

Not his fault. He was nervous. Flustered. It was a mild problem.

“Fine, I have a date,” he said because it was better by far to rip that band-aid off than to let Ancel chip away at him when he was already brimming with an absolute overkill of emotion.

It was nearly embarrassing. He had been ricocheting back and forth all day; ping-ponging between excitement and nerves and doubt and then more doubt for good measure. He was exhausted. His heart had been beating so hard all day that taking the stairs at Uni had made him sweaty. Laurent hated being sweaty in public. Damen had a lot to answer for.

“A date?” Ancel asked dubiously “like, with your psychiatrist? Or a person?”

Laurent valiantly ignored the fact that Paschal was still a person despite the Dr in front of his name.

“Mystery man,” he said and watched understanding dawn in Ancel’s features.

“IOU guy, I fucking knew you liked him,” Ancel beamed “are you gonna fuck him?”

“I’m not-“

He began to lie, to say he wasn’t already thinking about it, hadn’t been thinking about it since Damen pulled out of him the last time they fucked, but Ancel cut him off with a raised eyebrow and a derisive snort.

“Sure yeah, best sex you’ve ever had, a big dick, and all attached to someone that’s made you more flustered than I can ever remember seeing you?”

And he was flustered is the thing. He had no idea what to expect and no good gauge of how to act. He’d only ever really been on a handful of dates and those had been teenage dates with Bastian years ago. Xander didn’t really date him; he’d been too avoidant of it because he was meant to be “straight” and anyway, Xander had barely counted as a boyfriend. They’d been together about three months and Laurent hadn’t even seen him once a week. It had been a strange friendship with awkward sex at best.

“Plus, you never spend over an hour in the bathroom, which means you’re planning on getting railed,”

It was beginning to become uncomfortable, how well Ancel knew him. And yes fine okay, Laurent wanted to end up in Damen’s bed. He really wanted to end up there and the only thing that could make him not want that, is if Damen did something unfathomably stupid on the date, or Laurent did and they argued.

The latter was more likely than he really wanted to admit.

“Fine, maybe, happy now?” he sighed

Ancel’s eyebrows shot up and his smirk was the most annoying thing Laurent had ever seen. He contemplated slapping it from his face but magnanimously decided against it.

“You should tell me who it is so I can write him a personal thank you card,”

Laurent ignored him and went to his wardrobe, trying to decide between jackets. Ancel followed him, going over to Laurent’s shelves and moving stuff around like the nosy little bastard that he was. Laurent was proud of himself for not letting it rile him.

“How was your meeting with Berenger?” he asked instead because mentioning Ancel’s new obsession was generally enough to prompt at least a five-minute rant, or at least it had been all week whilst they worked on Ancel’s dissertation proposal “you gave him the proposal today right?”

“Yes, it was fine,” Ancel huffed “it was perfectly fucking boring, he barely looked at me, I touched his knee and he didn’t so much as stop talking, just moved away like it had been an accident,”

“Maybe he has a wooden leg,” Laurent grinned and Ancel ignored him, ploughing right on.

“You know, yesterday I had sex with a perfectly nice guy from the gym I was absolutely not hanging around outside of unnecessarily,” Ancel said “and I got really close and then I started thinking about Berenger, and then I got annoyed because I remembered him telling me no, and then I couldn’t come,”

Ancel? Not being able to come?

Laurent turned a genuine look of concern over his shoulder but Ancel just flapped his hand at him, waving it away.

“I did in the end, I thought about how good it will feel when I win and he fucks me over the desk in his office,”

Ah. Yes. That was more like it. Crisis averted. Which was a good thing because Laurent absolutely did not have room for an Ancel-crisis in his life. He had enough of those between him, Auguste, and Damen. Ancel would have to be the stable one. God help them all.

“I thought you only ever sucked their dicks,” Laurent said, deciding against his wallet and just shoving his card and his ID into his jacket pocket.

He didn’t really know what he’d need, Damen hadn’t told him where they were going which was why he’d spent an age getting ready. How the fuck was he supposed to dress when he didn’t know what he’d be doing?

The only stipulation Laurent had given him was: not too public. But in their world and with Damen’s star-power they could be going to the fanciest restaurant in the city to one of their private rooms that usually took months to reserve. He’d kill Damen if he let him show up somewhere like that in jeans.

Maybe he should change. He threw a look at his wardrobe but Ancel interrupted him.

“Don’t change, I rarely top but you’re making me want to bend you over so,” he said flippantly and Laurent rolled his eyes so hard it actually twinged a bit.

“But anyway, back to me, yes when I want an extension I suck their cocks and they say please don’t tell anyone, and I say okay sir thank you for my extension and that’s it, and then occasionally in class when I’m bored I’ll lick my lips or suck on my pen and watch them glare or forget what they were saying,”

Ancel sighed, leaning back against the dresser “but that’s when it’s business, and this is personal,” he added with the kind of frightening determination that made Laurent feel a little bit sorry for the object of it.

When he felt his phone vibrate and saw the text from Damen he was very aware that Ancel was craning to get a view of his screen. He would have to change Damen’s name back to barbarian, or something less obvious. Like Dave. Damen would hate that.

“I have to go,” Laurent said hurrying to the door and Ancel shadowed him all the way there.

“Okay have fun, don’t get murdered, don’t go bare, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Ancel said and when Laurent turned a glower on him he realised Ancel actually did look happy for him which- urgh.

“There’s something you wouldn’t do?” he asked instead, pulling the door open.

“Everyone has limits,” he shrugged “and if they say they don’t, don’t fuck them, they don’t know what they’re talking about,” Ancel said, shooing him over the threshold “oh and ask reception if my package has arrived,” Ancel called down the hall as Laurent jabbed the button for the lift.

“It’s a giraffe cock dildo!” Ancel said, way louder than necessary.

Laurent didn’t even have time to wonder what the fuck a giraffe cock dildo even looked like before he realised that Ancel’s booming announcement meant there was probably someone nearby.

He sighed, threw a glance over his shoulder, and sure enough the judgemental older woman who lived down the hall was pursing her lips and waiting for the lift a safe distance away.

Laurent turned his best death-glare on Ancel, wishing him dead through sheer force of will as Ancel slammed the door with a cackle. The lady behind him made a sound of disgust and Laurent felt a truly awful combination of mortification and murderous rage pouring over him.

It felt like a very slow ride down to the basement level with Ms-Judgemental glaring at his back, making condemning little huffs under her breath until she was finally fucking off at the lobby.

At the garage level he hurried to Damen’s car, overly aware that anyone could see him and that anyone with a phone could capture a picture of him.

“Hi, you look amazing,” Damen said as soon as Laurent had slammed the car door behind him.

Laurent was caught off-guard, still flustered and annoyed at Ancel but Damen leaning across the console to kiss his cheek had Laurent’s entire focus realigning. In favour of what he was quite sure was a stupid smile spreading over his face.

“You too, actually you look really good- who’s styling you lately?” Laurent asked suspiciously, which only made Damen roll his eyes and swear for at least the next five minutes that he didn’t have a stylist.

Which, Laurent still remembered the shoes he’d thrown up on and they most definitely were not part of this wardrobe.

Damen wouldn’t tell him where they were going. He was driving toward the city centre but he kept rebuffing Laurent with questions about his day or his preferences, and summer plans, and hobbies, which Laurent kept answering because-

Well. He couldn’t really remember a time anyone had asked him so many questions. Not including Auguste or Paschal. At least not someone who actually appeared to be listening. It was very distracting.

Damen parked outside a very fancy looking building in the city centre. It had pillars and some flags outside of it and there wasn’t a single sign to say what it was. Which meant it was probably government affiliated. And Damen had a pass for the car park, where there was a security guard in a booth with a bullet proof vest who greeted Damen by name when they pulled in. Of course, Damen could park his car wherever he wanted. Fucking figures. He should have expected it, Auguste was always the same.

They were in the heart of the city and although it was dark already there were so many lights that it basically didn’t matter. It was a Friday night and there was no shortage of people. It didn’t deter Damen at all, the second he was out of the car he was coming around to Laurent’s door and opening it for him like he wasn’t perfectly capable himself.

Damen held his hand out, eyes shining and Laurent took it back. He was no longer capable of opening his own door and he very much needed the hand he slipped his own into. He definitely needed the way Damen tugged him closer when he stepped out.

“Hi,” Damen said as he shut Laurent’s door behind him, staring down at him for a long quiet moment.

He was very close. A wall of warmth in the frigid breeze which was always worst in the city, the wind whipping over the nearby river, carried by the sea not too far beyond. But it didn’t matter, Damen felt warm enough for both of them. Or Laurent didn’t care about the cold, not with Damen looking at him like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss him or shove him up against the car first.

Public? What public?

Laurent’s palms were sweating. Heart beating way too hard. There was something bubbling in his chest that felt like words, but when he opened his mouth all he could do was smile up at him helplessly, a half laugh coming out.

“This is ridiculous, you’re-“

“Very suave and charming, yes, thank you for noticing,” Damen said, taking a step back as he snatched Laurent’s hand up and brought it up to his mouth for a kiss “let’s go before the date is a car park and public indecency,”

Laurent couldn’t contain his smile even though he tried to bury it before Damen could see it. Which he did, even threw him a wink for good measure to draw attention to it like the dick that he was. He let himself be tugged by the hand a short distance away to the square. It had a huge fountain in the middle, with lions and horses and two long ago kings standing in stone.

Laurent knew this place well. The square was lined by museums, the national library, a council building, and -obviously- a Starbucks. What he couldn’t understand was why Damen was leading him up the steps for the National History Museum. Which was closed.

“Erm, Damen?” He asked tugging him to a stop and Damen let himself be stopped, turned to look at him instantly, still smiling.

“What? You like history right?”

“Yes, and I like open museums too, I like this one,” Laurent said waving his hand at it “it’s my favourite,”

Damen just nodded, expectant “so you’ve been here before?”

“Obviously, I hate to break it to you,”

Damen chuckled “not like this,” he said gripping Laurent’s hand harder and encouraging him forward.

Dubious he may be but he was intrigued and slightly giddy with it. Damen looked pleased, was smiling at him as they reached the front doors. There were two lights on inside, both of them lamps and Laurent squinted through the windows to get a look at the dark lobby beyond as Damen pulled out his phone.

“Yeah, hi Stergios, it’s me, we’re here, thanks,” Damen hung up and Laurent turned to him, eyebrows raised, and he knew the anticipation was all over his face.

“I know a guy,” Damen said canting his head “owes me a favour, how’d you feel about museums after dark?”

And entirely alone. Laurent smiled, tried to contain the unhinged kind of eagerness that was making his limbs feel like they belonged to someone else.

They were met by a member of the board -Stergios- and a museum manager called Adrastus who let them in. Stergios was an older man with thinning hair peppered with grey, sharp in an expensive suit and thick rimmed glasses and was practically beside himself at Damen’s presence. He shook Damen’s hand, the platitudes erring on the heavy side before his eyes were zeroing in on Laurent, smile faltering just a little before he was shaking his hand too and pretending there was nothing amiss. He knew who Laurent was. Laurent really hoped that favour extended to keeping mouths shut.

Adrastus though was not nearly as enthusiastic. Neither were the two night guards hovering behind him, apparently.

“Like I said on the phone Damianos, anything you want, Adrastus will take you to the archives, we’ve given instruction-“

“Archives?” Laurent interrupted, eyes bouncing from person to person in search of an answer.

“Damianos said you wanted to see our archived collection?”

“Yes, yes I do thank you,” he said squeezing Damen’s fingers way too hard but oh. Fuck.

The archives and all the un-exhibited items they had. A vault of historical artefacts that weren’t even on display. He could barely contain his enthusiasm as Stergios said goodbye and Adrastus escorted them through the museum toward the archive.

“In the archive we have a very large collection of items, some of them are ongoing projects and we’re in constant touch with other international-“

“I can’t believe you called in a favour for this,” Laurent whispered squeezing Damen’s hand as they followed along.

It was almost unbelievable actually. That Damen had bothered to go through all the hassle of organising this when Laurent had expected dinner or a movie or- well. He hadn’t known what to expect. He supposed part of him had expected he’d be taken to Damen’s house. Which he had been very okay with. Extraordinarily okay with it. But this? This felt different. This meant more.

“Can’t you?” Damen whispered back, eyebrows raised “I’m trying to impress you, just so you know,”

Laurent turned his face away, unable to quite tame his smile. Or his pulse which Damen could probably feel through his hand anyway.

“It’s working,”

Adrastus droned on, taking them down to the bottom level until they were in an ante-chamber that was lit up bright white. There was a collection of offices and beyond the glass wall there was a room of very large tables at regular intervals and beyond that there were rows upon rows of rolling cabinets and shelves.

Laurent was painfully aware that this was entirely to his tastes and not Damen’s. He didn’t think Damen gave two shits about going to see some old relics and-

“We have one of the largest collections of books and pamphlets outside of the library archives and-“

“Books?” Laurent asked, voice a bit too loud, echoing through the ante-chamber and Adrastus in front of them stopped and blinked at them both. Entirely unimpressed.

“You are to wear gloves if you handle-“

“I can touch them?” Laurent interrupted again, near vibrating with enthusiasm.

Adrastus sighed “you will wear the provided gloves if you handle any of the pieces, those that can be handled are marked in the catalogue, if you handle anything delicate like the books,” he stressed “you will use the provided equipment,” he said pointing to a table that had been set up for them apparently.

Laurent couldn’t breathe he was so eager. It was embarrassing that this was more exciting to him than something normal like Disney World. Or tickets to the champions league final in a city far away.

That would be much more Damen’s thing he was sure.

“If you need anything I will be in my office,” Adrastus said handing Laurent a set of keys for the cabinets “catalogues are on the table ready for you, I’m sure you can decipher the system,” he said before turning murderous eyes on Damen “some of these items are priceless,” he said like a man about to hand his child over to strangers “they’re worth more than you can possibly afford, understand?”

“Well if I forget I’m sure you’ll be around to remind me,”

Laurent absolutely didn’t want to laugh at the look of unfettered annoyance on Adrastus’ face. Or the faux-innocent smile on Damen’s.

“Be that as it may,” Adrastus said, voice strained “perhaps it would be best if you don’t handle the more delicate items,”

“Oh of course, wouldn’t want my giant clumsy hands to break anything,” Damen nodded

“Precisely,”

“Don’t worry Adrastus,” Damen said in a tone that said Adrastus should definitely worry, about Damen’s humour if not his hands “I’m actually very good with my hands,”

Adrastus sucked in a loud inhale through his nose, glaring at Damen before nodding stiffly and retreating to his office, grumbling the whole way. Laurent did not have to smother a snort. But he did flick his gaze to Damen.

“What? He’s annoying,” Damen shrugged and Laurent could only agree. He wasn’t wrong and it was probably rare in Damen’s life, to meet someone who didn’t immediately want to fall at his feet.

Laurent absolutely could not relate. If anything, for Laurent, it was the other way round. People wanting to fuck him didn’t count because they were all so vulgar about it. Like that’s all he was worth. Or good for. Just his pretty face. A body to be used.

Damen nudged him “you okay?” he asked and Laurent had to wonder what the fuck his face had just done to put such a look of concern on Damen’s.

“I’m great, actually,” Laurent said tucking his hair back behind his ear and shrugging off the brief sting in his chest “this is… no one’s ever done anything like this for me before, I’m just surprised,”

Damen looked pleased if his smile was anything to go by.

“It would be a terrible shame if you got used to it, then you’d be stuck with me,” he said before gesturing Laurent away “come on, let’s go see what they have,”

Yes. A terrible shame. Horrible. A true tragedy; being stuck with Damen. Except not at all and Damen needed to watch his fucking step before Laurent went and got caught up in the rush of a long drop off a large cliff.

The second Laurent got his hands on the catalogue’s he was thumbing through all the information laid out for him and he halfway forgot it was supposed to be a date. A date in which Damen probably did not want to hear long soliloquies about various historiographies for various moments and movements that Damen probably didn’t care about.

But Laurent couldn’t help it. He felt like a kid in a candy shop. Damen indulged him, insofar as Laurent could tell, listening, asking questions, smiling at him. Laurent was too busy carefully rifling through the cabinets and exclaiming over things to really worry about it too much.

Damen didn’t actually touch much of anything though, he mostly just watched Laurent and Laurent was so caught up with everything that he barely registered the scrutiny.

Eventually Damen retreated. Something about having ordered food and he had to go and get it but Laurent waved him away, all of his awareness focused on the handwriting he was trying to decipher.

It felt like Damen was only gone for a minute but he brought the distinct smell of food with him and Laurent surfaced from his book with interest.

“I had to smuggle this in, I think food will make Adrastus shit a brick,”

In light of the very real threat posed by Adrastus they ate quickly. At least Laurent did, eager to get the gloves back on so he could go and look at a new book he wanted to see. Damen humoured him, even getting rid of the evidence quickly so as not to incur any more of the Wrath of Adrastus.

“What is your dissertation on?” Damen asked as he came back in, careful to shut the door quietly behind him even as he was craning to make sure Adrastus wasn’t coming out of his office.

“Bondage,”

Damen whipped his head around. Laurent didn’t turn to look but he saw from the corner of his eye as Damen blinked at him, something like a half smile on his face.

“Come again?”

“Something like,” Laurent smirked turning toward him and cocking his hip against the counter.

Damen tracked him, eyes ghosting down his body in a long scroll and Laurent held still beneath it, aware of every single place on his body that his gaze touched. Like Damen was doing with his eyes what he wanted to do with his hands. It certainly felt that way.

Laurent had to clear his throat, shake his head a little to clear it.

“It’s the title of my dissertation,” he said “Bondage and Submission: Sex, Sexuality, and Slavery post-unification,”

“Oh, that’s- unexpected,” Damen said, something flashing in his gaze.

“It’s not as sexy as it sounds,” Laurent said turning toward an aisle, knowing Damen would follow. And follow he did.

“I never said it sounded-“

Laurent threw a knowing look over his shoulder and Damen’s eyes snapped up, caught out. Laurent turned back quickly, trying to hide his smile. Damen was checking him out. Good to know.

“You didn’t have to,” he said “so which word was it that put that look on your face?” he asked coming to halt in front of the cabinet he needed and turning back to Damen “Bondage piqued your interest but it wasn’t that one, I doubt it’s sex you’re not 12, my guess is it was submission,” he said “am I right?” Laurent asked tracking Damen’s expression carefully.

Damen shrugged one shoulder lazily, leaning against the cabinet across from him “it’s not your everyday word,”

In the aisle with nothing but towering white on either side, it was eerily quiet. They were entirely alone and Laurent was very aware of it. Aware of the way Damen was looking at him. And all the things he wanted. All the things that Damen promised in his eyes as he looked at Laurent like he was thinking about pinning him to the wall. Laurent thrilled beneath the scrutiny, the crackle of tension that zinged down his spine in the best possible way.

“So,” Laurent said making himself turn away and pulling open the drawer to distract himself. He only wished he could pay more attention to what was inside but instead he was entirely focused on the man coming to stand at his side “you’re into that?”

Damen just looked at him and Laurent felt himself getting hot under the collar, Damen’s gaze like spotlights as Laurent feigned an interest in the drawer. Damen was doing that judging thing again. Weighing his answer most likely or deducing something about Laurent.

“Maybe I’m just very interested in how Vere and Akielos managed to merge two very opposing outlooks,”

Laurent felt the corner of his mouth tweak up because Damen had been listening to his rambling after all.

“They weren’t all that dissimilar actually,” he said “different sure, but they both imposed very strict social structures and very defined roles in terms of gender and sexuality, I have a whole chapter on women-“ he snapped his mouth shut and realised he was about to start waffling again “you can’t want to hear this, it’s pretty boring, or so I’m told,”

Laurent was painfully aware that he’d been talking non-stop pretty much the entire time. He’d waffled and ranted and there was just no way Damen was enjoying it.

“Actually, I do,” Damen said “maybe you’ll let me read it?”

Laurent absolutely did not have a reaction to that. Except where he did and his heart tripped all over itself to let him know how endeared he was. The little traitor.

“When it’s done, if you like,” he said “anyway you never answered my question,” he pointed out “about submission,”

“No, I didn’t, did I?” Damen smirked and Laurent huffed out an impatient breath through his smile.

“This is a diary,” he said instead, pointing it out in the drawer for Damen “very rare, it was written by a former sex slave from the palace in Ios who weren’t generally educated enough to write something like this,” he said and turned a pointed look on Damen. Hedging.

“You should see what we have in Ios,”

There it was.

Laurent span around instantly, contents of the drawer forgotten, eyes gone wide and overly innocent “did you know your father has one of the best collections in the world? The curator at the museum in Ios was the only one in one hundred years who managed to convince your family to let them exhibit any of it and it was incredible and that was like what? Fifteen years ago? It-“

“He didn’t convince my father to do much of anything actually,” Damen said “he let them have a few pieces-“

“One of the largest private collections in the world,” Laurent stressed

“And it wasn’t even half,” Damen stressed back

Laurent blinked at him, mind spinning because oh my.

“And you just have it? In your house? Just… sitting there?”

“Would you like to see it?”

“Yes, obviously I want to see it,” he said

“Well, you said you didn’t know what to do with your summer,” Damen said “maybe you could come to Ios, make it a project,”

Laurent had mentioned his lack of plans in the car on the way here. His unwillingness to go back to Arles, even though staying in Marlas meant having to either move to the beach house, move in with Auguste, or get a new apartment because the lease was up at the end of the school year. And all of that seemed like a lot of work that he didn’t have time for.

But Ios? A Project? Damen’s family collection of heirlooms and artefacts stretching back god knows how far? Christ.

Damen always went back to Ios for the summer, he came back to Marlas for the end of summer games and the Okton but he was always gone for months. Laurent could go with him. Was that what he was asking? Did he want to?

“Wouldn’t your father mind?”

“Not really, he might if it was anyone else but-“ he shrugged “he’d make an exception for you,”

“Me?”

“Your family,” Damen clarified and oh yeah. Right.

Their fathers didn’t have bad blood. They were still the most powerful men in the country outside of the Royal family. If Theomedes could even be considered outside of the Royal family anymore given that his nephew was the King.

“Please tell me Auguste never got to see it,” Laurent said because Auguste used to stay in Ios with Damen for a month every summer when they were younger “he has sticky fingers and a penchant for taking old expensive things that don’t belong to him,” Laurent said thinking back to the cigarette case. And many other items besides over the years.

Damen pulled a face that said yes even if his mouth didn’t and Laurent rolled his eyes “well he definitely stole something from you,”

“You mean apart from a priceless bottle of wine?”

“You got drunk,” Laurent said huffing with impatience “all those amazing items and you and Auguste sat there and got drunk,”

“We got drunk on top of it,” he said “we used very old chalices and wore very old capes and silly old hats, actually I think one was a helmet now I’m thinking about it,”

“What did you break?”

“Who said-“

“Oh, I don’t know, Auguste is like a bull in a China-shop and you’re very large plus I remember the great fountain incident in Arles when you two were thirteen so-“

“Just a water pitcher,” Damen said “and a chair,”

Laurent rolled his eyes “of course, big stupid oafs the both of you,”

“Well, I’m leaving for Ios in June, you’re very welcome to join me and stop me breaking anymore items,”

Laurent turned his gaze up, heart beating a little harder and Damen just slid closer, twirled some of Laurent’s hair around his fingers and pushed it back behind his ear.

“There’s a place I’d like to show you,”

Laurent’s breath caught in his throat and he turned into him, like a sunflower turning toward the sun, following the magnetism of heat “I’d like to see it,”

He didn’t even really care what it was. If Damen wanted to show him he’d probably find it interesting for no other reason than that Damen found it fascinating enough to share.

Damen fingers trailed down his jaw and Laurent fought not to close his eyes. It was a battle he lost as Damen’s mouth came down on his. His eyes fluttered closed as Damen kissed him, soft but deep; licking into his mouth with the kind of intent that made Laurent’s knees feel weak. Like the great silly cliché he was becoming.

Laurent’s fingers clenched in Damen’s shirt, tipping his head back further as Damen’s hands slid down, burning against the small of his back. They shifted, losing balance, and Laurent heard the clang of the drawer slamming shut behind him and found himself pressed up against the cabinet.

He didn’t notice the footsteps until they were close, attached to a distinct voice.

“Do not slam the drawers,”

They broke apart, turning their heads to see Adrastus with his hands on his hips looking at them suspiciously.

“Oh,” Laurent said “it was an accident,”

Adrastus narrowed his gaze, looking from Laurent, still clutching at Damen’s shirt, to Damen, who was looking at Laurent.

“And please don’t have sex in front of the collection,” he said, exasperated before grumbling to himself and walking away.

Laurent bit back his laughter but one look at Damen’s face had him pressing his giggles into Damen’s chest.

“He likes this stuff more than I do I think,”

“He would probably drill a hole in something specifically so he could-“

“Don’t,” Laurent said, slapping a hand over Damen’s mouth “they might hear you,” he added in a mock-whisper flicking his eyes to said collection.

Damen laughed behind his hand and pulled it down so he could get at Laurent’s mouth again.

They were interrupted barely five minutes later by Adrastus who told them to leave if they were going to insist on being indecent. It was mildly mortifying that Laurent of all people, got kicked out of a museum -his favourite place in the world- because he was making out too much.

Ancel would be proud of him.

“This can’t have been fun for you,” Laurent said as they made their way hand-in-hand back to Damen’s car, still half giggling “we barely even spoke about anything, well you didn’t, I mean- there’s no way-“

“Laurent,” Damen stopped him, spinning him with his hands on Laurent’s shoulders “I promise you, seeing you have a good time, that was fun for me,”

Laurent scrunched his nose up ready to call bullshit.

Damen laughed “I wanted to do something nice for you, trust me, I knew bringing you here would be mostly me watching you do your thing, if I wasn’t okay with that, if I didn’t want that, I wouldn’t have brought you here,”

Oh, Laurent was in so much trouble. So much fucking trouble. Screeching sirens and flashing lights kind of trouble. If the sex had punctured holes in his defences then this was just flinging big old fireballs at them like Damen was in possession of a verbal trebuchet.

“Now,” Damen said “I’m aware we can’t go to a bar, so? Shall I take you home?”

“Ancel’s at home, he’s actually doing work for once,” He was almost sure. Work or another guy from his rolodex of sex anyway.

“That’s okay, I don’t have to come up,”

“I’m not tired,” Laurent said pointedly

Damen’s lips twitched “we can go back to mine? I have an extensive wine collection,”

“You should have said so sooner,” Laurent said, turning on his heel, gratified when Damen followed with a laugh.

~*~

Damen’s townhouse was nice.

Actually, nice was underselling it by a very large margin.

It was in a private square, gated for security, and the garden in the centre was filled with trees and benches of black iron. The townhouses that surrounded were old, well kept, and perfectly uniform. They were half stucco-fronted, white plaster on the lower floors only, stone white steps leading to each front door, a close front garden with stairs to the basement level. On the upper floors they were red brick with trails of ivory over most. The front doors were bracketed by pillars that held aloft a first-floor terrace over every door step with wrought iron fencing. Whatever he had expected of Damen’s house, a five-story traditional townhouse was not it.

“Usually I park in the back but I didn’t think you’d appreciate the underground tunnel,”

“For the serial killer vibes,” Laurent said already unbuckling his belt, peering up in interest.

Most of the old-style townhouses had lower levels, those lower levels tended to have a subterranean passageway that ran beneath the back garden. It usually led to a separate building that had its entrance on a different street; a mews house. Laurent would bet his life that the mews house was where Damen’s garage was. Laurent loved old mews houses; they were built on the back of fancy properties in centuries gone by as carriage houses and stables and they were always full of character. He was kind of disappointed Damen had pulled up out front.

“This is not what I expected you know,” Laurent said, following Damen up the steps and trying not to stare at his arse the entire time. Which he did because fuck.

He was the son of a Duke, fancy properties and expensive buildings were nothing new to him. Fancy buildings that Damen owned however was a very new thing and being alone with Damen in said house was likewise just as new and interesting to him.

“I do live to subvert your expectations,” Damen said ushering Laurent inside and yeah Laurent had gotten that memo already and it was very irritating of him. Gross really.

The hallway was nice, not at all what he’d expected. It was lavish and stylish with an air of timelessness that Laurent appreciated. He appreciated even more the way Damen smiled at him when Laurent turned back to face him. He appreciated how quiet it was, how close it felt. Like they had trapped the outside world on the other side of the door.

It was expectation that was lighting him up. Anticipation. Want.

“Kitchen, formal dining room, parlour,” Damen said gesturing down the hall without taking his eyes off Laurent and he could have sworn he watched them darken as he pointed up the stairs “sitting room and-“

“Damen,” he interrupted stepping closer, close enough to feel him, the heat emanating from him.

“Laurent,”

“Show me your bedroom,” he said pressing against him, smoothing his hands up the firm planes of Damen’s chest.

Damen gripped him hard under his thighs without any warning and without so much as a huff lifted him up. Laurent thrilled to it, body responding instantly as Damen turned to press him up against the wall. The kiss was hungry, a testament to the tension that always seemed like a visceral entity in the spaces between them. Laurent opened his mouth to him, begged for the taste of his tongue in groans against his lips and thrilled to the fervour lighting him up inside.

When Damen started walking them down the hall, hands firm on Laurent’s arse, holding him up without any strain, Laurent almost protested because bedroom. Until Damen was unwinding one arm to throw open a door and jabbed blindly for a button.

Laurent tore his mouth away to look, pleased when Damen’s mouth moved to his neck, licking and sucking lightly. When the lift door opened Damen had Laurent backed up against the mirror before he could blink and Laurent was overwhelmed by the taste of him, the lick of his tongue, the feel of his hands as they dragged Laurent bodily against him.

It was a good job he had a lift because Damen’s bedroom was two floors up and there was no chance in hell Laurent would have been able to keep his mouth off him long enough to get up two flights of stairs.

Damen carried him the entire way, walking him through the hall the way he had done the first time. Laurent laughed against his mouth, nipping at his lip with his teeth until Damen was depositing him on a lavish four poster bed. That was about as much as he noticed of the rest of the room.

Damen didn’t undress slowly this time and Laurent was already struggling with his jeans the second Damen stepped back. By the time Damen had divulged himself of his clothes, revealing miles of olive skin and flexing muscle, Laurent was already naked with his knees spread and waiting.

The sight of Damen naked and on his knees between the pale spread of Laurent’s thighs made his breath come quicker. The feel of Damen’s deceptively soft hands trailing up his shins to push his knees further apart made him swallow, overly aware of his body and the way his chest was heaving. The way Damen smirked, wicked, like he was going to take Laurent apart piece by piece, made him want to roll right over, but he was pinned. Pinned by two firm hands clutching beneath his knees and two reverential eyes that felt as likely to devour as the body they belonged to.

Damen yanked and Laurent went, sliding against the sheets, tugged until his thighs were spread around Damen’s hips and Damen was leaning over him, grinning like he knew exactly what the idea of that strength did to Laurent. He probably did know; Laurent’s face had a habit of telling him he was sure, and if it didn’t the way his pulse rocketed was a clear sign.

“You look so fucking good in my bed,” Damen said, words ghosted against Laurent’s jaw, nose nudging a trail to his ear and down his neck where his lips started to tease.

The trail made his hair stand on end, had him fighting a shiver and his eyes begging to close. Damen’s hands wandered, finger tips making soft trails up and down his thighs, skimming his sides, over his abdomen, skirting two pebbled nipples, finding the sensitive skin on the underside of his arms, his forearms, his collarbone, and everywhere he went Laurent’s skin erupted in his wake.

Tingles. Shocks of them that had Laurent’s entire body aware in ways he doubted he ever had been before, demanding he settle in his skin even as he writhed under the attention. It started soft, sweet, pleasant. But the longer Damen touched him and the more his breath stirred and teased his flesh, the more Laurent fidgeted. Until he was squirming beneath the onslaught with his cock hard against his belly and he was chasing the sensation, pushing into Damen’s fingers with anticipation; a silent plea for more.

“Damen,”

The second he said his name Damen’s mouth came down on his and Laurent peeled his fingers from his grip on the bedding to tangle frantic hands in Damen’s hair. Damen chuckled into his mouth and oh yeah. Done for. Totally screwed. There was a very high chance Laurent was not going to survive whatever Damen was about to do to him. With him.

He should have known Damen would take his time, that his kiss wouldn’t hurry, wouldn’t make him touch Laurent where he wanted him. Instead he nestled himself against Laurent’s hips, let him feel the tantalising hot line of his cock and kissed him deeper, one hand at his jaw, tilting his face up, the other holding just enough of his weight up to keep Laurent from really feeling him the way he wanted to.

Laurent doubted he’d ever been so tangled in another person. Tangled up, frantic but forced to slow down, to just nurse the desire, gently fan the flame.

It felt alive between them, a spark of friction, a riptide of gentle caresses that promised so much more beneath the surface. Just tongues and lips and a pair of hands that knew exactly what they were doing.

“Damen,” he said again, tugging on his hair, more urgent than before

Damen breathed a smile against his mouth, humming an indulgent sound that made Laurent’s blink come slower “something you wanted baby?”

“I-“ he didn’t know what he wanted. Too much. All of it. Everything, “you,”

“I could give you anything right now, and you’d take it, wouldn’t you?” Damen said, leaning away, down, mouth ghosting along Laurent’s abdomen until he was pressing a fleeting kiss to the head of his cock.

Laurent pushed his hips up demandingly at the feel of Damen’s breath “yes,” he breathed, there was no point in denying it.

“Good,” Damen grinned, head framed between Laurent’s legs and that was absolutely a sight he was going to be seeing in every single wank fantasy for the foreseeable future. Possibly ever.

“Turn over,” he said and Laurent went, rolling onto his stomach “lift your hips for me sweetheart,”

He did that too, accepting the pillow Damen put beneath him. It raised his arse up, made him twice as aware of his cock, of the way he could feel Damen staring at him, of the incessant intimacy of vulnerability.

Damen dragged his fingers down Laurent’s back, a hint of his nails, the pressure so much more than anything he’d given him yet and Laurent’s body already felt like a series of exposed nerves, of overflowing anticipation. He arced into it, a gasp falling from his mouth that had him burying his face in his arms.

Damen had barely done anything and Laurent felt moments away from coming already; racing toward a cliff with no idea how it had happened.

Damen kissed down his spine, nose making a dragging trail over every vertebra as his wide palms slid down his sides gently; making Laurent shiver as he squeezed his eyes closed, focused on Damen’s breath and the pull of his lips until he was reaching the small of his back.

He fit his hands at Laurent’s hips, thumbs pressing into the dimples as he squeezed hard, humming like he was mightily enjoying the view.

When his hands shifted down Laurent was ready for it, waiting, lifted up into his palms to encourage the squeeze of Damen’s fingers into his arse, the sudden cool waft of air as Damen spread him open to marauding fingers and a hungry gaze.

“I’ve never-“ Laurent stopped himself, biting his lip and cursing every single sexual experience he’d had beforehand because he didn’t know what to expect.

Damen bit into Laurent’s cheek, a brief sting that he chased with his tongue before he was sliding back up Laurent’s body, letting him feel his breath the entire way up his spine; a ghost touch that made him quiver. He didn’t stop until he had his mouth at Laurent’s ear

“I don’t have to,” Damen said voice deep and dark and full of promise “but I’d really like to lick my way inside you and then tongue fuck you until you’re shaking,” he said and Laurent’s entire body responded, keen with interest, a fidget, a wriggle, a long loose breath as he tipped his head beneath Damen’s smirking mouth “if you want, obviously,”

“Damen,” he said lifting his hips to nudge up against the press of Damen’s cock.

“So demanding,”

Damen’s smile was plain in his voice as he slid back down, hands rough as they spread Laurent open once more. He didn’t give Laurent chance to anticipate, just flicked the tip of his tongue against his hole and instantly he tensed, clenching as he let out a gasp.

Damen chuckled, gentling him with hands up his sides as he set his mouth back over him, tongue a slow rhythmic lap over and around his hole until Laurent’s body was loose and pliant, pulse skittish with want for more.

It felt debauched- utterly and entirely. Sensual. It had him groaning instantly, a steady stream of sound pouring from his mouth as he let himself relax into the hot press of Damen’s tongue; the wet warmth of his mouth.

It was, possibly, the most intimate thing he’d ever had done to him and it was that thought more than anything that was driving him wild. Damen with his mouth on him, encouraging his hips back, spreading him open and holding his tongue stiff so Laurent could writhe against his face, desperate for it. Him. For the fuck of his tongue and the warmth of his breath, the way it felt like his body was unspooling as pleasure filled him up.

“I think you can come on just my tongue, can’t you baby?” Damen said, words spoken like a caress against his fluttering hole.

Laurent whimpered, lifting his hips, trying to chase.

Damen breathed a laugh, tongue pressing flat against his hole again, teasing, making Laurent clench down even as he flexed his hips up, desperate to have something inside.

“Damen,” he begged, trying to get his knees under him for purchase without lifting his hole away from Damen’s mouth.

Damen pulled away entirely and Laurent was not proud of the needy-desperate whimper that escaped him as he threw a pout over his shoulder.

Damen was grinning, wiping spit off his chin “up, come on, you’re gonna ride me,”

When Laurent didn’t immediately do as he was told, too busy blinking and trying to catch his breath, Damen let his hand come down hard on Laurent’s upturned arse, a loud thwack that reverberated in his hearing and had him clenching down instantly as a sting bloomed in his skin.

It was pain but it wasn’t bad, it was the surprise more than anything that had him yelping. The surprise, he was sure, was what made his skin near fucking sing with it. That and Damen’s smirk, the quirk of his eyebrow as he gave Laurent a shove and switched their positions. It took him a few brain cells to realise Damen didn’t mean for him to ride his cock.

He was breathing unevenly, dubiously, as he fitted himself over Damen, hovering over his face, uncertain but so desperate for it. For anything.

“What if I suffocate you?” he said not particularly proud of how breathy it came out

“I’ll lift you off me before then so go on, take what you want,” he said before letting Laurent see his tongue, tipping his chin up with his mouth open and waiting.

Oh fuck. He was wrong, this is what he’d see in all his future wank fantasies; Damen beneath him with his tongue begging to be fucked and his hands squeezing at Laurent’s hips encouragingly.

He lowered himself, tentative, chest heaving as he let himself lean down. Damen nipped at his skin, made him yelp again.

“Hold yourself open for me,”

Fuck, Laurent was going to die.

He reached back, spreading himself open to Damen’s tongue and let Damen’s hands guide him the rest of the way down. He didn’t take long to settle, it felt too good, too much, he couldn’t focus on anything except the way Damen was licking and lapping at him like he was starving for it.

Damen’s tongue felt like heaven and when he stabbed upward and pushed it inside Laurent cried out, letting go with one hand so he could wrap his fingers around his cock. He knew Damen felt it, heard the constant little noises Laurent was unable to stop as he stripped his cock with one hand and leaned forward slightly, digging nails into Damen’s chest to keep his balance. He knew Damen felt it all because he groaned against him, a deep vibration that had Laurent’s pushing back, down, grinding against Damen’s face.

Damen squeezed his fingers into the meat of him, encouraging him, but Laurent needed no encouragement. He was going to come and he was willing to chase it. He could feel how wet he was, how hot, could feel Damen’s stubble against his skin and his nose pressing in, his mouth a wet warmth intent upon in and in him, fingers bruising as he kept Laurent spread for the attention.

It was too much.

He came with a cry, pitching forward instantly, smearing come all over Damen as his legs gave out and Damen beneath him started lapping at his balls until Laurent was protesting with a noise that he hoped vaguely resembled words.

Damen rolled him off gently, lying Laurent down on his back and was over him instantly. He expected a kiss, so he was surprised when Damen dragged his fingers through the mess Laurent had made on his belly and met Laurent’s gaze. He was slow about it, sucking his fingers into his mouth with a dark gaze that had Laurent’s still-mostly-hard cock giving a valiant twitch of interest. Damen hummed around his fingers, one corner of his mouth pulling up as Laurent watched him, open mouthed and still panting.

When Damen leant back over him his hand went unerringly to Laurent’s jaw, angling their mouths together. Laurent opened his mouth as Damen opened his, let Laurent see it on his tongue, the pointed swallow. Laurent groaned as Damen’s mouth came down on his, parted his lips wider for the filthy press of Damen’s tongue; the taste of himself that Damen licked into his mouth.

He gasped into Damen’s kiss, tangling his hands in his hair and tugging hard, pushing himself up against the hard lines of his body, desperate for more and closer and now.

He knew what was coming when Damen pulled back, licking his lips and locking their gazes.

“Ask me,”

“Fuck me,” he said, instantly, want pulsing beneath his skin, unshakeable and too loud to even pretend he could ignore it or will it away or tame it.

Wild. That’s how Damen made him feel. Wild and wanton and willing.

Damen tore the condom packet open with his teeth, rolled it down, and practically growled as he hauled Laurent toward him. Laurent’s insides were already liquid but the ease of it, the casualness, had him gasping, locking their gazes as Damen reached down between them.

Laurent nodded, just knew Damen was waiting for it, and sure enough as soon as he did so Damen pressed forward agonisingly slow. It was exactly the way Laurent remembered. But this time he pushed back, arced into it, was ready for the burn and the way it made his stomach tighten, the strange fullness of having Damen’s cock so deep inside him.

Damen didn’t wait, he pulled back almost instantly, setting a rhythm that made Laurent’s nerves spark, entire body throbbing for more. It was hard and slick and Laurent moaned for him the way he had done last time, managing a grin when Damen smirked down at him like he was thinking the exact same thing.

Not so silent actually, not when he was fucked properly. And Damen was definitely fucking him properly.

Laurent revelled in it all. In the tug at his rim when Damen pulled nearly all the way out, the instinct to clench down to keep him in, the satisfaction when he thrust in deep again and Laurent could feel the press of him inside; lewd and visceral in a way few others things felt. It was the knowing he couldn’t get any closer. If he could Laurent would still ask for more; ask to be consumed, to be taken over and under and any way Damen wanted him.

He was going to come again.

Laurent cried out, hands like claws in Damen’s arms as he fucked him relentlessly, splaying one of Laurent’s thighs out and grinding into him. Laurent couldn’t do anything except let it happen.

“Look at me,” Damen said like Laurent could look anywhere else “don’t come yet sweetheart,”

He whimpered as Damen fucked into him harder, hitching his legs over his arms. Laurent reached down, squeezing hard around the base of his cock, pressing his eyes closed against the onslaught. It was too much, too good, he contracted his muscles as tight as he could to stave it off, squeezed his fingers around his cock harder, trying to hold it back.

He couldn’t.

It broke over him in a wave, a full body surrender that had him pulling taut and his toes curling even as his legs straightened, up around Damen’s shoulders and bracketing his face as Laurent shuddered through it. The pleasure emanated from everywhere and nowhere. His stomach contracted hard, his cock jumped, twitching, even as nothing but a pulse came out of him.

It seemed to last an age and Damen slowed down, let Laurent clench and unclench helplessly around his cock as the moan that had been trapped in his throat broke free, a dry sob that felt loud in the sudden quiet as Damen ground down into him, his cock held as deep as it could go.

“Oh my god, fuck, fuck I can’t-” he whined, head tossing restlessly, struggling to catch his breath.

Damen’s chuckle was rich, dark, wicked.

He leant down over him, folding Laurent in half as he let a hand drift to Laurent’s cock, batting Laurent’s away. He was still hard on his tummy, a string of white beading onto his skin. Damen toyed with it, ran his fingers around the head and Laurent groaned, head snapping back as Damen started rolling his hips, languid but still so much.

“That was so fucking hot Laurent,” he said, thumb brushing circles beneath the head of his cock as he thrust in deeper, hips snug against Laurent’s.

Laurent moaned, skittish, pulling away and pushing up all at once. He felt spent, wrung out and still needy, still hard against his tummy like his entire body hadn’t just erupted. An orgasm but not a finish.

“You’ve got another one in you, haven’t you?”

Laurent turned his head against the pillow, breathing hard and shaking. He felt like a puddle. He’d never come that hard, or like that, and he felt like a nerve prodded raw.

“Do you want it? Use your words baby,”

Baby. Laurent whimpered, nodding up at him, struggling to hold his own head up as he panted, making an effort to stare down the length of his body where his thighs were spread around Damen’s chest and hooked over his elbows, his cock throbbing and red against Damen’s hand.

“Yes,” he said “more,”

Because he wanted it. All of it. Whatever Damen would give him; Laurent would take and take and take until he was sated and stupid on him.

He watched Damen manoeuvre his boneless legs, situating them around his hips, watched as much as he felt him pull almost all the way out, hold himself there, letting Laurent look at the picture his cock made, one long length about to fuck him deep.

Damen gathered his wrists, pinning them above his head, holding them in one large palm, a question in his gaze. Laurent nodded up at him, made an affirmative noise when Damen started pressing, enough for Laurent to feel the grind of it. He was still shaking, heart still pounding, body pulsing with pleasure and a wanton need for more. He felt drunk on it. On him.

“Look at you,” Damen said, running his other hand down Laurent’s chest, over his stomach and leaking cock “so good for me Laurent,”

“Yes,” he breathed, pushing back helplessly, trying to coax Damen back inside, all the way. Where Laurent needed him. An ache only he could abate.

Damen was slow about it, sank back in inch by inch and Laurent let his head hit the pillow, body bowing and eyes begging to close; it just felt too fucking good. Too much. He felt his cock get wetter, aware of the growing mess on his stomach, of the way Damen’s eyes bounced from his face, down his neck, to his mottled red chest and his leaking cock.

It wouldn’t take long and Laurent doubted he had the energy to hold it in again.

“God I want to ruin you,” Damen said, a breathless kind of groan that made Laurent test the strength of the hand Damen held him down with. He barely moved and Laurent wanted to melt.

“Damen,”

Like it was the only word he knew.

“You gonna take whatever I give you baby?”

Laurent nodded, eager for it, for the endearment, the feel of him filling him up, how good it all felt.

The next thrust in was hard. Deep. Laurent cried out, legs locking and muscles pulling taut. Damen above him breathed a curse and pulled back out.

“Put your hands on the headboard, don’t move them,”

Laurent just nodded, doing as he was told and bracing as Damen reached for his hips.

Damen slammed home, quick, hard, brutal, and Laurent cried out, fingers clawing into the wooden slat above his head. Damen’s hands were bruising at his hips, pulling Laurent back on his cock even as he snapped his hips forward. The sound.

It was loud, dirty; the slap of skin meeting skin was a frantic rhythm given voice, the slam of the headboard, the way Damen was breathing, the slick sound of Damen’s cock inside him: it made Laurent’s toes curl. He couldn’t form words, nothing but a punched out uh-uh-uh like his tongue was too heavy. He was a mess of moans and nothing existed beyond the bed. Beyond Damen fucking him, inside him and over him and making Laurent’s body sing and eyes roll.

Damen’s hand slid up again, dragging his palm up his throat, tipping Laurent’s head back further into the pillow. He expected a grip but none came, just two marauding fingers pressing at his mouth.

Laurent’s lips parted instantly and Damen pushed his fingers in, pressing at his tongue, thrusting them as deep as they could go. Laurent whimpered around them, closing his lips tight and sucking, letting his tongue swirl and lap until Damen was pressing a third inside. He wasn’t gentle and despite himself Laurent moaned, even when Damen fucked them in deeper and he fought not to choke. He relaxed into the feel of him, letting his eyes flicker closed and moaned around them.

“Eyes open, look at me,”

They opened instantly, finding Damen’s dark gaze and whined around the withdrawal of his fingers as Damen groaned and slammed their mouths back together. He dug his fingers into the headboard harder to stop himself from reaching for him, kissing him wet and messy, more tongue than lips.

“I’m close,” Damen said, face still so close Laurent felt the words as much as he heard them

“Close,” he nodded fucking back on Damen’s cock, tipping his hips and clawing into the slats above him.

The moment Damen wrapped a hand back around his cock he was done. Barely a soft tug around the head and Laurent let go. It shattered him and he let himself fall apart beneath Damen, unaware of anything except the throb of pleasure as his entire body went docile even as he shook. Damen came with Laurent still clenching down on his cock, the moan of his name still ringing in the air, a dry sob to let Damen know just how wrecked Laurent was.

Laurent couldn’t breathe. His mind was perfectly, chaotically, blank. Nothing but the bone deep tired of satisfaction and the thrum of electricity still lighting him up. He felt like he might float away and Damen was the only thing holding him down.

Damen collapsed on top of him, a heavy weight that Laurent wanted to bask beneath as Damen pushed his hair back from his face and pressed sweet kisses against his cheeks and jaw and slack mouth.

“You were perfect Laurent,” Damen said, still breathless “you okay?”

“Mmhmm,” he managed, looking at Damen from lashes lowered in exhaustion, smiling at the praise.

Damen grinned back and reached down between them, but before he could do what Laurent knew he was going to do he clenched down hard, a soft sound of disapproval exhaling from his mouth. Above him Damen stilled, answered with a deep gratified noise. He pushed Laurent’s hair back again, stroking it, one thumb drawing circles at his hip.

“Want me to stay in you?”

Fuck. Yes. He did. He wanted Damen to stay exactly where he was, he wanted to feel him go soft inside him. Maybe stay there. Wake him up when he got hard again. He just didn’t know how to ask.

Laurent didn’t want to meet his eyes as he nodded but he should have known, even tired and out of his mind a little bit, Damen wouldn’t let him hide. Damen tipped his chin up, made him meet his gaze

“You can always ask for anything Laurent,” he said gaze dancing over Laurent’s face “I want to know what you like, what you want, what you need,” Damen said, hitching Laurent’s leg higher over his hip “I want to know all of you,”

Laurent took a breath, even as his heart was pounding anew in his chest “I want-“ he’d never articulated it before, no one had ever asked him what he needed and he felt more naked for it. Damen was patient, stroked his hair and his thigh and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Don’t pull out,” Laurent said surprised by how raw his voice sounded “I want to feel you go soft inside me,”

It felt silly to ask. Childish even. Surely Damen would want to get up. Clean up. It was what Laurent was used to. But Damen just nodded and very carefully rearranged them until they were on their sides and Damen was a hot comfortable line against his back. Still inside him.

When they settled he pushed his hips up, let Laurent feel him. Laurent hummed his satisfaction, clenched down, and squeezed gently which earned him a soft sound of approval pressed into his hair. It felt intimate. Perhaps the most intimate thing he’d ever done.

When the thought occurred he reached down, found Damen’s hand and tangled their fingers together, pushing back until he was as close as he could get. Damen murmured, nonsense and endearments and praise and Laurent doubted he’d ever been as relaxed as he was just then in Damen’s arms.

He assumed the condom was going to be a problem, assumed it meant it might come off or already had, and found he didn’t much care. He thought about Damen like that. In him with nothing between them; what it would feel like to have Damen come inside him.

Laurent drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Damen’s come dribbling down his thighs. Damen was still inside him.

~*~

He awoke to an empty bed, a pleasantly sore body, and sunlight peeking through the gaps in the curtains. A glance at the clock said it was past 12 and Laurent couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept past midday.

For a moment he contented himself with basking in the glow of it all, the strange effervescence brimming in his chest that felt entirely alien, the deep settled calm that slackened his limbs and made his entire body feel like it was new somehow. Or possibly just very relaxed. Well-fucked and gratified.

It was Monday. He should be in a lecture but instead he was tangled up in Damen’s bed, in sheets that smelt like them both. And sex. Lots of sex. He had woken up on Saturday morning fully intending to make it home. To do work. To go and overthink or freak out but he’d never made it to the door.

Actually, that was a lie, he’d made it to the door but then they’d been kissing and then Damen had bent him over the stairs with a hand tangled in his hair and Laurent still had carpet burns on his knees to show for it. And then he’d been hungry. And then the cycle had started again and before he knew it he’d wasted away the entire weekend and a good portion of Monday doing absolutely nothing except have sex. And eat. Sometimes both together.

He’d barely worn clothes. Even when they weren’t having sex and they were talking about the sex or just lounging or watching Laurent’s favourite films.

He didn’t know it could be like this. It had never been like this before; so gratuitous but necessary. Like he was just a big giant ball of lust and want. He hadn’t known he was capable of it, of feeling so many good things. Or feeling heard or seen or just- wanted. Damen made sex feel easy. Fun. He made it something more than just an itch to be scratched or a need to be sated, and Damen was very, very good at it.

Laurent had been insatiable. Still was.

Even if there was a tiny voice in the back of his head saying it was too good to be true. That there was no way Damen would want more or another date, or him. He had pretty much given Damen as much sex as he could possibly want to sate him of Laurent.

Laurent wanted those things. But he could probably let this be enough if Damen didn’t want to see him again. If Laurent had been too easy; his live-in fuck buddy for the weekend.

With a sigh, he buried it, throwing his hand out to test the other side of the bed. It was still warm.

The house was silent around him but he knew Damen was there somewhere. Having lost the majority of his own clothes he located his underwear at least and fished through one of Damen’s many, many, many, dressers and found a jumper to pull on. Which he fully intended to steal because it was soft and expensive, and grey was more his colour than Damen’s anyway.

He took the lift down and when the doors opened on the ground floor he could hear Damen’s voice from the kitchen, apparently on the phone. He padded into the room and instantly Damen looked up from where he was tapping away at his tablet with his phone wedged against his shoulder.

Laurent paused; a little bit frozen in place by the way Damen smiled when he looked up at him. Golden.

“Yes, I know that, I heard you the first five times,” Damen was saying using his patient voice, still smiling at Laurent like he was the best thing he’d seen “of course, yeah, I know, look, I have to go something important just came up,”

Laurent took a few tentative steps into the kitchen, bare feet padding against cold tile as Damen nodded at him, finishing up his call with a promise to call back later and Laurent took that as his cue to go to him.

“Everything okay?” he asked, hiding his squeak just barely when Damen took hold of his wrist and tugged him close, between the spread of his bare thighs, chair pushed back away from the table. Laurent’s eyes were most certainly distracted.

“It is now,”

Laurent smiled back at him, took the time to climb into his lap, straddling his well-muscled thighs. Damen seemed pleased by the idea, wrapped his arms around him, hands sneaking beneath the jumper to get at his skin, palms spreading against his back.

“Can I ask you a question?” Laurent asked fiddling with the hair at the back of Damen’s neck.

Damen nodded, attentive as he gazed at him, hands still stroking up and down his back rhythmically and Laurent was almost sure Damen didn’t even know he was doing it.

“What is this to you?” he asked.

Damen just blinked back at him and Laurent absolutely could not decipher the meaning of it “I mean, I’m not a very relaxed person, I don’t-“ he bit his lip and cut himself off

“I’m vaguely aware of that, yes,” Damen said

Laurent narrowed his eyes in mock offence “what I mean is that I need to know what you want,” he said feeling his cheeks turn red “I just don’t want to be blindsided by any photos of you out with someone else, and I don’t want- I can’t just sit around and second guess everything,” he said

Damen nodded, opened his mouth, but it felt like way too long of a pause and Laurent rushed to talk over him again.

“I just don’t know that I can do casual, not with you- oh, is that? Is that embarrassing to say? Is it weird to say that after one date? I don’t know the rules or what you want and I’m not very-“ he huffed in agitation “good at this,” he sighed

“Again,” Damen said voice brimming with a patience Laurent was very jealous of “I do know that Laurent,”

Laurent groaned, covered his face with his hands “oh my god,” he hissed tearing his hands down “sorry, I know this is very desperate sounding or- pathetic and oh my god, you know, it’s fine, I’m going to go kill myself in your bathroom now or-“ he said as he scrambled off Damen’s lap and tried to retreat.

Possibly to drown himself. Or throw himself down one of the many sets of stairs in Damen’s house.

Damen didn’t let him get far. He gripped his wrist and yanked him close again. Laurent squinted at his face, still radiating mortification and cursing his brain for deigning to speak before he’d had a single sip of coffee or any nicotine to force him to function like a real normal person. But Damen was smiling, patient and sweet, one dimple just sitting in his cheek like he had a right to be that attractive.

He pulled Laurent back between the spread of his thighs, hands sliding down until they were settled easily on his hips. Like they belonged there.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” he said before shrugging “well, I’m hoping there’s one person,” he amended and Laurent bit his lip to stop himself from saying something stupid “as for what I want, I want you, this,” he said squeezing his hands

Laurent frowned “exclusively or- I mean if-”

“Yes,” Damen said, cutting him off again.

Laurent just stared at him. Disbelieving. Uncertain. Slightly turned on and very unsure.

“Just like that?” he asked dubiously

“Yes,” Damen said again, leaning in to press a swift kiss to his stupefied mouth before hauling him up in one quick motion, planting Laurent squarely in his lap again.

He sucked in a breath at the casual display of his strength, arms winding around his neck completely on instinct.

“It’s not too soon for you? I mean I basically just let- all weekend… I would understand, don’t just say it to humour me if you’re only going to fuck me over later, I’d rather know now than-“

“Laurent,” Damen said, cutting him off “I’m not really one for playing games, when I want something then I go for that, I prefer to be direct, it’s just easier, I don’t-“ it was Damen’s turn to go quiet, biting his lip “I like us both to be on the same page,” he said, eyes boring into him like he was willing Laurent to understand.

“That simple?”

“Yes, I want this, I think you want this?” he asked and Laurent nodded “what would be the point of waiting then?” he shrugged, stroking idly up and down Laurent’s back again “I won’t play mind games with you Laurent, that’s not me,”

“You want me?” he asked just to make sure

Damen gave a huff of a laugh, tugged him in tight “yes,” he said before stealing a kiss “if you’ll have me,”

“Oh,” Laurent said trying to stop the smile and the battering ram of colourful moths that were running riot in his stomach “yes- that would- that would be okay, yes but- we can’t go public, not yet I have to-,”

Auguste. He didn’t say it but Damen clearly heard it. His face changed, all at once serious as he nodded in understanding.

“Auguste is going to be difficult about it,” Damen said

“It’s going to be difficult because you hate each other,” Laurent amended for him pointedly

Damen frowned, shaking his head minutely, an unconscious gesture “I don’t hate Auguste,” he said and Laurent fixed him with an unimpressed look “trust me sometimes I wish it was that simple,”

Not for the first time Laurent wanted to ask. He wanted to know what that meant. If Damen thought hate was simpler he wanted to know what it was to him now. But it felt like even more of a betrayal to ask Damen and not Auguste. Damen would tell him. He knew he would. And that wasn’t fair to Auguste. None of it was.

Laurent pushed it down. He could think about Auguste later; what to do about him and this. About the two calls he’d taken with him to make sure he was okay and the distinct air of for now that had lingered in his response. Well, if Auguste was going to play that game then so could Laurent. For now, he just wanted to enjoy this new thing he had. He wanted to enjoy Damen as guiltlessly as he could for a little while before he worried about the rest.

“The public don’t need to know anything, don’t worry about that, take as long as you need,” Damen said “but can I tell Pallas at least?”

He was surprised to be asked but he shouldn’t have been, should he? He’d told Damen it made him uncomfortable after all, and Damen -apparently- listened.

“You can tell Pallas but if you could hold off on telling Nikandros until I’ve talked to Auguste I’d appreciate it,”

“Yeah,” Damen nodded “Nik is- well he’ll tell Gaby,” he said and they let the implication remain unsaid but they both heard it. Gaby would tell her brother and then Bastian would tell everyone.

Laurent knew Damen would rather not tell Nikandros than put Nikandros in a position where he was keeping a secret from his soon-to-be-wife. Nikandros meant too much to Damen to do that to him, not this close to the wedding.

“I might tell Vannes,” Laurent replied, canting his head “she’s nicer than the others,”

Damen grinned “do you have anywhere to be today?”

“I do have an appointment with your shower in about five minutes but apart from that no,”

“I think you have an appointment with my dining table first, actually,” Damen said before lifting him up and turning in one fluid movement to plant Laurent on the glass surface.

“I had an appointment with this table yesterday,”

“That’s true,” Damen said before he lifted him up off the table and Laurent laughed against his mouth “would you prefer against the wall or against the window?” he said before he was kissing Laurent stupid.

Why not both?

~*~

Laurent felt like a new-born colt as he made his way tentatively down the corridor. He couldn’t walk, he had bruises in places he didn’t know could bruise and he felt like his hole was still gaping open. It left him with the not altogether unpleasant question of: what would it be like if he fucked Damen for like, the rest of his life?

He kind of liked it.

Even how sore and raw he felt.

It was dark outside and Laurent had been gone for three days. He had so much reading to do and seminar assignments, not to mention his dissertation. So worth it though.

He’d been at Damen’s for three days and he was only realising he hadn’t bothered texting Ancel back until he was flopping backward on his bed, staring up at the ceiling in a bit of a daze. He remembered because he heard Ancel’s door slam open and then suddenly he was in the doorway.

“I thought you’d been serial killed or something!” Ancel screeched “where the fuck were you?”

Laurent lifted his head as best he could, and even that felt kind of sore. He blinked at Ancel, flashing him a tired smile and Ancel’s pout transformed instantly. The corners of his mouth pulled up and his jaw started to unhinge and Laurent let his head flop back just as Ancel let loose his squeal.

“Oh my god, you look like you’ve been gangbanged by an entire football team nonstop since you left on Friday,” he said bouncing down onto the bed beside Laurent and he didn’t doubt that Ancel actually knew what that looked like first hand.

Laurent laughed, threw an arm over his face “I feel like I was,” he said into his elbow

Ancel made a soft sound, something like envy in his voice when he said “was it good?”

Laurent threw his arm back down, didn’t even try to hide his expression from Ancel and just grinned at him “I’m never going to be able to move again,”

“You look dazed,”

“I feel dazed,” Laurent groaned, stretching for the pleasant ache it caused “I feel like he’s absolutely ruined me and I still want to beg him for more,”

“Oh god please share,”

“Not a single chance in hell, he’s mine,” Laurent said sticking his tongue out at him like the mature adult that he was.

Ancel’s eyebrows shot up “yours? As in…?”

Laurent just grinned, a soft noise he wasn’t sure he’d ever made before coming straight from his throat “yeah well, like you said, I really like him and apparently, he’s weird enough to really like me,”

“Please tell me who it is, you can’t have a boyfriend and not tell me who, it’s not fair, I need to thank him for dicking you down the way you needed and also to enquire about a dick pic,”

Laurent groaned, rolled onto his side with his eyes already closing “it’s not fair to ask me when I’m like this,” he said “and he’s not my boyfriend we’re just- not seeing other people,”

Ancel frowned, eyes rolling “and how is that not a boyfriend?”

“Oh, fuck off I am too tired to deal with you, shut the door on your way out, I need to sleep for a week,”

Or a month.

Ancel protested but Laurent ignored whatever he was jabbering on about until Ancel gave up and turned the light off on his way out. He even shut the door, which was unusual for him. The moment he was gone Laurent stripped down to his underwear and crawled into his bed, eyes already closing.

It was a good job Ancel left too because then Laurent could turn his stupid smile into his pillow and at least pretend that he had his shit together. When he did not. He absolutely fucking did not.

He didn’t want to give a name to the feeling in his chest. He didn’t want to because it felt too fragile, too alien, and too new. Naming it made it tangible and if it was tangible then Laurent would have to be a grown up and think about what it actually meant.

What it would mean for Auguste.

He had expected Damen to ask about what he’d seen at the benefit. To say something, anything, to allude to what he’d seen with Auguste. Something scathing, or sad. But he hadn’t said a thing. He hadn’t asked and Laurent was endlessly grateful. He wouldn’t really know what to say anyway because Damen dissolved his filter at the best of times and the last thing he wanted was to word-vomit how worried he was. About how he didn’t know how to help his brother. That some nights Laurent lay awake staring at his ceiling and praying to a god he didn’t believe in that Auguste would be okay again. That he was so worried about Auguste, so locked out of his pain and struggles, that sometimes Laurent let the path get dark in his head and he wondered what would happen to him if Auguste wasn’t around.

Laurent wouldn’t survive that.

But what could he do? Every time he tried it felt like Auguste got further away. Laurent was supposed to be the one person in the world Auguste could turn to, the only one who could understand and yet Auguste still chose to do it by himself.

And now Laurent was keeping a secret from him and Laurent flip-flopped naively between assuming Auguste would never speak to him again, and hoping Auguste might be grateful Laurent had found something that made him happy. He wanted to believe the latter, in years gone by it might even have been true, but Auguste was volatile now and the truth was Laurent had no idea how he would react.

God he was such a shit brother and Auguste deserved so much more but what could he do? Damen made Laurent feel. Good things. He listened to him, he felt safe and supportive and when he looked at him Laurent’s breath caught in his throat because no one had ever looked at him like they saw right into him before. It was like they’d picked up where they left off all those years ago, an easy comradery that had the added benefit of sex now. And the sex was more than a benefit. Damen fucked him like his singular focus was to seek out every single part of Laurent, even the one’s he kept hidden, to douse them in pleasure, to satisfy and devour; take him apart and put him back together. That alone was heady and new and intoxicating without adding all of the ease and familiarity of their former years.

Laurent had never stood a chance.

~*~

He was woken on Tuesday morning by a very loud knocking on his door and Ancel stomping to open it, annoyed to be up and probably dressed ready for his meeting with Berenger.

Laurent squinted at his clock, surprised he had slept so very long and even more surprised that he didn’t feel bad for missing a second day of lectures. He stretched, marvelling at how good he still felt when Ancel ruined it by shoving open his door, brandishing a box and a vase.

A gift from an admirer no doubt

Laurent sat up as Ancel just grinned at him “present for you,”

“For me?” Laurent asked blinking as Ancel came to set them down on his bed.

The vase was wrapped with see through paper and had a very large ribbon but it wasn’t flowers like he’d first thought. It was a bouquet of cake pops shaped like roses. Oh. He was grinning like a fool and he knew it but he was barely awake and no one had ever sent him well- anything before.

He turned his eyes up and Ancel was just smiling at him, eyebrows up “you must be a really good lay,” he said tapping on the box Laurent hadn’t opened yet.

Laurent ignored him and pulled the box closer. It was wooden. Sturdy. Old. When he opened the lid and squinted at the contents he gasped, shoving the box away because there was just absolutely no fucking way.

“What?” Ancel asked peering into the box, entire face falling when he saw it “a book?” he said giving Laurent’s shocked face a disgusted look “alright so maybe you’re a really bad lay,” he said scrunching his nose up at the contents “I thought it was a necklace, a very expensive necklace,”

“Ancel!” Laurent hissed “that book is worth more than any stupid necklace,” he said seriously and Ancel just blinked at him, mouth falling open as he took another look inside the box.

“What’s in it? The fucking map to the fountain of youth?”

Laurent just laughed, a little bit hysterical and a little bit beside himself as he pulled the note from out of the box.

We were kicked out before you could read it. You’re supposed to give it back but don’t feel like you have to – D x

Damen had-

Laurent’s mind went blank as he stared helplessly up at Ancel. Damen had convinced the fucking museum to let him borrow a book like they were a fucking library. Laurent really didn’t want to think about what he’d had to promise or donate to make it happen. Just so Laurent could read the original. The diary.

As primary sources went for his dissertation this was like fucking gold dust and Damen was equally as rare apparently. What the fuck Damen.

He clambered from the bed, hunting for his phone in the pile of his clothes from last night and Ancel just watched him amusedly.

“Are you alright there? You look more deranged than normal,”

Laurent located his bounty and span around brandishing it at Ancel “I will not be out-romanced by a Scorpio,” he said already googling florists.

Ancel snorted “says the Taurus who swore he didn’t need romance?”

Laurent pursed his lips, finding a florist. Damen was getting flowers whether he liked it or not. He might send them to the office. He said he had meetings all day. That came with the added benefit of possibly embarrassing him a little. And he didn’t need romance. Want though. That was a different matter.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” he said, tearing his eyes away from his screen to glare at Ancel “besides it’s not about romance,” he lied

After all, Damen had put in so much effort. Laurent hadn’t really done much of anything. Flowers were nice, right? Everyone liked flowers. Damen would look sweet in a flower crown. Or just one flower tucked behind his ear.

Laurent didn’t know much about flowers but he was starting to know Damen. Roses were predictable but an obvious statement that Damen couldn’t misinterpret. Orchids reminded Laurent too much of the benefit and therefore Auguste and Bastian. Lilies were a bit too death but he thought Damen might like wild flowers.

“So just so we’re clear are you starting some kind of courting war with the man you’ve already agreed to be exclusive with?” Ancel snorted as Laurent ordered wild flowers to his house and roses to his office because why not.

Plus, he wanted to do something nice for him. Damen might like them. Or he’d want to die and that was just as fun so really, it was a win-win situation.

But he doubted it, Damen had a romantic streak he was beginning to realise, which wasn’t all that shocking to him anymore. What was shocking to him was that Laurent was realising he did, in fact, have one too. A very, very large one that was noticeably Damen shaped.

“That might get costly,” Ancel said

Just as he hit purchase on the order a text flashed across the top of his screen. His heart leapt up into his throat before it went plummeting guiltily down to his feet when he saw who it was. Auguste. Oh right, they were doing lunch.

Yes. Ancel wasn’t wrong about his relationship with Damen. It could get quite costly. In more ways than one.

Chapter Text

There was no lazy about it. It wasn’t a soft undulation, it was frantic. Laurent’s fingers were claws in Damen’s chest; head thrown back as he slammed himself down. Damen’s hands were bruising at his hips, guiding him, holding on as he fucked up to meet him.

Laurent couldn’t contain his moans; it was too much, quick and desperate like they couldn’t help themselves. There was no finesse. Just want.

“I’m close,” Laurent said, breathless, punched out of him on a groan.

“Me too,” Damen said beneath him, watching Laurent with dark eyes and a slack mouth like he was riveted. Damen really liked to see him ride.

“Can I come?” He ground out, eyes on Damen beneath him who was licking his lips, tongue a teasing flash as he wrapped a hand around Laurent’s aching cock.

“How badly do you want it?” Damen asked squeezing his fingers, making one slow drag from root to tip that made Laurent’s toes curl and his rhythm stutter.

“Damen,”

Damen flipped him easily, cock sliding home hard as Laurent locked his legs around him. He fucked in deeper and Laurent let out a strangled sound when Damen’s hand found his cock again.

“We’ve talked about this sweetheart,” Damen said and smirked like the mean -sexy- fucking bastard that he was.

“Please,” Laurent said “please let me come, Damen, please,”

“That’s right baby, so good for me, aren’t you?”

Laurent nodded, staring up at Damen, fingers making indents in his biceps and he’d beg some more if he wanted him to. He was close. So fucking close. He-

The door swinging open was an instant ice bucket and Laurent gasped, snapping his head to the side to see even when he knew what he’d be met with. Ancel was in the doorway eyes wide and mouth hanging open. It wasn’t glee. It was shock.

For a long drawn-out moment no one moved. It felt like the awful frozen tableau of some horrendous play. This wasn’t happening. Was this happening?

Ancel was staring, eyes roving shamelessly and his whole expression seemed stuck on holy shit. Laurent was going to murder him. Slowly. As soon as he could breathe again. But this was not good. And the sunlight was just streaming in through his open curtains like the heavens wanted to naturally highlight exactly what was going on. And exactly how far inside him Damen was.

Damen was breathing hard, face turned toward Ancel in question or disbelief or surprise or something. Laurent was going to murder Ancel with his bare hands and bury him on a spit of land far, far away. Why was he home so fucking early?

“Ancel get the fuck out,” Laurent hissed very aware of the sidelong view they were painting for Ancel who was frozen in Laurent’s bedroom doorway.

He was also painfully aware of the fact that Damen was still throbbing inside him and that Laurent was likewise hard as fuck against his stomach. He was mortified and later he would want to die about it but right now he was too murderous to think about it too much.

“Oh my holy fucking god,” Ancel said eyes not straying from Damen.

Damen, above him, gave a hesitant smile, even though Laurent could see his embarrassment high on his cheeks. Oh good. He was human then.

“Damianos,” Ancel said breathing out and having the audacity to fan himself a little bit “I don’t know who I expected Laurent but Damen? You have got better game than I ever gave you credit for and honestly I would be smitten too-“

“Okay that’s enough,” Laurent snapped, giving Damen a shove to roll off him as he leapt to his feet. He would have been embarrassed about being entirely naked but Ancel’s gaze didn’t move from Damen so it’s not like Ancel noticed anything.

Laurent grabbed his dressing gown, marching for Ancel and very much intending to shove him over the threshold but the oily little prick just slipped right past him. Damen was his sole focus apparently, mouth still open in shock and eyes drinking him in hungrily. Perfect.

Laurent turned around, frowning at Damen who had managed to rescue his underwear and nothing else. He very much looked like he had absolutely no idea what to do whilst he stood there, still lightly sheened in a mixture of both of their sweat, in nothing but indecent underwear that did nothing to hide how hard he still was.

Fucking Christ. He looked like- he looked like a walking fucking wet dream.

It was just a shame Ancel thought so too.

Ancel sidled right up to him, hand going unerringly to Damen’s chest like he was testing if he was real. And then slid a little lower to the chiselled definition of his impressive abs as his eyes dropped to the cut of his hips. And what was between.

“Alright, enough of that you need to-“ Laurent began.

“Christ look at you,” Ancel cut him off “how do you feel about threesomes?”

Laurent choked on a mixture of incredulity, fury, and something darker that he couldn’t define. Something that threatened to make him cave Ancel’s face in if he didn’t back the fuck off.

Damen blinked at him, giving a nervous laugh as Ancel slid his hand lower still. Damen caught him by the wrist before he could reach his waistband and Laurent smirked at the intake of breath Ancel gave in response.

“I wouldn’t do that; I mean, have you seen Laurent when he’s mad?” Damen asked, placid but for the hint of a grin in his features. And oh.

The rampage settled in Laurent’s chest and in its place a low curling heat reignited in his belly when he met Damen’s dark honeyed eyes over Ancel’s shoulder. And oh. Not right now. Christ.

Ancel snorted, snatched his hand away “fair point,”

Laurent grit his teeth, forcing the fog away, and marched over, putting a death grip on Ancel’s arm as he tugged him away.

“Excuse us for a minute,” Laurent said and Damen nodded, pressing his lips together like he was trying not to laugh. Because Damen knew exactly what Ancel was in store for.

Not that Laurent had shouted at Damen much in the month they had been seeing each other. But. But Laurent was Laurent.

There had been a few sticky incidents involving photos online the few times Damen had ventured out. Of Damen and someone else leaving a bar or restaurant. Models. Actors. Cleo. And even, once, Collette. They had argued about it only once. Well twice, he argued the Collette thing too, positive Damen was only doing it for a reaction from Auguste. Turns out it was Collette who’d done it on purpose and Damen hadn’t known she was even behind him through the flash and glare of the cameras. The others were just friends, people he knew. He hadn’t offered to purposefully help anyone since Cleo -and Damen had promised he wouldn’t now that they were dating. Laurent knew the press always just assumed Damen was fucking anyone within three feet of him but it didn’t make it feel any better. Seeing his maybe-boyfriend splashed all over gossip sites and Instagram whilst people talked about him hypothetically fucking someone else felt pretty shit actually.

It wasn’t a fun game for Laurent at all but Damen couldn’t do much about it. Unless he just never went out. He couldn’t even deny it online because, as Damen had oh so helpfully pointed out, it would only add fuel to a fire that didn’t exist. The only way he could put an end to it was by telling them who he was dating.

Damen had talked him down each time they fought. Laurent knew he was being silly about it, he did, but he couldn’t help that he was jealous. Or that he was insecure. Damen was patient with him. To a point. The point usually came when Laurent crossed the line and said something too scathing and Damen always retaliated in kind. He had a mouth on him and he could definitely keep up. Which wasn’t irritating. Or endearing. At all. There definitely wasn’t anything wrong with Laurent for kind of enjoying it.

They’d had two actual arguments in four weeks. Which -all things considered- wasn’t that bad. He had feared it would be difficult, that they would clash, that Damen was too good to be true but-

But he hadn’t been yet and Laurent was starting to admit that his guard wasn’t just down. It was absolutely decimated. Plus the make-up sex had been worth it. So very, very, worth it.

Laurent dragged Ancel into the kitchen where he slammed the door and whirled on him with a venomous expression.

“What the fuck was that?” Laurent hissed at the exact same time that Ancel exclaimed.

“Oh my fucking god are you kidding me?”

This was bad. This was really bad. They’d been so good! A month was a decent amount of time to have been seeing someone every other day.  In secret. And in public at the same events where they could only smile at each other from across the room and steal moments when they thought no one was looking.

They’d been careful. They’d been so careful. And now Ancel.

How the fuck had Laurent let himself get so careless? It was the middle of the afternoon!

Damen wasn’t supposed to be there, he’d picked him up from therapy and he was only supposed to drop him at home. He was seeing him later anyway so there was absolutely no reason for Damen to come up to his apartment. Except Laurent had quite lost the ability to keep his hands to himself and he wanted Damen around only, all the time. Even if it was just to sit at opposite ends of the sofa or dining table so they could do work in separate quiet bubbles. It was as pathetic as the constant endless daydreaming was and that was saying something because Laurent thought about him an awful lot.

“You have been holding out on me,” Ancel said gleefully “mother of god-“

“Why the fuck did you come in?”

“Erm? Because you were clearly having sex and you wouldn’t tell me who with? So I thought I’d take a peek,” Ancel shrugged “I was curious, sue me,”

Laurent didn’t have time for how not okay that was. Ancel was a fucking law unto himself anyway. He’d shout at him about privacy later but for now he had much more pressing concerns.

“Ancel listen to me, you absolutely cannot tell anyone, do you understand?”

“Oh,” Ancel said eyes going wide “Auguste,” He sniggered “Good lord you are screwed,”

It was hardly breaking news but hearing Ancel say it somehow made it all the more real. Laurent really was screwed.

“Okay thank you but yes Auguste,” Laurent stressed “he doesn’t know,”

Ancel snorted, leaning back against the counter as his eyes scanned down Laurent, gaze snagging on the exposed part of Laurent’s chest where he was still a little flushed. He had to fight not to cover it up or snap his fingers in front of Ancel’s face.

“No shit, he’d hit the roof,” Ancel said, dragging his gaze back up and blinking at him innocently.

“Exactly Ancel, which is why you need to keep your stupid little mouth shut so he doesn’t find out before I get chance to tell him,”

“Firstly, there’s no need to be rude,” he sniffed “secondly does that all mean you are going to tell him? Like you and fucking Damianos are going public?”

“Not until I’ve figured out how to tell Auguste,”

The thing is, it was becoming very apparent that he was going to have to tell Auguste. They couldn’t stay a secret forever after all and Laurent had come to the conclusion that he wanted to keep Damen. Just a little bit. Consequences and all. Which wasn’t all that much of a revelation. He’d wanted to keep him from the second he saw him on his threshold six fucking weeks ago.

Actually, that was a big fat lie. He’d wanted to keep him since he was thirteen and saw him rising out of the lake at Arles, naked and dripping wet, like the dirtiest most profound Mr Darcy wank fantasy anyone could conjure.

“The longer you leave it the worse-“

“Yes, yes I fucking know that, but in case you haven’t noticed Auguste isn’t doing too hot right now,”

“Still no improvement?”

No. If anything it had gotten worse. Every time Laurent saw him Auguste looked tired. He was cagier than normal about what he’d been doing and he’d either been spending a lot of time at home or in places the press didn’t go. Laurent was concerned but Jord promised him it wasn’t anything to worry about, Auguste was just having nightmares. Whenever Laurent tried to intervene Auguste just used the wedding as an excuse; all those events that he was expected to attend. There wasn’t much they could do whilst all eyes were on them; whilst he had duties.

But that was a never-ending excuse because all eyes were always on Auguste and if he carried on the way he was then the press would start to notice that he was losing weight and looked like crap.

Laurent’s guilt was two-fold. The first for ever putting Auguste in a position where he couldn’t cope and the second, for giving Auguste another reason to feel overwhelmed even if he didn’t know it yet.

He tried not to think about it too much.

“Not really,” he said honestly and Ancel gave him a sad sort of smile in return.

“Shit, well what the fuck are you going to do?”

“I don’t know Ancel I just- keep putting it off hoping Auguste will-“ he sighed, scrubbing at his face “look just, don’t say anything okay?”

“I won’t,” Ancel said and Laurent narrowed his eyes.

Ancel wasn’t pouting. There was no protest. He looked, dare he say, sincere?

“Not even Nicaise, because I swear to God I will ruin your life and make you wish you had never been born, understood?” he said

Ancel nodded, corner of his mouth lifting in a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, porn videos to my brothers, I hear you,”

“Exactly,” Laurent said “And then Damen will pull some strings and your father will find himself in hot water too, clear?”

Because Laurent might not have all the necessary contacts to make that happen but Damen did. He was very quickly learning that Damen knew pretty much everyone. And judging from their last few dates -and the first- a lot of those people were all too happy to bend over backwards to do whatever Damen wanted.

Ancel rolled his eyes “aye, aye Captain,” he said with a mock salute.

Laurent hit him, punching him in the arm and hoping it would leave an ugly bruise.

“Ow!” Ancel cried, grabbing his arm and staring at him like he’d grown a second head “what was that-“

“That was for propositioning him,”

Ancel, because he was twelve, pinched Laurent’s arm in retaliation. Laurent tutted, shifting backward and now it was his turn to stare at Ancel like he’d lost his mind. If he even had one to begin with.

“What was-“

“That was for not making him wear a condom, don’t think I didn’t see,” Ancel said looking at him like he’d somehow won that round. Which.

Okay. First of all, did he have to stare at Damen’s cock quite that closely? And second, was Ancel judging him?

“And are you, who has had more sex than you can conceivably remember, judging me for that?” Laurent asked expectantly, stiffening at the way Ancel was staring at him.

“Yeah, safe sex,” Ancel said “Damen gets around, I just want to make sure and I mean, he’s not pressuring you is he? Because he’s big but you can fit a whole human arm in one and I would know,“

And oh. Ancel thought of Damen the way they all did he supposed. He didn’t know what Laurent knew. He knew as much as Laurent had assumed before. It was actually kind of sweet of him. Laurent didn’t doubt that Ancel would be ready to march back to Laurent’s room to give Damen a piece of his mind if Laurent even hinted at being uncomfortable about the condom thing.

It abated his anger a little bit and he blinked, more than a little bit surprised. It’s not that he didn’t think he and Ancel were friends but he’d always gotten the impression that Ancel tolerated him. Actually, he got the impression that Ancel only tolerated all of them. So maybe that was good enough.

“He doesn’t anymore and we got tested,” Laurent said “and I’m the one who- asked,” he finished because that was way more information than Ancel needed.

Besides Laurent absolutely did not want to think about the irony of that conversation with Damen who, as it turned out, got tested regularly and did so after sleeping with Laurent the first time. Laurent however hadn’t been tested in over a year. Damen was a shit about it too. Smug. Annoying.

He absolutely threw what Laurent had said back in his face over and over for a solid weekend and Laurent couldn’t even really blame him.

But it was okay. They were both clean and the first time Damen had come inside him they’d both realised pretty quickly that it was a whole thing for Laurent. They’d brought plugs since then. More than once, he’d gone into Uni stuffed with Damen’s come, with a plug in that Damen told him he wasn’t allowed to remove until he was home again. It did all kinds of crazy good things to Laurent knowing he had something of Damen on him -in him- in public. A reminder of how much Damen wanted him. Like what they were was something visceral. Real.

“Breeding kink? Really? You?”

Laurent grimaced “no one is more surprised than me but,” he shrugged “apparently,”

Ancel’s smirk was truly annoying and Laurent knew he was going to detest whatever he was about to say.

“I’m very proud that you are finally exploring your usually very frigid sexuality, and I am even more proud that it is with Damen, and honestly I didn’t realise your standards were that high I mean, your track record-“

“Alright enough of that,” he said “but- thanks? I think?” he said more than little aware of the heat in his cheeks.

“You’re very welcome, now please reconsider the threesome,”

Laurent groaned “I thought you were too obsessed with Berenger to fuck,”

“I’m not obsessed,” Ancel said, stiffening slightly if Laurent was not mistaken “and I’m having sex, of course I am, just… I’ve been very busy lately,” Ancel said a touch defensively.

Laurent had noticed. For the past few weeks Ancel’s usual routine had slowed down somewhat. Laurent even caught him reading an actual book with his laptop open. Ancel hadn’t made any progress with Berenger as far as Laurent was aware but he did go and see him in his office an awful lot. He was starting to worry that Ancel was a little more invested in the situation than he wanted to admit.

“Right,” Laurent said dubiously and waited.

Ancel fidgeted beneath the stare until he was heaving a martyred sigh “fine look I’m annoyed, or… something,” Ancel whined, folding his arms over his chest “but I think he’s married,”

“Berenger? Why do you think that?”

“Well, I asked ages ago, and I thought he said no but now that I’m thinking about it he’s never really answered me, and today he said my partner so I…” Ancel sighed “I think he’s married, I mean he doesn’t wear a ring but it would make sense,”

“Oh,” Laurent said no idea how to respond “I’m sorry?” he tried

Ancel rolled his eyes “I don’t care about it,” he insisted “I fuck married guys all the time,”

Which was true. Ancel was an indiscriminate kind of person.

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know,”

Ah. Right.

Ancel was biting his lip, staring at Laurent with what he could only assume was meant to be some kind of puppy dog eyes like he was waiting for Laurent to tell him what was happening. It was almost funny that Ancel was asking him any kind of relationship question. A month ago it would have been unthinkable. And pointless probably.

“Ancel is it possible that you like Berenger?” Laurent asked, watching Ancel’s face scrunch up in a scowl “I mean, I know you want to win or prove a point, but if you’re disappointed that he’s maybe-married then don’t you think it’s gone a little bit beyond just proving a point?”

Ancel squared his jaw, sniffing as he turned his face away “don’t be ridiculous, he’s stuffy and rude, and he smells like coffee all the time, and he has hideous glasses,” Ancel said “he’s not even that attractive, he looks like a librarian,” Ancel said “no offence,”

Which? What did that mean? Why the fuck would Laurent be offended?

“Right,” Laurent frowned “but-“

“No, you’re being ridiculous, I’m just annoyed because it means working harder to get him,” Ancel said but he didn’t sound sure and Laurent wanted to press but Ancel had stiffened, eyes shifting away from Laurent as he chewed on the inside of his cheek and oh. Fuck.

That was a pending crisis if ever he had seen one.

“Okay well-“

The light knock at the door had them both swivelling and then Damen appeared, poking his head in and giving Laurent a tentative smile. Damen was not the most patient of people, not when it came to waiting, he got restless. He was an action person and he didn’t do very well when he had nothing to do. He was one of those infuriating people who enjoyed being busy.

“Everything okay?” he asked, eyes flashing between them

“How big is your cock in inches?” Ancel asked instantly and Laurent tutted as he threw his hand out, smacking Ancel in the chest.

“Don’t answer that,” Laurent warned because Damen’s mouth had opened and he just knew Damen was ready with an answer, all too happy to oblige.

Damen snapped his mouth shut, half smirking as he leaned against the doorjamb. At least he was dressed.

“Spoil sport,” Ancel groused

“Are you going to be okay if I stay at Damen’s tonight?” Laurent asked and the sentence must have been as weird for Ancel to hear as it was for Laurent to say out loud. It felt kind of nice.

It meant he could tell Ancel everything tomorrow. Because Ancel would want to know and Laurent really wanted to- not gush that was ridiculous. Childish. But maybe a little. A tiny bit. Now that he didn’t have to leave out details.

“Obviously,” Ancel said “you might as well move in you’ve barely been here, I’m surprised security didn’t stop you in the lobby like who is this demonic blonde man,”

Laurent rolled his eyes. It wasn’t true. Okay it was kind of true, he’d been at Damen’s a lot. But he liked sleeping with him as much as he liked, well sleeping with him.

He turned a look at Damen who just snorted “I’ll wait in the car then, nice to see you Ancel, as always,”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Ancel called at Damen’s retreating back before he turned back to Laurent “seriously well done,”

Laurent did not flush but he did smirk as he heard the front door close behind Damen.

“Oh, I hate that smug look,” Ancel groaned as he shoved past Laurent “I’m going to Nicaise’s anyway, he made friends with the rowing team,” he called and Laurent would have bet his father’s fortune that Ancel was about to dress up in some slutty sailor costume for the evening.

~*~

“He won’t say anything, right?” Laurent asked for possibly the 100^th time since they’d gotten back to Damen’s.

Damen was on his phone, sending emails, reclined against the headboard still gloriously naked. Laurent watched him, on his stomach, sheet resting at his hips, trying valiantly to highlight the chapter he was attempting to read for his seminar tomorrow but he could be forgiven for having other things on his mind.

A lot of other things.

Damen cocked him a smile, looking up from his phone “you said yourself he’s got more to lose than to gain,” he reminded him, also for maybe the 100^th time “besides I can and will ruin his entire family if you tell me to, so he’d have to be really stupid and Ancel is a lot of things but stupid isn’t one of them,” he said

Listening to Damen make casual threats really shouldn’t be such a turn on but Laurent had long come to accept it about himself.

“You’re right,”

Damen turned back to his phone but Laurent could see his smirk already “usually, yes,”

Laurent huffed and threw one of his highlighters at him. It was orange anyway and hideous.

“Besides,” Damen said catching the pen and dropping it back onto the pillow without even really looking “you could just tell him you agree to the threesome but you’ll change your mind if he tells anyone before we’re ready,”

It was a joke. He knew it was a joke. It was probably a good idea but still did he have to bring that up. It might even be fun to wind Ancel up. But still.

Laurent turned back to his book, pursing his lips and reading the same three sentences over and over before giving up. He had zero control over his tongue or the slip slide of his traitorous thoughts.

Had Damen? Did he want to? Why had Laurent never asked him? Mostly because he’d not wanted to know which was stupid. Entirely childish. Weirdly jealous.

“Have you ever had a threesome?” he asked and regretted it instantly at the look Damen turned on him.

It was one part surprise and three parts rueful and Laurent all but pressed his nose back into his book.

“No wait, forget I asked, pretend I didn’t,”

Damen shifted, rolling onto his side, propped up on an elbow and staring at Laurent’s profile. Laurent tried to ignore him, squared his jaw and dragged the highlighter across the page so hard it squeaked.

“Laurent you know you can ask me anything, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,”

He let his pen hit the book and closed it, sitting up with his legs crossed beneath him to look at Damen properly. Damen regarded him with a fond smile and sat up again, propped back up against the headboard.

Laurent did have questions. Questions he probably should have asked before now. Or not, he didn’t know the rules but maybe now was a good time.

“I do have questions, but you’re not allowed to laugh at me, and if you ask me something and I don’t want to answer I don’t want you to push it,” Laurent said seriously, recalling the time Bastian had asked Laurent about how he’d lost his virginity.

He’d had to lie. Obviously. And it was so blatantly a lie that Bastian picked up on it and never let him forget it.

Damen nodded “how much you want to tell me is entirely up to you, you’re not obligated to tell me everything Laurent, and I’m not here to judge either… or laugh,” he said, taking hold of Laurent’s hand to tangle their fingers together. Like he’d known Laurent was getting uncomfortable. And of course he did, Damen was very perceptive of his moods.

Which most of the time was pretty fucking great but occasionally it made Laurent want to throttle him. Now wasn’t one of those times though. Yet.

He was wrong though, about the judging part. If Laurent was actually honest with him then he might as well just dump Damen before he got a chance to dump him. No one’s likes broken toys after all.

He squeezed Damen’s fingers and then let go of his hand and Damen withdrew easily, entirely unoffended and without question.

They’d talked very briefly about their respective sexual and romantic histories. Damen knew he’d slept with four people; Laurent knew Damen’s body count was in the low hundreds but not even Damen knew the precise amount which was a little intimidating at first. He also knew that in the past year and a half since his break up with Jokaste he’d only slept with five people. Damen had offered him names but Laurent had turned it down because he didn’t want to know. That was all he knew.

The rest he half remembered from overhearing stories when he was younger whenever Damen and Auguste would talk around him. When he was too young to really join in on those conversations.

He figured he’d ask the most awkward one first, just rip it off like a band-aid.

“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

“Thirteen, it was over before it began and it wasn’t great,” he said “you?”

Laurent bit his lip “fourteen,” he said and paused to let Damen follow it up with a prod. But he didn’t, just nodded at him expectantly.

Laurent breathed out “have you ever been in love?”

“I don’t know,” Damen said meeting his gaze unflinchingly “I used to think I had but now,” his smile was soft, reaching his eyes, almost shy “I’m not so sure that I was,”

He swallowed, ignoring the way his heart was beating harder as he stared at Damen. He should speak. Say something. Anything. He was usually good with speaking or rambling until he had to take a breath; but nothing came out. His mouth pulled up without his say so and he tipped his chin into his chest to avoid Damen’s gaze.

“I already told you I was never in love with Bastian,” he said, peeking back up to see Damen’s expression

“Yes,” Damen said, still looking at him like Laurent had done something incredible “you did tell me that,”

For a long moment Laurent couldn’t speak, caught in the spell, in the pull of Damen’s gaze and the magnetism of his presence. He was leaning forward to snatch a quick kiss before he could stop himself. Damen leant in to meet him, cupping Laurent’s jaw for a long moment, kissing him soft and sweet. When Laurent pulled back he had to clear his throat and blink, give himself a mental shake. Talking. They were talking.

Damen looked endeared and Laurent’s pulse didn’t misbehave at all.

“Have you ever cheated or been-” he cut himself off with a snap of his tongue because Damen had been cheated on. Quite publicly “sorry,”

Damen breathed out, shaking his head as he reached up to run a hand through his erratic curls “it’s okay, but yes, I have cheated,” he said and Laurent stiffened despite himself and Damen saw it “it was a long time ago, before Jo, and I like to think I learn from my mistakes,” he said which, well that was fair enough, wasn’t it?

Lord knows Laurent had had to learn from his.

“Have you?”

“Yes,” Laurent admitted, turning his eyes down “I cheated on Xander with-“ he cut his gaze back up and Damen nodded.

“Bastian,” Damen guessed, voice gone tight.

Laurent cringed, tipping his head back “yes because I was a fucking idiot and I already told you he used to be able to just-“ he huffed flapping his hand at him “talk me round,”

Damen just nodded, flashing him a sympathetic smile “I can still punch him by the way, that’s a standing offer,”

“I’ll bear it in mind, because I’ve also been cheated on, Bastian slept with about a dozen people whilst we were together and made me think I was delusional every time I got suspicious, he lied so much I can’t even comprehend how I fell for it,”

Bastian had gaslighted the fuck out of him. He’d lied to him constantly and even when Laurent had trusted his instincts Bastian had still managed to talk him around. Laurent had actively ignored all of his instincts for him.

That’s probably why he appreciated Damen so much; why he’d gotten so caught up in the whirlwind of him. Because there was a sincerity about Damen. Something genuine.

Damen was, and always had been, entirely unexpected in the most unexpected of ways. Laurent went again and again to what Damen had said that first night, about unrealistic expectations. Laurent was starting to realise that some of what Damen did was just basic decency. Some of it was just Damen but the rest?

It was the little things that made Laurent realise Bastian really had been a piece of shit the whole time they were together. Laurent just hadn’t known better because he’d already been treated far worse.

In comparison Damen felt like a dream and for the first time, Laurent realised he was happy and safe and it all felt so easy and so good he wasn’t sure how he’d ever settled for anything less.

“Yeah,” Damen said picking at the sheet beneath him “yeah I can relate to that,” he breathed out, a self-recriminating smile ghosting his features “when I found out about Jo and Kastor it was-“ he shrugged “well it was pretty shit, it’s taken me a while to learn how to let anyone back in again,” he said flicking his eyes up to Laurent and oh.

Oh.

Damen had had to work to let him in too. He already knew that but it was always so strange to hear it out loud.

They had a lot of similarities didn’t they? Similar issues. It didn’t matter that they’d come by those issues by vastly different means, pain didn’t work in terms of measurement. A trust issue was a trust issue. An insecurity was an insecurity; the how or why didn’t change its existence. It was weirdly nice to know Damen had them too. He always appeared so confident, so sure of himself, so comfortable in his own skin. It was nice to see beneath it. It made it all the more annoyingly admirable because Damen didn’t let it show.

“Well, I’m glad you did, and I’m sorry that happened,”

“Don’t be sorry, if it hadn’t happened we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

Laurent shook his head and went to him, crawling into his space until he was leaning against the headboard beside him, tucked under his arm.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he admitted once he had his face safely tucked against Damen’s chest so he didn’t have to blush and meet his eyes.

Damen tightened his arm, hugging him close and pressed a kiss to his hair “neither would I,”

Laurent snaked his arm across Damen’s middle, closing his eyes and letting himself appreciate the naked feel of Damen’s’ skin against him. Damen stroked at his hair, comforting and lulling and Laurent could fall asleep right there he was sure.

“Did you have any more questions?” Damen asked and Laurent peeled his eyes open to blink up at him.

“Oh right, threesomes?” Laurent asked “I’ll assume you have so, what kind?”

Damen gave him a rueful lopsided smile “all kinds,”

Fucking figures. And why not? He was insanely attractive and he was good at flirting and people basically just threw themselves at him.

“Was it good?”

“Most of them, some were- disasters,” Damen said “are you asking because you’re thinking about what Ancel said?”

Laurent tutted, turning a scowl on him as he pushed himself up, dislodging his book from the pillow beside him in the process and probably losing his page.

“I don’t want to fuck Ancel,” he said because he was apparently the only one in their friend group that hadn’t and he very much enjoyed preventing Ancel from collecting the set. He knew him well enough to know it would irk Ancel not to have had them all; he was an obsessive little bastard.

Damen nodded “but it’s what made you ask? It’s okay if it is,”

“Fucking fine, yes, it’s obviously what made me ask I just- started thinking about it and I just- I figured you would want to, but I don’t know if-“ he huffed “I think I’d be too jealous, would you not be jealous?”

Because he would. Whenever he thought about Damen with someone else, even someone like Jokaste who had been with Damen years before Laurent, his stomach swooped uncomfortably, heavy like it was filled with lead but hot like that lead was molten liquid.

It’s not that he didn’t trust Damen because he did. But the idea of seeing him with someone else turned his stomach. Especially someone like Ancel, who was beautiful and so much more experienced than Laurent. Less broken. What if he preferred him? What if they did it again behind his back?

Laurent wasn’t sure he could go through that again. It would hurt far more with Damen and it had hurt pretty fucking bad when it had been Bastian. It would be a hundred times worse this time and it terrified him.

Damen scooted closer, took Laurent’s hand again, almost idle, stroking soothingly as he met Laurent’s gaze.

“I think there’s a difference between sex and intimacy,” he said “I mean when you’re in a relationship and doing it then it’s more about trust and communication, it can be sexy but it can also go very wrong, it’s why boundaries are important and you know rules,” he shrugged

“Rules like what? No kissing?”

Damen’s lips twitched as he nodded “sometimes, I just meant deciding what the both of you are willing and not willing to do or see, kissing, bareback, anal, oral… you know, if you don’t talk about it before hand then it can lead to some-“ Damen pursed his lips “very awkward situations,” he said “like certain people leaving to go to the bathroom and not coming out for twenty minutes,” he said with the kind of look that told him whatever story that belonged to was absolutely a shit show.

Laurent narrowed his eyes “but you still like them?”

“They can be fun,” he nodded and Laurent got the distinct impression Damen was trying not to be too inclined either one way or the other.

“So, you do want a threesome with Ancel?”

Damen shook his head “not particularly, but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” he said leaning in close “I want to explore whatever you want to explore,”

“And that’s enough for you?” he asked

“I get off on that yes,” Damen said sliding his hand into the hair at the back of Laurent’s neck “I get off on you,”

Laurent hid his smile in his shoulder before deciding to crawl into Damen’s lap. It might be his favourite place to reside and Damen never seemed to take issue with it. He buried his face in Damen’s neck, clinging a little bit but Damen soothed his hands down his back and Laurent liked it that way; where he could feel Damen’s heart beating and the warmth of his body against him. He felt his eyes closing as Damen nudged at his temple with his mouth.

“What time do you have to be up tomorrow?”

Laurent groaned “seven, I have a lecture and then I’m seeing Auguste,”

He felt Damen nod “I’m not due anywhere until two but Nik is stressing about the private stag so he’ll probably call at 12 and ask me why I’m late,”

Saturday marked the beginning of the end of the wedding from Hell and Laurent’s personal countdown on his Have to Deal with Auguste clock. Saturday was the private stag do: the real bachelor party. There would be no press, it was being held at a private gated estate so Nikandros was free to get as drunk as he wanted without fear of reprisal.

The press or public bachelor party was next Thursday, ahead of the wedding next Saturday. They had just over a week to go and then Damen would have more free time, Laurent would be able to do something about Auguste, and Bastian might crawl back under his rock.

Laurent snorted and pulled back, blinking sleepily at him “all in hand?”

“Yes, just the last few errands to run,” Damen grinned

“It was you who planned it right? Nikandros had nothing to do with it?”

“Yes, well- mostly, for everything else I ignored his direction,”

Laurent smirked “good, otherwise it would be boring,”

Damen tutted and hefted him over bodily, fingers jabbing into his sides so that Laurent let out a mortifying noise. Damen rolled on top of him, nipping at his neck in retaliation.

“He’s not that-“ he began before registering Laurent’s unimpressed expression “he’s just very stressed right now,”

“Whatever you say babe,” he said quirking an eyebrow at him that made Damen stick his tongue out at him.

Laurent managed to wrestle Damen off him and almost got ready for bed in peace. Mostly it consisted of Damen trying to annoy him at the sink in his gigantic bathroom despite the fact that there were three separate sinks in there.

He had taken to sleeping in one of Damen’s t-shirts and nothing else. It was entirely unnecessary but he liked the way Damen looked at him when he was wearing his clothes, the way his eyes glimmered with a possessive kind of darkness that nevertheless lit Laurent up inside.

 Damen always slept naked and Laurent didn’t doubt that he looked at Damen the exact same way when he wandered into the room without any clothes on, muscles flexing and rippling like some kind of fever dream.

He fell asleep with Damen a hard hot line behind him, holding Laurent to his chest with arms that felt like a cage Laurent never wanted to escape from. He was a furnace in bed, and Laurent liked to have blankets upon blankets, even in the summer, so he always seemed to sleep well beside Damen. He was a cuddler, but then, so was Laurent it turned out. Even if they went to sleep facing away from each other and barely touching somehow, in the night, they gravitated together. Like even in sleep Laurent just needed to put his hands on him to confirm he was in fact real and not part of some hallucination or prolonged daydream.

The ringing of Damen’s phone made Laurent groan, pulling him from sleep. He nudged his elbow backward until he hit something not-quite-soft-but-close. Damen groaned too, rolling over with a grumble as Laurent squinted at the alarm clock. It was almost three in the morning.

Laurent pulled the blanket up over his head as he listened to Damen fumbling for his phone. If he didn’t answer it soon Laurent was going to fucking smash it.

“Hello?”

Damen’s voice was a tired whisper, voice hoarse and sleepy from disuse and usually Laurent liked it but at that moment he wanted to punch him.

“What do you mean?” he asked, climbing from the bed and his tone made Laurent peel the blanket down, squint through the darkness as Damen started throwing some clothes on.

“Yeah, no I know… okay well I’ll be twenty minutes, don’t do anything stupid,” he said before hanging up.

Laurent frowned, watching Damen jam his feet into shoes.

“Who was that?”

Damen flashed him a tired smile “Nik is hammered so I’m going to get him,” he said “can you say cold feet?” he said rolling his eyes as he leant back across and kissed Laurent’s forehead

“Do you need me to come with you?” he asked, to be polite, knowing full well he had no intention of getting out of bed, or having Damen explain to a drunk Nikandros why Laurent was with him at 3am.

“Don’t be silly, go back to sleep baby, I won’t be long,”

Laurent made a noise of assent and rolled back over; eyes already closed again.

He was woken up an undetermined amount of time later by the feel of the bed behind him dipping. He came awake but barely, eyes still heavy and sleep still clogging his brain.

“Everything okay?” he managed without even opening his eyes as Damen climbed back into the bed behind him.

“It is now,”

Damen slid in close, wrapping an arm around Laurent and moulding himself to his back again.

Laurent hummed, snuggling back “d’you want to fuck me?” he asked, eyes still closed and sleep tugging at him insistently.

He felt Damen stiffen but Laurent was floating on the edges of sleep and couldn’t fathom why.

“You’re barely awake,” Damen said, lips ghosting against Laurent’s ear, fingers sweeping his hair away from his face.

Laurent hummed, entire body going docile, being pulled back under.

“S’kay, if you’re quick,” he said preparing to find the energy to roll onto his front.

Damen kissed his neck, pressed his nose into his skin and didn’t speak for a long moment. He heard him swallow, felt his hand smoothing his hair back gently “no baby, go back to sleep,”

Laurent was too tired to catch the emotion in Damen’s voice but it sounded… strained: released on a heavy exhale. Laurent didn’t respond, doing as he was told and letting sleep pull him back under.

~*~

Laurent had been relieved that morning to find that there was no Nikandros in one of Damen’s spare rooms, because it meant not having to awkwardly tiptoe out like he was doing the walk of shame.

Damen had dropped him into Uni with a kiss and a promise to call later and then Laurent was back in his real life listening to a lecture on the changes in old Veretian foreign policy after the war with Akielos. He was admittedly distracted. And sleepy. Very fucking sleepy.

He wanted to go home and nap. Maybe order food. But he couldn’t. He had a full day and a date with Auguste on the horizon.

By the time he was arriving at Auguste’s penthouse it was late afternoon, pissing down, and Laurent had run out of cigarettes and desperately needed one. When he let himself in it was Jord who greeted him, giving him a smile that was too wide. Forced.

“What?” Laurent asked, suspicion overriding his manners

Jord’s shoulders sagged, giving Laurent the kind of look that said couldn’t you play along?

“He’s…” Jord threw a glance over his shoulder, where Laurent could hear Auguste’s TV “he’s not great, just- go easy on him, he was a bit of a state this morning,”

“Meaning?” he asked

Jord shrugged “just sad I think, didn’t want to talk, or eat,” Jord ran a hand through his hair “I only came over because he didn’t reply to any of my messages and- well I worry,”

Yes. Jord did worry. Either he was the most understanding person in the world or he was a masochist. Or not, maybe he just cared about Auguste, loved him even, he supposed.

“I was just leaving actually; will you be alright?”

No. Maybe.

“Yes, of course,”

Jord gave him one more look, mouth opening like he was going to say something before deciding against it and leaving. Which boded well.

Laurent announced himself and went through to Auguste’s sitting room. His brother was lounging on the sofa, turned away from Laurent toward the TV with his hair down around his shoulders.

He didn’t turn to acknowledge him, just grunted a noise that Laurent assumed was caveman for hello. Brilliant. He really was in a mood then.

He sighed, throwing his jacket over the arm of the chair before going to sit beside Auguste. If he was in his space he’d be harder to ignore after all. He sat, staring at what he could see of Auguste’s profile and still found himself unacknowledged. Well fine.

Laurent prodded him, a quick jab in that exact right spot on his ribs that made Auguste flinch and whip his head around. It always worked. Auguste was too ticklish to ignore it. He yelped, looking at Laurent with the exact same expression he’d always worn when Laurent did that to him. Except this time it was marred by what else Laurent could see on his face.

“What happened?” Laurent asked, half smile knocked off his face, eyes gone wide, instantly worried.

Auguste looked awkward, tried to turn his face away as Laurent reached for him to inspect it.

“It’s nothing,” Auguste said trying to bat his hands away.

But Laurent was persistent and only stopped once he’d forced Auguste to look at him. He had a cut in his hairline on the left-hand side and some bruising that was deep purple and mottled red. When Auguste turned his face away again Laurent could see a lump.

It looked new. Fresh and painful for it.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,”

“I fell,” Auguste said drawing a cushion toward himself and staring at the TV like he somehow thought it would deter Laurent.

“You fell,” Laurent said utterly unimpressed.

Like hell he did.

“Yes, I fell not like-it wasn’t a fight, I mean I actually fell, it was pretty funny really, right into a door,” Auguste said, tossing him a smile that absolutely didn’t meet his eyes.

“Yeah hilarious,” Laurent said “sorry if I’m failing to see the funny side,”

Auguste rolled his eyes “it was an accident Laurent, accidents happen you know,”

“Were you high?”

Auguste squared his jaw, turning his face away again as his hand rose unconsciously to his mouth, biting at his thumb nail.

He might as well have hung a big sign that said yes in neon lights above his head.

“Of course I wasn’t,” he said and yeah. He had been.

He had said the same thing every time Laurent had brought it up over the past few weeks. I’m not using. I stopped. I’m not getting high anymore.

Laurent hadn’t believed him two weeks ago and he didn’t believe him now. Just because Auguste had been careful didn’t mean it wasn’t still happening. Besides, after the benefit ball Laurent now knew how easily Auguste could hide it from him and he was far more observant for it.

He’d taken to seeing Auguste twice a week. He’d pushed for more but Auguste was astute and said no, pleading that he was busy or had work to do.

“Auguste this is serious-“ He began

“There’s nothing to talk about Laurent, I’m fine, everything is okay,”

He sounded like a fucking broken record. Laurent had broached the subject a few times. Of rehab and the possibility that Auguste needed to go back. The first time it had ended in a spectacular argument and the rest was a series of shut downs; Auguste insisting he didn’t have a problem.

Laurent didn’t know what to do. Short of telling their father. It had to be his last resort if Auguste wouldn’t get help on his own. And Auguste was very busy maintaining the idea that there wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t really a spiral anymore; he’d hit self-destruct. But Laurent knew well enough neither their father nor Auguste would want to lift a finger to do anything about it until their upcoming obligations could be fulfilled. Until Aleron could make Auguste disappear quietly. He couldn’t do that until after the wedding or else there would be speculation.

Hating the idea of having his own life splashed all over the papers and various gossip websites and blogs, Laurent could understand that at least. It was the only reason he hadn’t pushed harder.

“We’ll talk about it after the wedding but don’t think you can deter me forever,”

Auguste waved his hand, not even looking at him.

“So, what actually happened to your face?”

Auguste groaned “Nothing Laurent, I was at a bar last night and I- argued with Orlant and tripped, someone opened the door at the exact wrong moment, I was drunk, sue me,” he said and his voice was irritable, his expression one of pure annoyance.

Well that made two of them.

“You can’t get that drunk on Saturday,” Laurent warned, electing to say drunk instead of high to play along with Auguste’s charade “Nikandros will murder you if you cause a scene,” he said and then for good measure “you don’t want Damen to see you like that again, do you?”

Auguste laughed then, throwing his head back, the sound almost as bitter as it was amused.

“Oh yeah, saint Damen would definitely judge me,” Auguste said “angel that he is,” he added dryly.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I really don’t give a fuck what Damen thinks,” he said with the kind of squared jaw that said he actually did care. Quite a lot “he can go fuck himself,” he said before snorting “or whatever attention whore he’s talked into his bed this week,”

Laurent flinched despite himself and the uncomfortable and unfamiliar sensation rose in his throat that let him know he was very much on the verge of defending Damen. To Auguste. Which would go down like a lead fucking balloon.

“Even still-“

“Look if it makes you feel better, I won’t get drunk on Saturday, happy?”

Far from it. But Auguste was already rising to his feet and going into the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine which was very loud and covered Laurent’s tired sigh quite nicely.

Whilst he was gone Laurent sulked with his arms folded over his chest and tried to tell himself he needed to stay calm. Auguste might be a shit but he was mostly doing it on purpose to derail him, or, he couldn’t help it because he was- stressed.

He reached forward, lifting the book that Auguste had left open and face down on the coffee table. Frankenstein. Not a surprise, Auguste liked gothic and he liked horror.

He was playing more of a Jekyll and fucking Hyde at that moment but he supposed Frankenstein was apt too; paradise lost and all. When he flicked his gaze back to the table he noticed what the book had been placed on top of.

The antique silver cigarette case; and he said he wasn’t using. Perfect.

He stared at it, contemplating snatching it up and seeing what was inside but decided against it as Auguste came back over with his coffee. Auguste noticed instantly. He swiped it off the table and without a word he took it to his bedroom. Laurent could only assume it was so he didn’t see where it was put.

“Subtle,” Laurent said when he came back in.

Auguste rolled his eyes “it’s empty,” he said, flopping down onto the sofa beside Laurent and jostling him so that he almost spilt his coffee all over himself. The point he was sure, if Auguste’s grin was anything to go by.

“Like your head apparently,” he said

Auguste groaned, running a hand over his face, smile instantly dead.

“Oh give it a rest Laurent I’m not in the mood,” he sighed and he sounded tired.

He sounded more tired than anyone his age had a right to be.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go to the bachelor party,” he said, ignoring him

Auguste sat up, pushing his hair off his face, the tendrils flopping back instantly “we’ve been over this, I need to be there because people will ask why I’m not and the last thing I need is the papers thinking I’ve got a problem with Nikandros now as well,”

“But-“

“I’m not going to take anything,”

Laurent absolutely did not believe him. Not even a little bit. It wasn’t a case of if but how much.

He dropped it though because Auguste was getting agitated, fidgety and snappy, and the last thing he could afford to do was piss him off again. Not after their last argument.

“So Jord said you were sad today,” he said instead

Auguste breathed out a long exhale, reclining further and putting his feet up on the coffee table. Laurent mimicked him, taking the opportunity to sit closer; shoulder to shoulder. As soon as he did so Auguste dropped his head to Laurent’s shoulder and Laurent’s next breath was all relief. He pressed his eyes closed, tilted his head into Auguste’s.

“I guess I am,”

“Because of Orlant?”

Auguste tipped his head up, dislodging Laurent, and looked at him quizzically.

Laurent frowned back at him “you said you argued with him?”

“Oh, right, yeah that argument,” Auguste said leaning his head back against the sofa to stare at the ceiling “yeah it was an argument,”

Laurent wasn’t sure he believed him but Auguste’s mood had turned morose again so he prodded anyway.

“What was it about?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed “but do you ever wish you could just, turn back time?” he asked and when he looked at Laurent his yes fucking obviously must have been all over his face because the corner of Auguste’s mouth pulled up into a rueful smile “right, well, I don’t know, the argument just got me thinking is all, about how different things could be,” he said

“Different how?” Laurent asked, keeping his voice soft as though startling Auguste would break whatever tiny bit of honesty he had pouring out of his mouth. It was far too rare lately and Laurent wanted to grip it tight and tug on it; unravel him.

“I don’t know, different,” he said, almost sombre “if I was different, if I hadn’t- messed up,” he snorted “or if other people hadn’t made a mess of things,”

Laurent wasn’t sure he was following “like Uncle?”

Auguste flinched, sitting up so he was further away again, their shoulders barely brushing “for one,”

Oh. Laurent should have seen that coming; given the state of Auguste’s love life. He hadn’t mentioned her in a while; not even the photo he’d seen of her with Damen. Laurent hadn’t wanted to mention it further in case he just unknowingly made things worse.

“It’s not your fault you know, Collette and you- maybe you’re just not right for each other, I mean, she doesn’t really make you happy, does she?”

Auguste stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed slightly, almost like he was confused even as he nodded slowly “no I was happy,” he said hesitantly “and we were good, but we never really said any of the stuff that needed saying,”

“Stuff like…?” he felt like he was barely moving, staring back at Auguste and all but holding his breath.

Auguste so rarely opened up he didn’t want to spook him into stopping. Auguste breathed out, shoving a hand through his hair again as his eyes dropped to the cushion he was all but clinging to.

“I don’t know, everything, how we felt, what had happened, anger, jealousy,” he shrugged

“Jealousy?”

“Yeah, I think I was always jealous,” Auguste said “I just relied on it too much, on the relationship, you know? Never really wanted to figure out who I was away from it,”

He’d known Collette was important to Auguste. He had known he loved her but he’d never really seen just how important she was to him. Or as a factor to the spiral and the drug binge. Which he probably should have, it had started when she last split up with him. He’d said then that Collette had been jealous and Auguste hadn’t paid her enough attention. Maybe that had worked both ways. Maybe they just didn’t work.

“Paschal called it co-dependency or enmeshment, like no boundaries, separation anxiety, enabling… you get the drift,” Auguste sighed fiddling with the threading on the cushion

Auguste had spoken to Paschal twice recently -at Laurent’s insistence and only after their last argument. Both over the phone but it was better than nothing. At least he’d spoken about some of his issues even if he couldn’t talk about his main ones.

Laurent didn’t really know much about co-dependent relationship but he was going to google the fuck out of it when he got home.

“How do you make it better?” Laurent asked

Auguste shrugged “I used to think time would make it better but it hasn’t yet,”

“It’s only been two months, it’s no surprise, that’s not really much distance is it?”

Auguste turned his gaze up then, staring back at Laurent like he wasn’t sure what he meant. When he nodded it was slow, measured, and Laurent could practically hear the wheels turning in Auguste’s head, like he was trying to figure out how to say something.

Laurent made himself relax, tried not to make his gaze as intense as it felt, barely resisted the urge to slap him upside the head and demand he spit it out.

“When we argued, that last time,” Auguste said carefully “I said something I shouldn’t have and then I got punched in the face,” he said, quiet like some kind of confession.

“What did you say?” Laurent frowned

“That it was all her fault, that I am the way I am because of her and I accused her of- something pretty disgusting,” Auguste said not meeting Laurent’s eyes “and I didn’t mean it, you know? I just say things when I’m mad and then- I was so angry I never took it back, we just never talked about it again,” he sighed scrubbing a hand down over his face.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. Auguste had a nasty habit of saying things in the heat of the moment that made people want to hit him. Like Jord had. Like Damen had.

“I’m sure she knows,” he said hesitantly unsure what else he could say. What was the disgusting thing he’d accused her of?

“It’s not like it matters,” Auguste sighed, staring away for a long moment before shaking his head “you know, I don’t want to talk about it anymore,”

No. No he never did. Laurent had to stop himself from pressing further, from prodding at the open wound Auguste so rarely let him see. He managed it, but barely.

“Want to watch a bad horror movie instead?” Laurent offered

Auguste smiled, staring at him for a long moment and he looked almost grateful.

“I just got one called Strippers vs Werewolves that looks so shit it might actually be good,”

“They’re the best kind,” Laurent said and settled further into the sofa as Auguste set up the movie.

The movie was absolutely as terrible as it sounded but it made Auguste laugh and for that Laurent loved it. Afterwards Auguste asked about Paschal, and his dissertation, and how he was and Laurent was hit again by a spike of guilt.

It was hypocritical, wasn’t it? To be mad at Auguste for not telling him things when he was keeping secrets too. He thought about just telling him. Just getting it out there, but Auguste was smiling and he seemed relaxed when he was talking and even ate half a box of mini-donuts and Laurent couldn’t bring himself to spoil it.

So he didn’t.

It was dark by the time that he was leaving and he had an unread message from Damen waiting in his phone and a text from Nicaise with some Aimeric drama. Laurent was tired and it was only a fucking Wednesday. He already didn’t want to go to the bachelor party at the weekend; he knew he was going to spend the whole night worrying about Auguste and he could live without the stress. He’d rather spend the night with Damen. But then that was usually the way he preferred to spend his nights lately.

And his days too if Damen decided they were going out of the city to ride. Or to hike. Which hadn’t been Laurent’s favourite date because he twisted his ankle half way down and pretended he was fine. Damen had known he was bullshitting but had gone along with it, smugly, like an asshole, like he knew Laurent was in pain and wanted him to admit it. Which he had eventually and Damen had piggy-backed him to the car before sucking-

“Laurent,” Auguste called before he could open the door and he span around to face him, hoping like hell his stupid face wasn’t betraying where his thoughts had just been.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, you know that right? I don’t mean to make you worry and I know you’re worried, I know I’m not- I know things aren’t great right now and I don’t mean to-“

“Auguste you don’t have to apologise, I’d worry even if things were going great because you’re my brother and that’s what we do,”

Auguste’s expression softened and he nodded, hand rising to the back of Laurent’s neck, drawing him forward until they could press their foreheads together.

“I love you,” Auguste said “you’re the most important person in the world to me, you know?”

“I love you too,” Laurent said “and I know that, you know that’s the same for me too right?” he said pulling back to look at him properly “I’m not a kid Auguste, I want to help you,”

“And I told you Laurent, I don’t need help,” he said folding Laurent into a hug “I just need some time, it’ll get better, peaks and troughs, right?”

Right.

~*~

When he pushed open his front door he was immediately accosted by the sound of a slamming bed frame and Ancel’s gratuitous screaming. Laurent’s shoulders sagged as he went to dump his things in his room.

It was impossible not to hear the crescendo, Ancel’s voice and deep moans and Laurent counted down the minutes as he changed into his joggers and started setting up his laptop. He heard Ancel’s door open and Laurent span, expecting Ancel in a dressing gown come to gloat but instead there were two guys Laurent had never seen before meandering past his doorway. They didn’t acknowledge him and Laurent went to the threshold to watch as they left and closed the front door behind them without a word.

Laurent frowned and went immediately to Ancel’s room.

Ancel was tangled in his sheets, lying on his side and facing away from Laurent. He didn’t turn to look as Laurent appeared.

“Ancel, are you okay?”

“Fine,” Ancel sighed, finally throwing him a wan smile as he pushed himself up, resting his elbow on his knees, sheets thankfully covering him because Laurent really didn’t need to see his cock again.

“Who were they?”

Ancel snorted, pushed a hand through his long auburn hair and blew out a breath on a shrug.

“No fucking clue,”

It wasn’t the first time Ancel had fucked strangers. Certainly wouldn’t be the last. But there was something different this time. Laurent approached the bed, knelt up carefully, trying not to let Ancel see him eyeing the bedsheets for wet spots as he settled close to him.

“What happened?”

“I was in the library and they recognised me from TikTok,” he said and Laurent hated himself that his first thought was: Ancel knows where the library is?

“And?”

“And nothing,” he shrugged, climbing out of the bed and padding unashamedly to the dressing gown he had lying over the arm of his computer chair. It was a pastel green with some kind of fine pink blossom pattern this time. Ancel settled in his computer chair, span it round to face Laurent.

“It was fine Laurent, nothing bad happened,”

“Doesn’t seem that way, do I need to call Damen? He can beat the shit out of them for you,” Laurent said “or I’ll just go and verbally tear them to shreds?”

Ancel snorted “quite an offer, but no honestly it was fine, consensual, boring, yada yada,” he said flapping his hand “I just might-have-maybe-possibly realised something,”

“What?”

Ancel sighed “yesterday, when I walked in on you fucking,” he said and Laurent scowled prematurely “I saw you,” he sighed

“Yes I am well aware,”

“No, I mean I saw it, the way you were, and the way Damen was looking at you and I realised I’ve never had anyone look at me like that,”

He desperately, desperately, wanted to know exactly how Damen had been looking at him. He wondered if Damen stared at him the same way Laurent was fairly certain he looked at Damen; with stupid heart eyes like a giant embarrassing mess.

“Neither had I until Damen,” he said instead because now did not feel like the time to ask.

Ancel smiled but it didn’t seem the annoying vibrant thing it usually was “just made me think, that’s all,”

“Is that something you want?”

“I don’t know, just might be nice,” Ancel sighed “is it?”

Laurent turned his head down, feeling guilty for the wide smile taking over his face “yeah, yeah it’s pretty good,”

“Oh, fucks sake just get it over with, go on, just do it,” Ancel said heaving a martyred sigh

“Do what?”

He raised one perfectly plucked brow “freak out about Damen,”

Oh. That. Well. If he insisted.

Laurent told him everything and Ancel shifted from morose to excited in an instant, leaping back onto the bed to press with ever more graphic questions. That Laurent answered because he could. For once. So yes he was a little bit smug and he was a little excited and if Ancel had him in fits of embarrassed giggles then he was sure it was a one-time occurrence.

“Don’t laugh, it’s not funny,” Laurent said trying desperately to smother a smile “it fucking hurt!”

And it fucking did too. He had been completely unprepared and it was his own come, it was more of a shock than anything but it stung like a bitch and it felt like it glued his eyelashes together.

“Did Damen stop?” Ancel asked

Laurent nodded “he was laughing too hard to carry on,”

Ancel grinned “I threw up on a dick once,”

Laurent choked on a swallow of his wine, they’d moved into the living room away from Ancel’s filthy bedsheets and had opened a bottle because why not.

“I was very drunk and it was maybe my third blow job ever and I just pushed too hard and it went everywhere, he was so mad but he was also as drunk as I was and when the smell hit him, he got sick all over me,”

Laurent burst out laughing. It was no wonder Ancel hadn’t told that particular story before. It was disgusting. And it definitely beat Laurent throwing up on Damen’s shoes last year.

“No but seriously,” Ancel said, well slurred might be the better term “what are you going to do about Auguste?”

Laurent groaned, threw himself back in his seat “I don’t know,” he said. Not whined. Definitely not a whine.

“Maybe,” Ancel said swivelling the last of his wine around in the glass “maybe he’ll be happy for you?” he asked pulling a face, voice going up way too much at the end.

How much had they had? Two bottles. Oh. No food. That would do it.

“And Damen?” he snorted “and maybe pigs will fly and maybe Auguste will stop partying too hard, and maybe you’ll turn into a monk,”

“Hey look, that last one is not funny to joke about,” Ancel said pointing at him quite seriously “because Berenger is making me feel like I have all the sex appeal of an old timey monk,”

“No,” Laurent said shaking his head “he’s just… good,”

“The only fucking middle aged white man with morals I’ve ever fucking met,” Ancel groused

Laurent snorted “he’s thirty-two not fifty,”

“You wouldn’t know it from his wardrobe!” Ancel hissed “the beige rage is real,”

The conversation disintegrated into a familiar Berenger rant and if Laurent had to suffer many more of them he was going to personally petition Berenger to put them all out of their misery and just fuck him already.

Laurent suspected it would get messier before Ancel inevitably got his way though. Ancel always got his way.

“I am happy for you, you seem all…” Ancel said eventually, pulling a displeased face “glow-y and shit,” he said waving a hand at him before smirking “must be all the jizz you little closet cum-slut,”

Laurent threw a cushion at him and knew his complexion -and the red wine must not forget that- had made his face flame.

“Fuck off,” he said “but thank you, I think,”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Ancel said “one of us might as well be happy getting what they want and if it can’t be me, well, you’d probably be like my fifth choice but it’ll do,”

“Fifth?” Laurent exclaimed, indignant

“Mm, Vannes first obviously, then Nicaise, then Lazar, then Phillippe for being my least useless brother, then you, then Marcel and then Aimeric,”

Which. Fair enough really.

“Well, thank you, if Auguste finds out before I can tell him all hell will break loose,” Laurent sighed

“Oh, I can’t wait personally, Damen and Auguste? That spells fireworks surely,” Ancel beamed “what I wouldn’t give to see them-“

“No, stop right there, do not say what you’re about to say,”

Ancel pouted but made a show of pretending to zip his mouth closed. Laurent changed the subject, swinging back around to Berenger and Ancel was only too happy to oblige. Apparently Ancel -a ten- should not be wasting his time on Berenger -a six in good lighting- and should be continuing in his efforts to fuck the national football team instead.

Laurent crawled into bed sometime around 3 and sent Damen what he was fairly certain was an unintelligible text. Damen was having dinner at Nikandros and Gaby’s tonight so chances were high he was sober and confused by his text. He was also having a business dinner with some of his charity partners tomorrow which meant Laurent wasn’t going to see him until Friday. Which was tragic. Truly.

~*~

Friday evening found Laurent back in Damen’s bedroom, lying on Damen’s bed with his laptop open in front of him and the cursor blinking at him. He might -might- have had some trouble writing anything for the past week, or two, not that he was counting, and he’d procrastinated possibly more than Ancel in that time. Which was a true travesty.

And now Damen was holding him hostage. To ransom. Blackmailing him in the cruellest possible way. He’d told him they weren’t having sex until Laurent had written at least a thousand words for his next assignment. And if he hadn’t managed it by dinner time then Damen had promised a punishment that made Laurent shiver just a little bit. Which felt wildly unfair because now all Laurent could think about was fucking him.

It had worked though; he was about one sentence away from hitting a thousand and had been for at least twenty minutes. Damen was probably right, he’d said Laurent would thank him later, he would feel better when it was done.

The problem was Damen.

He was sitting over on the sofa and he hadn’t looked Laurent’s way once in about two hours. At least as far as he could tell. He knew it was two hours because that was exactly how long since he’d last whined and tried to get Damen to give in under the pretence that he’d concentrate better after sex.

Which they both knew was an absolute lie.

Damen had said if he complained about it anymore then he’d fuck him but wouldn’t let him come and well. That was just no good for anyone was it? He’d said it with a smile as well, like he knew exactly what he was doing to Laurent. Exactly how crazy he was driving him just sitting there and existing in nothing but his underwear like he was allergic to clothes.

It might be the only time Laurent could ever remember wishing Damen had clothes on.

When his phone lit up with an incoming message Laurent was embarrassingly eager to be distracted and picked it straight up. Even more so when he saw what it was.

Damen:
You’re nearly there. Then u can have whatever u want x

He flicked his gaze to Damen who was still typing away as though nothing had happened and Laurent was so painfully endeared he had to duck behind his laptop screen lest his expression just paint Damen an exact picture of his feelings.

He forced himself to finish and when he was just over one thousand he stopped, hitting save and turned his gaze up to Damen.

Damen was still typing on his tablet, brow drawn down into a frown. Every now and then he reached up, ran his thumb over his bottom lip or reached out and drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa, crossed and uncrossed his legs, or checked his phone.

There was an uncomfortable feeling in Laurent’s chest as he looked at him. Not uncomfortable as in unpleasant, uncomfortable as in palpable, present, something that felt impossible to ignore; like it could grow and grow and burst right out of him, split his ribs apart. Or like it could just sit, winding round his bones and sinking into muscle and tissue until it was inextricable from him.

It was unfamiliar but not unnameable.

“Damen,”

Wrong word. Same meaning. That too was inextricable.

Damen looked up at him, entire focus shifting instantly and the way his expression softened was a sight Laurent would never tire of. Sweet. His.

“Are you alright?” Damen asked

Was he? Probably. Maybe. And maybe not at all.

What was his reaction supposed to be upon realising something irreversible had happened? That forever was a feeling and not a length of time? Terror most definitely. Overwhelming contentment? Possibly.

Laurent smiled “fine,” he said and Damen grinned back, shaking his head.

“Are you finished?”

Laurent’s heart didn’t stutter. It didn’t race. It pounded, steady, strong; affirming. It wasn’t the dizzying rush of the world spinning away from him. The world had already spun and spun again. It was the shift of the angle, the ground beneath his feet sliding right where it was supposed to go. The weighted, heavy thud of the world realigning and grinding to a halt again.

It wasn’t tentative or fragile or careful. It was the exact opposite of those things and Laurent let it settle in his chest like it had been there all along. 

Or he’d been waiting for it.

“I want to suck your cock,” he said and then blinked.

Well then. Not at all what he had meant to say but it was certainly the easier thing to say. It definitely seemed worth it with the way Damen reacted; eyes going wide and mouth coming open as though he had something to say but couldn’t find the way to make it roll off his tongue. Like Laurent had surprised him. That kind of made two of them.

“Are you trying to distract me?“ Damen asked, suspicious that Laurent hadn’t finished his assignment.

Laurent swallowed, wanted to go to him but didn’t. Stayed exactly where he was.

“I’ve wanted to,” he admitted “I wanted to the first time I saw your cock, probably before that too, and when we’re lying in bed and I can feel you soft against my thigh I think about just holding it in my mouth, sometimes when I get myself off I push my fingers into my throat and imagine what you taste like, and-“

“Have you finished?” Damen asked again and something in his voice had shifted. A command for an answer.

Perhaps he had noticed how still Laurent had gone, how determinedly he had his gaze fixed upon him.

“Yes,”

“Laurent come here,” he said, voice a dark rumble that had Laurent’s blinks coming slower and his chest moving harder.

He went to him, entire focus on Damen as he put aside his tablet and phone and held his hand out to him. Damen pushed his thighs apart and Laurent stepped between them, staring down at him. He looked so fucking good and Laurent wanted to worship him. He wanted this. He trusted him.

Laurent went down to his knees between the spread of Damen’s thighs, breathing through his nose. He stiffened instantly, tensing despite himself, despite wanting it. He breathed out, reached out to run his hands up Damen’s thighs, sliding closer, letting his fingers curl beneath the hem of his underwear.

He tugged and Damen lifted his hips, let Laurent strip them off him. He was more than a little bit hard, and Laurent had the same reaction on his knees as he did when he was on his back; he wanted this. He wanted Damen inside him. He wanted all of him. He wanted Damen to have all of him too.

Damen wouldn’t know what it meant. Or maybe he would, maybe he did. Laurent had told him the first time that he didn’t trust him enough to do it. Damen hadn’t asked since, hadn’t tried to push his head down, hadn’t bought it up at all.

He stroked Damen’s cock, let the familiar feel of him in his hand calm his nerves, watched Damen get harder beneath his fingers, watched his foreskin slide up over the head; teasing back and forth.

Sucking in a breath he leant forward, hesitating with his mouth a breath away. An automatic reaction that Damen noticed. His hand came up to Laurent’s jaw, tilting his head up gently.

“Laurent look at me,”

Laurent did, turning his gaze up, meeting Damen’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what he expected but they were burning. Ablaze where words just would not suffice.

“You want to stop?” Damen asked, stroking his fingers around the curl of Laurent’s ear.

He felt himself unwind, relax, unconsciously tilting his head into Damen’s hand, into the sound of his voice. Damen smiled, carding his fingers through Laurent’s hair.

“No,” Laurent said “I want to know what you taste like,”

Damen inhaled, eyes going dark as he nodded.

“Then go ahead baby,” Damen said, voice warm with want “open your mouth for me,”

Laurent let the sound of Damen’s voice propel him forward, had him parting his lips around the head of his cock, eyes never leaving Damen’s. He didn’t push, just closed his lips and sucked, gentling them back and forth.

Damen nodded back at him, licking his lips, watching him closely as he petted at Laurent’s hair, a soft comforting gesturing that made Laurent’s spine loosen. There was no mistaking the swell of affection in Damen’s features. The way he was looking at him, the way he held Laurent’s gaze, made it intimate. Different.

He bobbed his head, sinking his mouth down, testing, let his tongue curl and explore. He tightened his grip, making one long continuous cave with his mouth and hand, gaze still not wavering.

There was something in Damen’s stare, in the heaviness in his mouth and the motion of it all. He wanted to make it good for him. He wanted Damen to compare every blow job he’d ever had to this one for the rest of his life. He turned his head, sucking diligently, blinking back at Damen as he let his tongue explore the length of him; his taste.

More. He wanted more.

He sank down slowly, taking him in inches until he felt him at the back of his throat. He couldn’t take him all the way, had to push to meet his fingers, gagging around the length of him, a wet splutter that he ignored as he pushed down harder, forced himself to ignore the way his stomach contracted and his shoulders wanted to curl.

His eyes were watering, his jaw aching, but it was worth it when above him Damen swore, a harsh unconscious breath as he groaned.

“Fuck, so good Laurent, you’re doing so well for me,”

Laurent drew back, off, slurping and spreading his saliva over Damen’s cock with his fingers, stroking him harder as he turned his eyes back up. He felt like a mess, chin wet with it, eyes blurring as he peered up and Damen swore again.

Laurent leant back down, lips parting over the head as he flicked his tongue out, smiling as Damen hissed and his thumb ran circles beneath the head.

“Wicked little thing,” Damen said, voice breathy even as he grinned back at him.

Laurent sank back down, humming as Damen’s fingers clenched in his hair. He liked it. All of it. The feel of Damen in his mouth, how riveted he was upon the sight of him, the little noises, the taste, the smile; he really fucking liked it.

He bobbed his head, sucking harder, tilting into Damen’s hand and working his fingers around the length of him.

Damen was big, thick, and Laurent’s jaw protested the stretch, his lips felt abused, pulled taut and sticky with saliva as he pressed back down, enjoying the stutter of Damen’s hips and the unfurling of a breath that sounded like his name.

“That’s it, just like that,”

Laurent groaned, felt the clench of Damen’s muscles as he sped up, sucking him harder, sinking down as often as he could stand, ignoring the choking, the streaming of his eyes, the pool of saliva that was dribbling over his chin.

Damen cursed, hand a fist on the crown of his head, not pushing but wanting to. Laurent could feel it, the tension in his body, the rhythm of his breathing, the frantic half-aborted ruts of his hips; he wanted it.

“I’m gonna come,” Damen warned

He hummed, worked him harder and then Damen’s fingers were bruising and tight in his hair and Laurent’s mouth was flooded with the taste of him. He worked him through it, careful to hold it in his mouth until he could pull off.

Damen was panting, looking at Laurent like he was a revelation as he angled Damen’s cock back toward his lips. He let his come spill off his tongue and out of his mouth, holding Damen’s cock steady so he could spit it back over him, coating him until his cock was wet and glistening with his own come. Until it was dripping over Laurent’s fingers, dribbling over Damen’s balls. There was so much of it.

Laurent rose up, yanked down his jeans and kicked them away and clambered into Damen’s lap, already reaching for him. Damen held still, let Laurent press his come coated cock against his hole and hissed when Laurent started to push down, bearing down on him until he was taking him entirely.

It burned, a pleasant ache as he seated himself fully on Damen’s cock. When he settled he turned his eyes to Damen, wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

“Do you like that sweetheart?” Damen asked, a whisper in the silence “You couldn’t wait to have my come in you?”

Laurent shook his head “I need you,”

“I’m going to fuck you until you’re full of me,”

Laurent whimpered, nodding his head as he rose up, sliding back down with a groan. He kept it slow, rhythmic, rocking and undulating lazily, basking in the feel of it, of Damen’s soaked cock inside him and the way Damen was looking at him.

He threw his head back and Damen’s mouth came down on his neck, biting and licking at his pulse point, tangling one hand in the back of Laurent’s hair as Laurent undulated in his lap. Damen groaned against his skin, pushing his hips up; a silent plea for more.

“Please,” Laurent said meeting his dark gaze with the word Damen liked best.

Damen’s hands roved down, reaching back, gripping Laurent hard and spreading him open, body shifting to recline further so he could fuck up into him. Laurent whimpered, held still as Damen started thrusting, fingers bruising on his skin, holding him tight and fucking him hard; frantic. He buried his face in Damen’s neck, mouthing at his skin and muffling his moans, eyes squeezed closed against the onslaught as pleasure licked at his insides.

It was a lewd wet sound; the sound of Damen fucking his come into him. Laurent moaned, held on as Damen reached down further, fingers straying to where they were joined, to where he was spraying his come onto Laurent’s skin with each deep frenzied fuck in.

When he was close he lifted his head, tangled his hands in Damen’s hair and met his gaze, nodding at him.

“Close,” he whimpered

“Me too baby, come when you want,” he said against Laurent’s mouth

Damen was unrelenting, fucking him and holding his gaze like the world around them could be on fire for all it fucking mattered and Laurent didn’t even want to blink. He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to let Damen see it, to watch Damen come apart too. His eyes fluttered as it started to crest and he held his breath, spine stiffening slowly, toes curling, and he moaned as it started, leant forward to sink his teeth into Damen’s lip; fucking back helplessly as he came.

Damen groaned his name when he followed, pulled Laurent down tight, fucking him through it and Laurent couldn’t feel it, but he imagined he could; imagined Damen spilling into his guts, adding to what was already inside him and making a mess of his insides. He moaned again at the thought, shuddering with the aftershocks as Damen stilled beneath him, panting as his arms lost the tension and drifted to Laurent’s thighs.

Laurent collapsed forward, panting and sweaty, burying his face back in Damen’s neck as he came down. He had no idea how long he sat there, half dosing in Damen’s lap, on his cock. Damen murmured and stroked his hair at first and then after a while he rescued his phone, tapping away at whatever business matters required his attention, still stroking one hand down Laurent’s back. Occasionally Laurent would clench down, or Damen would shift his hips so Laurent became viscerally aware of him inside him again.

Damen directed him up and off before he was fully soft again, directed Laurent’s hands to the back of the sofa and pushed down between his shoulders until he was bent over, still spread and leaking his come. Sticky with it.

Laurent buried his face in his elbow, breathing evenly, entirely relaxed as Damen ran his hands over the globes of his arse. He could feel his eyes, hot and visceral, staring at the mess he’d made of Laurent’s hole.

He was expecting it when it came but the metal was still a cool shock against his rim, hot and puffy to the touch. Damen pushed the plug in easily, using the excess come that was still dribbling over Laurent’s skin as lube. Laurent whimpered, a catch in his breath and a whine as Damen settled it into Laurent’s sensitive body and Laurent clenched down around it, humming.

“God you should see yourself,” Damen said, voice hoarse like he’d been the one with his mouth impaled.

“Good?” Laurent asked, throwing a smirk over his shoulder and wriggling his hips.

Damen’s rumble was all but a purr as he folded himself over Laurent, one hand toying with the plug between Laurent’s cheeks and the other grasping him round the throat to pull him back bodily against him, making Laurent’s body bow.

“Exquisite,” he said against Laurent’s jaw, fingers firm at his throat as he pulled Laurent back further for a kiss.

Laurent let him have it, mouth open to the lick of Damen’s tongue as he rocked back, clenching around the plug Damen was turning.

“If you don’t stop I’m going to want to come again,” Laurent said

Damen chuckled as he pulled back, helping Laurent to stand on thighs that absolutely were not shaking. Sometimes sex with Damen made him think he was unfit. Or low on iron. Or, more likely, his brain just wasn’t used to all the happy good chemicals.

Maybe he’d ask Paschal.

Damen kissed him again, slow and deep, his tongue a languid flick in Laurent’s mouth, his hands gliding against his skin. When he shifted his mouth to Laurent’s neck he tipped back and closed his eyes, let himself bask in Damen’s murmured praise and quiet worship.

When he pulled back Laurent really did feel like going again. Damen blinked at him, cupping his face.

“Laurent?” Damen asked, pressing a feather light kiss to one cheek and then the other.

“Yes?” he managed, barely more than a whisper as Damen’s mouth ghosted against his.

“I said you could thank me later,” Damen said pulling back to smirk “this would be later,”

Laurent huffed at Damen’s smirk, half laughing as he hit his hand out against Damen’s chest.

“I will kill you, don’t think I won’t,”

“After food,” Damen said in the kind of tone that Laurent recognised as his going to be nerdy about cooking voice.

He watched with keen interest as Damen wandered out of the room, completely naked, which was -apparently- his preferred way to do everything. Laurent was absolutely not complaining.

But he was also not quite as comfortable as that yet and besides. He liked wearing Damen’s clothes. Preferably if he’d not long taken it off. It’s not that he liked the way it smelt or anything. Except he did.

He shrugged into Damen’s t-shirt and padded toward his side of Damen’s very big bed. He’d taken his rings off when he was typing, annoyed at them like he could type faster without them. His hands were still shaking a little so all he could do when he knocked one off and sent it skidding into the gap between the stand and the bed was curse and roll his eyes at absolutely nothing and no one.

He groaned as he got down to his knees, the plug shifting inside him and his legs aching considerably more than they had a right to. Seriously. He needed to start going to the gym. He peered underneath, hand already reaching for his ring.

There were boxes underneath. Wooden ones that looked old, shoved into the middle out of sight and at his heart Laurent was a nosy bastard so he contemplated pulling them out to take a peek. It couldn’t be anything important, Damen kept all of that in the vault on the lowest level.

There was something else there too. Near the head of the bed not too far from where his ring had landed. It wasn’t very big, the size of his phone. And shiny. He saw the glint and frowned, stretching further so he could close his hand around it. He pulled it out, sitting back on his haunches as he stared. His heart started pounding before he even realised what he was holding. He had to turn it over several times before it registered. But it was familiar. Silver. Compact. Embossed with his family crest.

But it didn’t make sense. Why was it here? Why would Damen have Auguste’s cigarette case?

With fingers that were shaking on a conclusion Laurent’s brain had not yet drawn, he flicked it open, eyeing the worn velvet and the plastic bag he’d expected inside; the off-white powder it held.

He didn’t understand. The last time he’d seen it had been two days ago at Auguste’s apartment. Auguste had snatched it up and taken it to his bedroom to hide it from him.

Maybe Damen had seen him and taken it from him? It’s not like he hadn’t seen it at the benefit ball. Damen had gone for a meal with some of his sports charity friends last night. Maybe he’d seen Auguste at a bar afterwards and what? Confiscated it?

Without mentioning it?

There was a swarm of voices in his head, clamouring for attention, flashing like thunder so fast Laurent could barely make sense of them. He swallowed, forcing down the roll of his stomach as it rose and dropped like he was on a roller coaster, twinging for attention he wouldn’t give it.

He sent it skidding back under the bed like putting it back would make him forget that he’d found it here. He put his ring back on, flexing his fingers and letting his nails bite into his palm like he could ground himself and organise his thoughts with that alone. He had been about to forego underwear so Damen could see the plug he still wore but he stepped into those too, still feeling naked as he made his way down the stairs. Considerably more unsteady than he had felt five minutes ago.

There was a perfectly reasonable explanation. There had to be. He was being fucking ridiculous.

Damen was in the kitchen, stirring something on the hob that smelt heavenly and he turned a smile equally as divine over his shoulder when he heard Laurent.

“I know, I know, cook faster,” Damen grinned “ten minutes, I swear,”

Laurent nodded, hopping up onto the stool where Damen had left him a bottle of water. Waiting for him at his usual spot. Where he always watched Damen cook. He barely registered the twinge of the plug inside him beyond the pounding of his heart.

Damen still didn’t have any clothes on and Laurent’s eyes scanned the planes of his back and the globes of his arse appreciatively, lost in thought as Damen explained what he was making.

He could just ask him. He didn’t need to make it a thing. Damen would tell him the truth.

So why was he hesitating?

It took him a few moments to recognise the feeling in his chest for what it was. The discomfort that sat in his diaphragm and the restless shaky feeling in his limbs. Anxiety.

“I haven’t spoken to Auguste since I saw him on Wednesday,” he said, straightening as he watched Damen carefully.

“How come?”

“He hasn’t answered my calls,” he said “you didn’t see him yesterday did you?” he asked, nails scratching unconsciously at the marble counter top, following the swirls of patterns as he stared at Damen’s back.

“No,” Damen said stirring the pan, the sizzle loud, an almost comforting soundtrack behind which Laurent could hide the sound of his own pulse in his ears “why?”

“I don’t know, just worried,” he said “you definitely didn’t see him out or anything?” he pressed, heart apparently deciding that he needed a warning that there was danger ahead as it picked up in his chest. A danger he couldn’t see and didn’t believe. But his body did.

Damen turned, fixing him a concerned look of sympathy as he shook his head “no I came straight home after the restaurant, I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him for a while,”

The words stung, slicing at a part of him he hadn’t thought to guard. Not with Damen.

But that?

A lie. Damen had lied to his face.

At the very least Damen had seen Auguste. He had to have. Laurent had seen that very case on Wednesday afternoon. So sometime between then and now he must have seen Auguste to take the case from him.

He had to have taken it because if he had found it innocently he would have given it to Laurent. Or maybe he hadn’t taken it. Maybe Auguste had left it here. In which case, what had Auguste been doing in Damen’s bedroom? Or worse. Damen had found it in Auguste’s bedroom.

Unease slid down his spine and an uncomfortable heaviness settled in his stomach, refusing the instinctive conclusion to those thoughts. No, just because it was the bedroom didn’t mean anything. Damen wouldn’t.

Or Laurent just didn’t want to believe it.

He’d been here before though, hadn’t he?

“He’ll be at the bachelor party tomorrow though, right?” Damen asked turning back to the pan, sprinkling something over it.

Laurent could only hum an affirmative, too busy staring at Damen like he’d never seen him before. Like he’d just found out he was a real boy and could lie without changing his face after all.

What else had he lied about? Why was he lying now?

Laurent only realised in that moment that he didn’t know Damen’s tells. Not a single one of them. He had no idea when he was lying, hadn’t even considered that Damen would lie to him. He’d been so busy getting caught up in the whirlwind of new raw emotion, and sex, and basking in not feeling lonely that he’d forgotten. He’d forgotten every single lesson he’d ever had to learn.

It was stupid, it was so fucking stupid. It had been what? A month of dating? Six weeks total since he even started talking to him again? And Laurent had just- nosedived right off that cliff without a thought. Careless. Reckless. Because he’d thought he’d known him. But how well did he really know him?

No. He knew him. He did. There was no way Damen could just get past all of his defences like that without being a little bit sincere.

There had to be an explanation.

So why did he have such a terrible feeling about it? And if he could lie about this to his face so easily, then what else was he lying about?

Chapter Text

Damen had outdone himself. The Manor looked spectacular but Laurent had never really expected anything less. It was in the suburbs, a very beautiful house owned by Pallas’ father. It was in a gated neighbourhood, all the nearby homes owned by the rich or the famous, and the surrounding area beyond gave way to woodland quite quickly.

As such, the bachelor party was as private as it had been promised to be. They weren’t even allowed to bring their phones inside and everyone was checked at the door for devices by what Laurent assumed was the highest security the crown could offer. After all, the King himself was in attendance. Somewhere. Possibly hanging around the very large naked female ice sculpture that had pride of place in the foyer.

The entire ground floor had been converted into Damen’s idea of a perfect Bachelor party and Laurent really had to say it; it was pretty fucking good. Each room had different inspiration, all the servers or performers were extraordinarily beautiful and wearing barely any clothes, matching their particular room’s theme.

Laurent was currently in a Carnival themed room. Or, as he was calling it: The Make Nikandros Want to Die Room. The various booths and games that spilled from the room and out onto the patio were all in some way dedicated to making Nikandros want to curl up and die of embarrassment. Like all the childhood photos. And the facetime screenshots. And the growing wall of embarrassing anecdotes that Damen was going to make into some kind of artwork at a later date.

Most of them were drinking games of some kind, which is why Laurent was loitering. Auguste was not behaving and had been avidly avoiding him. He hadn’t wanted to drive to the manor together and he hadn’t done much more than greet Laurent with a hug before making himself suspiciously scarce. So Laurent was trying to meander his way through the maze of loud rooms and louder themes to keep track of him without looking like he was. Not that he could tell what out of hand would look like. As had apparently been evident at the benefit ball a few weeks ago.

He was also avoiding Damen. For more than one reason.

Dinner had been a quiet affair the night before and Damen had thought it was nothing more than worry about Auguste. And it was. But it also wasn’t. Damen was horrendously sweet about it, he gave him a massage, he held him in the bath, he fucked him like his sole mission in life was to make Laurent tremble apart with pleasure so he could piece him back together with tender kisses and whispered praise. He didn't think it was strange when Laurent took photos of him when he was completely naked and still damp from the bath. He had regarded him with more care when Laurent had begged to suck his cock again, but when Laurent told him he could take a photo he hadn't taken much convincing. Laurent wasn't ashamed of it. Not really. It had felt, when he let the filming follow, like he was making it real somehow. Tangible proof. Of them. This thing between them. Laurent hated himself for basking in it. For lapping it up. For letting him, for wanting it, even when he was mad at him.

Laurent should have said something but he hadn’t. He’d let it fester instead, all day, and even with his eyes on Auguste, surrounded by people drinking and having a good time, Laurent could think of little else.

He knew why he didn’t talk to Auguste but he wasn’t quite as certain why he didn’t immediately talk to Damen. Or shout at him rather. It’s not like he usually had a problem speaking his mind. But just like with Auguste, the thing that held him back was fear, wasn’t it?

Except with Damen he wasn’t afraid of what he’d do to himself, he was afraid of the pain he knew would follow. Speaking it out loud made it real and childishly, selfishly, if his perfect daydream was coming to an end he didn’t want to let it go yet. He liked his rose-tinted glasses. He liked the way the world looked when it was coloured by Damen’s smile and warmed by his arms.

But then, that was his problem, wasn’t it? It always fucking had been. He’d liked his rose-tinted glasses with Bastian. With his uncle.

In his experience giving voice to the fear only made it worse. Real. And he wasn’t ready for it. But he had to be. Tomorrow. He’d ask him tomorrow. When the stupid bachelor party was over and done with.

He scanned the room, aware of Auguste taking a shot with someone he only half recognised and his eyes settled on Nikandros. And Kastor.

Inevitably his mind went spinning straight to Damen and he remembered.

Before he could stop himself he was moving, shoving past people to get to Nikandros. He was smiling, hiding half his face with his hand as Kastor said something loud and booming and clapped him on the back. Laurent made himself part of the conversation before Nikandros could reply, completely cutting across him.

“Hello Kastor, goodbye Kastor,” he said “I need a word with the unlucky Groom,” he said and meant it because by next weekend Nikandros was going to have to include Bastian as part of his family.

Kastor regarded him coolly, looking down his nose at him. Laurent imagined his own expression was equally as unimpressed. It was hard not to notice the similarities with his brother. Older though, obviously, there was a disdain around his eyes that Damen never really managed and something sour making his mouth curl. He could understand why Jokaste had looked at him though. He wasn’t pretty or beautiful the way people described Damen but there was something attractive about him. What he could not understand, was the need to break Damen’s heart to do it. It was greedy, childish, and pathetic. And Kastor was worse. To do that to his brother?

With a start he realised the horrifying truth. If Damen and Auguste were sleeping together that would mean Laurent was effectively no better than Kastor. Because he didn’t doubt for a second which one of them had come first. And it wasn’t him.

He grimaced and turned his gaze away, landing on Nikandros.

“It’s okay Kas, give us a minute,” Nikandros said and drew Laurent away from Kastor.

“I was having a nice time and I’m really not in the mood for whatever bullshit you’re about to send my way,” Nikandros said

Laurent bristled. But he was unsurprised by the reception. After all he only had Bastian and his entire family telling him stories about Laurent. He dreaded to think what Bastian had said. What Gaby had said about him. It probably was not very nice.

Laurent sent him a grin he hoped was as perfectly insincere as it felt.

“I just wondered if you were still having cold feet? You know it’s very risky, getting so drunk you need to call Damen to come pick you up, the press would have had an absolute riot with that,” he said

Laurent had been turning it over in his head for a while. Nikandros getting shit faced on a random Tuesday? With who? Not Damen clearly. With his bachelor party four days away? It didn’t sound that likely.

And Laurent had seen Auguste the next day. With a cut in his hairline that he had had to cover up with makeup for the party. Jord had told him he’d been sad and Auguste had said he’d argued with Orlant. Except Laurent wasn’t sure he believed him now.

Nikandros frowned “I’m sorry what? Cold feet?” he asked “who the fuck told you that?”

Laurent canted his head “Damen,” he said letting his eyes go mock-wide “you got drunk and called him in the middle of the night to go pick you up,”

Nikandros blinked, looking confused and slightly angry.

“No I didn’t,” he said “and why would Damen tell you that?”

“He didn’t tell me, I was with him,”

Nikandros actually took a step back, eyes going wide as something like fury and understanding dawned on him. When he took a step closer, leaning in to whisper in the way almost-drunk people did, Laurent had to fight the urge to step back.

“You,” he said, like an accusation “you are the one Damen’s seeing?”

He probably should have expected that Nikandros knew something. He was Damen’s best friend after all and Damen would have had to have told him something as a reason why he wasn’t at the beck-and-call of groom-zilla.

“Yes, surprise, merry wedding,” Laurent said “so you don’t have to lie to me, I already know you were drunk,”

“I’m not lying, I have literally no idea what you’re talking about and- where is Damen?” he asked turning his head up and scanning “he needs his head looking at,” Nikandros added more to himself than to Laurent with a disgruntled expression “this isn’t going to end well,” he added before apparently spotting Damen and moving away.

Laurent let him. He felt ice in his veins. In his veins and in his chest where he suddenly felt cold. Damen had picked Auguste up that night. Not Nikandros. It felt like a knife. But dull. Like a shitty rusty knife that hadn’t quite pierced through his flesh yet. Like he was still pathetic enough to have hope.

He didn’t even care if Nikandros told Damen. Or shouted at him. Maybe it would be easier if he did. Then Damen would bring it up and Laurent could stop being such a pussy.

Laurent sighed, turned his eyes up and spotted his brother again.

Auguste was leaving the room, Jord and Orlant following him and Laurent tried to casually amble in the same direction, eyes glued to his brother’s back as he pushed past people without really seeing them.

They were heading, unsurprisingly, to a room that Laurent knew was full of black lights and exotic dancers. Laurent almost made it to the door to awkwardly follow before he felt a hand at his arm, pulling him aside.

He wasn’t sure who he was expecting when he sent a scowl at his assailant but Bastian was not what he’d planned on. He should have, he was having a shitty day so of course it would be Bastian.

“You look incredible,” Bastian said, flashing Laurent the kind of smile that usually meant he was going to lay it on thick.

“I know,” Laurent said pulling his arm free of Bastian’s grip.

He looked good too but Laurent would die before telling him that; it was, of course, ruined by the arrogant tilt of his stupid head and the fact his personality equated to a minus number on any kind of scale.

“I have a question for you- actually,” Bastian turned throwing a glance over his shoulder and without waiting or explaining grabbed hold of Laurent’s wrist and dragged him toward a door.

Bastian threw it open, giving Laurent a view of a small office. He dug his heels in before he could be dragged all the way over the threshold, stopping just far enough into the room to prevent Bastian from being able to close the door on them.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” he said meaning to turn away from him

“Why’d you have to be like that?” Bastian asked, barring Laurent’s retreat with an arm across him, manoeuvring himself into Laurent’s path.

He didn’t have time for whatever this was. He had no idea where Auguste was and he needed to go and find him. He had absolutely no patience for Bastian.

“Because I want to get away from you,”

“That’s not very nice, you’re hurting my feelings,” Bastian said, smiling as he said it, dipping down to look Laurent in the eye as he did so, one hand held over his heart. Or whatever cracked and rotten thing he had in place of one.

“You don’t have feelings Bastian, now get away from me, I’m not in the mood,” he snapped, shoving his arm down and making to leave.

Bastian pressed into his space before he could, scowl replacing his saccharine smile so swiftly Laurent couldn’t fathom how he’d ever not noticed how unhinged that fucking was. He didn’t say anything for a moment and Laurent tried to stave off the discomfort, the press of something like anxiety in his limbs as Bastian regarded him coolly, eyes scrolling down his body and back in a possessive assessment that made him want to shrink backwards.

“Who are you fucking?” he asked before flashing a smirk “we both know it’s not the same, he can’t give you what I can,”

“And what’s that? A mediocre ten minutes and a headache?”

Bastian’s smirk faltered, eyes flaring wide and for a moment Laurent couldn’t believe he’d spoken to him like that. It’s not that Bastian didn’t know Laurent had a whiplash tongue, it’s just that Laurent had never really unleashed it upon him. It felt- good.

And then immediately didn’t as Bastian gripped his arm tight “don’t pretend you don’t whimper for it, you fucking love it, it’s not mediocre when you’re begging is it?”

He felt it like a whipping sting and he flinched and hated himself for it. He tugged, snapping his head up in alarm when Bastian only held on tighter.

“Get off me,” he said voice as low and as calm as he could manage when he felt like shaking the world apart with a scream of frustration. And outrage.

“That’s not what you usually say,” Bastian said “shall I remind you? Usually it goes a little something more-“

Bastian’s sentence was swallowed by a gasp, a hiss of pain and air, as Bastian’s arm was torn away and Laurent almost staggered as Bastian was spun away from him. He found himself staring at Damen’s back who’d had such a tight hold of Bastian’s shirt that it looked like he might even have ripped it.

Laurent blinked, swallowing thickly as Damen stepped into Bastian, crowding him backward into the room until he bumped into the wall. Laurent followed, glancing back at the door to make sure no one was near them.

“Even breathe too loud and I’ll be realigning your fucking jaw,” Damen said keeping Bastian pinned to the wall with just two fingers pressed against his chest.

Bastian was wide eyed, gaze flickering between Damen and Laurent like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d been moved.

“Damen,” Laurent said, unsure why he sounded quite so breathless “let him go, he’s absolutely not worth it,”

Because Laurent couldn’t deal with this right now. He still had no idea where Auguste was and this was just another distraction he didn’t need. He didn’t give a fuck about Bastian and he didn’t want Damen to do something stupid to draw attention to them. Not tonight.

“I disagree, I think Bastian here is more of an action kind, aren’t you Bastian? So maybe you’re not hearing Laurent when he tells you to fuck off but I think a few stitches might drive it home, am I right?”

“What the fuck is it to you?” Bastian hissed and his eyes flew to Laurent.

He had no idea what his expression was saying and he had even less idea what Bastian could decipher in Damen’s rage but he blinked, a half laugh falling from him.

“Oh shit,” he laughed “did you actually manage it Damianos?” Bastian asked, some of the tension loosening from his shoulders as Damen, conversely, stiffened “he let you fuck him? Tell me, how long did it take? Doesn’t he make the sweetest faces when he comes? Or when-“

Damen’s hand shot out so fast Laurent actually gasped, surprised as Damen’s hand went to Bastian’s throat. Laurent knew what that wide palm felt like. Damen teased him with that grip all the time, rested his fingers around Laurent’s throat when he was buried in him, or toying with him from behind, his wicked mouth at this neck. But Damen never tightened his grip; not like he had on Bastian’s throat, squeezing enough to make Bastian choke on a noise, panic making his hands fly up to grip Damen’s immoveable forearm.

“Sorry? What was that? I can’t hear you,” Damen said

Panic was exactly what was settling into Laurent’s stomach too. Bastian absolutely could not know. Nikandros was bad enough but Bastian? The whole manor would know within the hour. Auguste would know. Nikandros could be counted on not to cause drama this close to his own wedding. But Bastian? He only gave a shit about Gaby when he had need of her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Laurent snapped, striding forward and taking hold of Damen’s arm, the familiar feel of his bicep under his fingers at once ground Laurent and made him furious. This was exactly the opposite of what they needed right now.

“Let him go Damen,” he said as firmly as he could “I appreciate you being protective but it’s none of your business,” He made himself say, flicking an unimpressed glare at Damen.

Damen’s jaw ticked, muscle’s clenched as he nodded and prised his fingers away like all he wanted in the world was the exact opposite.

Bastian let out a noise of relief, chuckling lightly as he shifted past Damen and stared down at Laurent “if you haven’t let him yet then you will,” Bastian said as he turned a look at Damen “he’ll always be mine you know,” he winked and Laurent pressed his eyes closed as his own hands bunched into fists, tried not to notice the way Damen tensed.

Watching him leave didn’t make him feel better. He wanted to drag him back and pin him against the wall again, make sure Damen didn’t stop until Bastian felt as small and as pathetic as Laurent did.

The cold sting of his words drained the second he turned his gaze up to Damen. Damen looked as murderous as Laurent felt.

“He has no right to talk to you like that,” Damen said, voice low as he moved to the other side of the room and slammed the door.

Laurent tutted, aware that if Bastian was still near he’d see that door and be suspicious.

“Damen if he-“

“I’m sorry,” Damen said before frowning “actually, no, I’m not sorry, I am sorry that you had to hear that shit from him but I’d ruin him in a second without remorse, so I’m not sorry I threatened him,”

Neither was Laurent really. He shouldn’t, he knew that, he shouldn’t like it but he did. He liked feeling like Damen cared. Even if he was mad at him.

“I know,” he said instead

Damen moved, shifting to stand in front of him as his hand -that same hand that could cause so much damage- went gently against the back of his neck, drawing him in. Inexorably, like a moth to the flame, Laurent went.

He let himself rest against Damen’s chest. Even furious with him. Even worried and confused he felt safe there, in Damen’s arms with his mouth a sweet press against his temple.

He just couldn’t believe that the man smoothing a hand down his back and murmuring endearments was lying to him. He couldn’t. He didn’t believe that Damen was keeping awful secrets. That he was- what? Sleeping with Auguste? He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Laurent just couldn’t be that wrong.

If he was it was going to hurt more than he thought he could bear. It would tear him apart because he’d gone and let himself have something that he’d thought was out of reach for such a long time. If it was all a lie he wasn’t sure he’d recover from that. He’d survived a lot. He didn’t want to have to survive that.

He held on tighter, burying his face and his fear in Damen’s chest and closed his eyes when Damen obliged and squeezed him closer.

“I just need you to know that you are incredible,” Damen said tipping Laurent’s chin up gently “that anything he’s said or done or any way he’s made you feel, those are his failings, not yours, you understand that, right?”

“I know,” Laurent said blinking up at him “and I’m not his Damen, I’ll-“ he swallowed warred with himself for a moment “I’m yours, all of me, you know that right?”

“I know that baby,” Damen said cupping his cheek “and I’m yours,”

“All of you?”

“There isn’t a single part of me that isn’t utterly and completely yours Laurent,”

Except for whatever parts belonged to Auguste.

He nodded, untangling himself and running a hand down his face “we’ve been in here too long,” he said “and I need to find Auguste,”

“I think I saw him going upstairs with Jord and Orlant before I came in here, if that helps?”

Had he seen that? Or had he been with them?

Damen leant down, stealing a quick kiss that Laurent hated himself for giving as Damen took a step back “I’ll go first then,” he said “soon?”

Laurent nodded “soon,” he sighed

Damen turned back before he reached the door, eyes bright upon him as concern washed his features.

“Are you sure you’re okay? We can leave if you want? Nik won’t even miss me,”

Nikandros would miss Damen. Everyone would. He was hosting after all. Despite everything Laurent wanted to agree, he wanted to say yes, to have Damen whisk him off somewhere. It didn’t have to be some rooftop or some fancy place that he thought Laurent would love. If they only went as far as one of the many acres of fields in the surrounding area Laurent wouldn’t mind. But that was the scary part wasn’t it?

Because Damen made him want to run. Not away from him, a feeling all too often familiar in Laurent’s life. No, Damen made him want to run to him, with him, away from the world where they didn’t have to be who they were.

“I’m fine,” he said proud of how even his voice was.

Damen didn’t buy it, frown tugging at his brows if not his mouth as he came back toward him, eyes clinical as they swept over him.

“I-“

“I saw Kastor was here,” Laurent said cutting him off and watching Damen flinch almost imperceptibly.

Kastor’s appearances weren’t new but Damen would have had to invite him to this personally. It had the desired effect; Damen dropped his hand and stopped his advance.

“He is, I haven’t spoken to him,” Damen said staring at Laurent with a much more calculating expression now.

He hated how well Damen knew him. How easily he could see through him. Laurent turned away, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I saw him with Nikandros, it must be hard, knowing they’re still friends,”

He watched from the corner of his eye as Damen took a step back, mouth now matching his brow; confused and letting Laurent see it.

“It’s not pleasant,” Damen admitted “but we’ve all known each other since we were boys, it’s not like Kastor slept with Nik’s girlfriend,”

Laurent nodded, a derisive snort falling out of him as he turned back to face him “no just the man he calls brother,” Laurent said and he wasn’t sure if he was referring to Nik or Kastor when he said that, either he supposed “but I do suppose loyalty is a hard ask in these situations, right?”

“I think,” Damen said carefully, like he was treading in a minefield “that depends on your definition of loyalty,”

“And how would you define it?”

Damen stared back at him for a long moment “I can’t decide if you’re mad at me or if you want me to be mad at Kastor or Nikandros,”

“I don’t want you to be angry,” Laurent said “it was simply a statement of fact, I just wondered aloud how that made you feel, whether they stayed friends the whole time, whether it happened again slowly,” he flicked his fingers out, idle, an airy wave that said etcetera.

Damen breathed deeply, shook his head “why?” he asked “I can’t imagine, from your tone alone, that you are somehow angry on my behalf, so what is this really?”

He almost unleashed it, all of his annoyance and frustration and all of his suspicion but he stopped himself. He’d not cause a scene to rival anything Auguste could do after telling him pointedly not to. It could wait. It had to wait. There were far too many eyes.

“Nothing, I’m just-“ he trailed off, flapped his hand at the door and let Damen fill in the blank.

Damen nodded; expression still tight as he came back toward him hesitantly. He dropped a kiss to Laurent’s temple “if he bothers you again-“

“He won’t,” Laurent said “but you should really go now,”

Damen looked as though leaving was the last thing he wanted but he nodded and turned on his heel to leave. Laurent allowed a few moments before he followed.

He ran straight into Ancel.

“Busy getting bred?” Ancel smirked

Laurent felt heat flood his cheeks and his stomach when the word curled into him and he pressed down hard on Ancel’s foot in retaliation.

“If you ever want to have sex again I suggest you lower your tone before I deprive you of your most prised possession,”

“Somehow I don’t think you will, I can’t imagine you putting your hands on my cock…” Ancel said as he pursed his lips “well actually now I am imagining it,” he said canting his head “you with your hand on my cock, Damen’s massive cock inside me and-“

“Ancel,”

“I’m not going to stop pestering you until you and your boyfriend agree to a threesome,” he said

Laurent turned to him with a hiss “say it louder why don’t you?”

“Don’t get you knickers in a twist,” Ancel said as his eyes strayed over Laurent’s shoulder “talking of knickers I’d like to twist,” he grinned before side stepping around him, sidling over to someone who would probably end up doing whatever Ancel wanted. Par for the fucking course.

Laurent didn’t waste any more time. If Damen had said Auguste had gone upstairs then he was sure he wasn’t leading him on a wild goose chase. At least he fucking hoped. He also wanted to disappear in case Damen bumped into Nikandros and Nikandros mentioned their exchange.

Laurent wandered up the stairs, half expecting someone to stop him but no one did. The party carried on below and he ascended onto a darkened landing. There was a light at one end and he went toward it, ears pricked and straining, eyes flickering from open doorway to open doorway. When he reached the corridor at the end he turned, looking one way and then other. He could hear noise but he wasn’t sure where from or what it was; distorted by the loud music from below and by the sudden clench of his stomach that told him something felt wrong.

He made to turn left, taking the front of the house first but he caught sight of Rochert rushing from one room to another with something in his hands and immediately his heart picked up.

He followed, running as he got closer and heard the raised voices; the uproar.

The terrible feeling in his stomach that he’d been carrying around since the night before intensified, felt like weights, like spikes in his chest as he shoved open the door to a random bedroom.

Immediately his stomach dropped, taking a half step forward he was already shaking his head, swallowing as he tried to comprehend what was happening.

Three sets of eyes turned to him and he saw the same thing in each of them that was burning fiercely in his stomach. Fear.

“Laurent you don’t need to see this,” Jord said, his words loud to be heard over Auguste.

Auguste. Who was struggling against him, backed against a wall and cornered by Jord and Orlant who were trying to contain him.

He didn’t know what he was seeing but he could see blood. Auguste thrashed, fighting to get away, shouting the whole time and breathing like he’d been running.

“Get off me, I don’t like it, stop touching me, just let me go, stop, stop, I can’t- I can’t breathe stop touching me I just-“

Laurent let the door swing shut behind him, trapping them all in the room and all he could do was blink, heart lodged in his throat when he realised where the blood was coming from. Auguste’s nose was bleeding.

He looked dishevelled. Pale. And his eyes; wild in a way Laurent had never seen and hoped to never see again. They were almost vacant when they swung his way, not even registering him as he threw a fist out at Orlant.

“I’ll kill you, get off me,” Auguste all but screamed, kicking out when the fist failed to connect.

Auguste was sweating. Laurent could see it from across the room. Could see the blood on Jord’s lip that meant at least one of Auguste’s hits had landed.

It felt surreal, like a dream. Like a moment stuck in mud and drenched with fog.

He blinked.

He saw the cigarette case on the floor beside him and he wasn’t sure when it found its way into his hand or his pocket but it did. Burning like a confession; like evidence. Damen had given it back. He hadn’t confiscated it. Which meant it had been left. In Damen’s bedroom. Under his bed. Auguste was clumsy, he’d probably done what Laurent had done with his rings; dropped it and sent it skidding. Too fucked up to notice. Or else otherwise distracted.

Which meant he slept on Laurent’s side of the bed. Did Damen fuck him the way he fucked Laurent? He couldn’t imagine Damen under Auguste, really didn’t want to. No, it would be Auguste on his back.

He hated how easy the image was to call forward. The sting in his chest. The worry. But it was almost better than the reality in front of him.

He turned back, trying not to flinch as Auguste hissed something at Jord through his frenzied gasps for breath, blood trickling out of his nose in a slow dribble that Laurent couldn’t look away from.

“I don’t want you to touch me, I don’t want any of you to touch me, why won’t you stop? Let me go, I can’t breathe, I can’t- leave me alone,”

Laurent pressed his eyes closed, stepping back, unsure what to do or think or say as Auguste struggled like he was crazed, desperate to get away, breathing like the air was too thin, like a drowning man who couldn’t find the surface.

“Get Damen,”

The sound of his name felt like a slap and Laurent whipped his head up to Orlant, who was massaging his jaw and looking at Jord expectantly.

“Orlant!” Jord hissed and Laurent didn’t miss the way both sets of eyes flew to him. Pointed. They knew. They all knew. Laurent just didn’t know what they knew. Enough to get Damen when Auguste was at his very worst.

“You got a better idea?” Rochert asked, struggling to keep Auguste down as he thrashed out again.

Jord sighed, shook his head and nodded at the door “be quick,”

Orlant all but ran from the room and Laurent watched him go, blinking as the door swung shut and trapped him in what he was fairly certain was a room in hell. Auguste was all but screaming, flipping between slurring and hissing nonsense, and all but begging them to let him go.

The panic attack had Auguste wheezing, struggling for breath even as he fought tooth and nail to get away from them and Laurent wanted to sob. He’d never seen Auguste like that. Auguste was always- Auguste. It just seemed so unlike him, like it cracked some fundamental view Laurent had of him, stripped him back, made Laurent realise, for the first time, that Auguste wasn’t his big brother. Not in the childish way he’d always clung to. Not the shining golden boy who always found his way out of trouble or the struggling survivor prone to self-flagellation. He was a twenty-five-year-old man who was so entirely lost Laurent didn’t recognise him.

This was his fault. He should have seen how bad it was. How hadn’t he seen? How had he convinced himself that Auguste would just magically be okay?

Because he always had before. Auguste was always okay.

And Damen. Laurent had been so tangled up in Damen, so selfishly focused on himself he hadn’t wanted to see it. Had convinced himself it would be fine because Auguste always managed to be fine.

But he wasn’t. Maybe he never had been.

When the door opened again Laurent had his back pressed against the wall, eyes on Auguste but not really seeing him. Not really seeing anything as he blinked back tears.

Damen burst into the room and their eyes met briefly, but only briefly. Damen didn’t say anything, he didn’t acknowledge him, he didn’t even pause in his stride. Laurent wasn’t sure why he felt like his stomach was suddenly made of bricks, why the tears that had been threatening felt all the closer now that Damen was here and- what? Hadn’t acknowledged him?

He might as well have been a stranger.

Damen went straight to Auguste, shoving Rochert aside as Jord dutifully stepped away the second Damen had his hands on him. Trusting. Practiced. Familiar.

Where it had taken three men before to nearly contain him, Damen managed it with two hands and three words.

“Look at me,” he said, voice a demand, hard and unyielding as he cupped one hand around Auguste’s jaw and locked the other into the front of his jacket.

Auguste’s wild eyes settled on him, kicking out for a moment as he hissed “Damen-“

“Don’t Damen me, calm down, you hear me? I need you to calm down, now Auguste,”

“I don’t want anyone to touch me, I can feel it- they feel like- like insects and-“

“I know, I know, but look, it’s just me, it’s just me, no one else is touching you, okay?” Damen said and his voice was softer, more intimate as he gave Auguste the space to realise that what he said was true.

Auguste’s eyes didn’t shift from him, just one brief flick over his shoulder to confirm where everyone was standing. When he reached up he gripped Damen’s wrists, looking at him like he was terrified, a plea in his expression that he didn’t give voice to. His eyes were glassy, his face pale, the blood was dribbling over his lips and smeared under his nose and he looked like death. Like death warmed up.

“Can you sit for me? Will you do that?”

Auguste nodded, breathing rapidly as he let Damen guide him to the edge of the bed. Damen dropped down immediately to his knees between the spread of Auguste’s legs. Laurent couldn’t look away, could only focus on the way Damen was handling Auguste, his eyes bright on Auguste’s face as he inspected first his pupils, then his nose.

“Has he been sweating like this for a while?” Damen asked, voice quiet as he held the back of his hand to Auguste’s forehead and then to the skin of his chest.

Auguste let him, still breathing like he couldn’t get enough oxygen, fidgeting uncomfortably as he all but panted.

“Yes,” Jord said instantly “it’s gotten worse,”

“Auguste, look at me,” Damen said quietly “tell me what you took,”

“Coke,” Auguste said yanking at his shirt distractedly “MDMA, but mostly coke,” he managed, voice sounding strangled as he gasped, breathing far too quickly and pulling at his clothes like they were a vice he wanted removed.

Damen’s expression didn’t change, he just nodded

“Has he been sick?” Damen asked, directing Auguste to put his hand out even as his question was aimed at Jord.

Auguste’s hand was shaking, tremoring as badly as his left leg was.

“Yes,” Jord said, folding his arms over his chest “twice,”

Damen nodded, fingers on Auguste’s pulse point, concentrating.

“We’re sorry to come and get you but he was having a panic attack and-“

“Jord, get the car,” Damen interrupted

“What?”

“It’s not a panic attack, it’s an overdose, get the car now,”

Laurent stopped breathing, every atom in his body refusing that word even as he froze, heart pounding in his chest as he sucked in an inhale he didn’t feel. Overdose. No. No he couldn’t, he was fine, he was just panicking, surely-

“How can you-“

“Now Jord,” Damen hissed, turning a wide-eyed expression over his shoulder, his tone brooking no argument.

Whatever Jord saw in his face had him bolting from the room and Laurent couldn’t breathe when Auguste put his hand against his chest.

“It hurts,”

“I know, but you have to stand,”

“Rochert, you go to the Foyer, find Antoine,” Damen said as he tried to pull Auguste up to his feet “tell him I sent you, we need our phones,”

Rochert was already rushing to the door, nodding frantically as the room swelled with Damen’s words.

“I can’t breathe,”

“I know, Auguste, come on, get up,”

“Damen,” Auguste said and his voice was all panic now and Laurent felt it like a blow to the chest as Damen got an arm around Auguste.

Orlant and Damen struggled to get Auguste to his feet and Laurent could only watch, feeling detached from his own body, from the whole world, as fear took a tight hold of his insides. Auguste was gasping, whinging, his speech starting to slur at the edges as Laurent led the way, heart hammering in his chest so hard he was starting to wonder if it wasn’t him about to pass out. He opened doors, he checked to make sure the coast was clear, and he didn’t remember a single step between the room upstairs and the side door Damen directed them to.

Jord had all the car doors open, sitting in the driver’s seat, Auguste’s actual driver nowhere to be seen. Rochert was with him, holding five black ziplocked bags that he was haphazardly shoving at Orlant to sort the second Damen shifted to get Auguste into the car.

“Rochert, stay, cover as much as you can,” Damen was saying as Orlant climbed into the backseat beside him.

Rochert replied but Laurent couldn’t hear him as Orlant threw his phone at him and he caught it without even thinking.

Laurent climbed into the front and as soon as his door slammed Jord was putting his foot down. Laurent couldn’t keep his eyes off the rear-view where Damen was in the middle, holding Auguste to him, the windows rolled all the way down as Auguste continued to hyperventilate and sweat; shiny with it, like the fever of a man on the brink of passing out. He tried not to notice the way Damen’s hands were so sure on Auguste’s body, the way Auguste didn’t even register it as he was stripped of his jacket and his shirt was undone to expose his chest. A chest that looked markedly frail to Laurent all of a sudden.

“I’m gonna die,” Auguste said around a gasp, clutching at his chest even he struggled for a breath that wouldn’t lodge.

“Jord, foot down,” Damen hissed before turning back to Auguste “no, you’re not, I’d never let that happen, look at me, it’s going to be okay, you trust me, right?”

“Yes,” Auguste managed but it sounded shaky at best.

“Orlant call ahead,” Damen said and Laurent shouldn’t have been so surprised that within moments Orlant was on the phone, asking for a Dr Florakis.

Laurent couldn’t hear what he said beyond that, it was like the noise got sucked out, fading as he concentrated on the wild pound of his own pulse, the thump of it in the base of his neck, the squeeze at his chest that made his entire body feel like it was vibrating. He blinked but he wasn’t really seeing anything, was aware of Auguste crying and Damen talking, Orlant’s panicked voice telling them the doctor Damen wanted wasn’t there but they’d have staff waiting.

He didn’t know how long it took, everything was a blur as the suburbs melted into the city proper, breaking every traffic law in the Country until Jord was swerving, brakes screeching as he pulled over haphazardly into the ambulance bay.

It wasn’t the General Hospital. Or the University hospital. Laurent had never been there but he knew it was private. Smaller. Quieter.

It was manic as they stumbled from the car and there was a crash team there to greet them, getting Auguste on a gurney and diving around him. There were so many people, all Laurent could do was trail behind, watch as Auguste struggled to breathe, Damen at his side, expression tight and hard as the doctor directed them in.

It was too bright inside. Like a different world and Laurent had to keep his eyes on Auguste or he was sure he’d melt away, disappear right in front of him.

“You said overdose?” the doctor asked, directing his question at Damen as they rushed down the corridor to a destination unknown to Laurent.

“Cocaine, MDMA, he’s been drinking, symptoms started maybe half an hour ago,”

The Doctor nodded, said something that sounded like a different language to one of the nurses before turning back to Damen.

“Any previous incidents? Overdoses?” he asked as one of the nurses started attaching something to Auguste.

Laurent had the entirely hysterical thought that it was impressive the nurse could do that whilst they were moving so quickly.

“Overdoses,” Damen said “two previous, the last one was about a year ago,”

Laurent barely heard him. But he did hear him. This has happened before. Twice. And Damen knew about it. Auguste had overdosed twice before.

When? How? It didn’t make sense. Except it did make sense in a sick, twisting, awful revelation kind of way.

When they reached a set of double doors a nurse stopped them from following and Laurent froze as he watched Auguste disappear, ventilation over his mouth, tubes in his arms and a team of people all rushing him away.

Because he was dying. He could die.

He didn’t know much about overdoses but he knew it could cause organ failure. Heart attacks. Strokes. Auguste might die and there was nothing Laurent could do but watch him go. Like he had been watching for a long time.

The nurse directed them to a private waiting room, leading them down the corridor.

“Someone will be with you as soon as possible,” she said and in her hands she had a clipboard, a file on top “it says here you’re his emergency contact, but is there someone else you would like us to call?”

Laurent looked up at that but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Damen.

“No, no that’s okay, thank you,” Damen said and his voice-

Laurent had never heard Damen sound like that. Hoarse like he’d been screaming. Strained like he was fighting with himself to stay calm.

Though he’d been here before, hadn’t he? He was -apparently- Auguste’s emergency contact. Two overdoses.

Damen knew what to expect. Laurent didn’t.

Laurent let himself be led to the waiting room, heard the click of the door and the sudden absence of sound like he’d been plunged into a pool. A pool where he was going to drown. Where Auguste was drowning and there was nothing he could do about it. He was helpless. Entirely and completely helpless.

What had he done? What had he let happen?

What had Damen let happen?

He whirled around, eyes flying to Damen who was sitting in a chair, head in his hands and his eyes pressed closed. Orlant was against the far wall and Jord was staring out of the window in the door like he expected the doctor to rush back any minute.

Nobody spoke. No one made a sound. In the absence of it, all he could hear was Auguste’s terrible wheezes, his groans, his screams before that. In flashes he saw the blood on his face and the horror in his eyes; the way he’d clung to Damen’s hand like it was his only lifeline.

“Nothing to say?” Laurent demanded

Three sets of eyes turned on him immediately but Laurent only had eyes for one of them. He always only had eyes for Damen. And look where it had gotten them. Damen’s gaze was dark, wide, his expression blank. No, not blank. Hidden. He opened his mouth, closed it, lips parting again on an indrawn breath like he couldn’t figure out where to start.

“I know you have a propensity for swallowing but now would be a good moment to break the habit of a life time and spit it out,”

Damen blinked at him, words like a slap that made him flinch back, sitting up straighter. Orlant stood straighter too, making a low whistling noise and from the corner of his eye he saw Jord whip around, eyebrows raised; like a deer in headlights.

“Oh shit,” Orlant breathed

“Laurent we can-“

It was Jord who spoke and Laurent span, eyes hard on him “I expected this bullshit from you, you’ve got your nose so far up my brother’s arse you can’t be counted on to be honest, and you,” He spat turning on Orlant who held his hands up instantly

“We’re going to give you and Damen some space, we’ll be right out- erm- we’ll be- literally anywhere else,” Orlant said already striding past Laurent and grabbing Jord by the arm to haul him out.

When the door slammed shut he turned back to Damen. He’d risen now, mouth tweaked at the corners in the making of a frown, shoulders tense and hands clenched.

“Auguste never stopped using did he?” Laurent said voice quiet, entire body bracing for a blow he already knew was coming.

“He did, in fits and starts but never properly, not really,” Damen said, voice hoarse like he’d been the one screaming.

Laurent supposed his didn’t sound any better.

“And how did you find out? You told the doctor he’d had two overdoses,” Laurent said staring just over Damen’s shoulder, not really looking at him. Not wanting to. If he did he might cry. He might cry and that was absolutely the last thing he was going to let Damen see.

Not now. Damen knew. About the drugs. He was Auguste’s fucking emergency contact and he’d given him the fucking cigarette case back. Laurent felt like a fool. A frightened fool. Whose brother might die. And all he had in the world was the man standing across from him who would apparently feel Auguste’s death as keenly as Laurent. No, not as keenly. No one in the world would feel it the way Laurent would if Auguste died. If Auguste died it might hurt Damen, obviously.

But part of Laurent would die too and he wouldn’t give a shit about what happened to the part of him that was still breathing. This was his fault. He could have prevented it. All of it. Damen could have prevented it. It’s not like he hadn’t seen it coming. Damen knew Auguste had had two fucking overdoses before this one. The last one a year ago.

“When was the first?”

Probably right after he killed their uncle. It was the first time he’d spiralled. The first time anyone became aware that Auguste had a problem. He’d turned to drugs then just like his break up with Collette had driven him to them this time. Aleron had sent him to rehab. It must have been then.

“Laurent-“

The cadence of his voice, that awful pitying tone, filled with an emotion Laurent didn’t want to name had his eyes finally meeting Damen’s gaze. He regretted it instantly; for the sting pressing in close at the back of his eyes and the way his could feel his nose flaring, tickling, the clog of it in his throat.

He wouldn’t fucking cry.

“You will answer my questions because I am in no mood to be dragged here and there by you and your clever fucking tongue, you owe me the truth, he is my brother and if I had known- if I’d known he was dying Damen I would have done something,”

“Laurent there isn’t much you can do-“

“I certainly wouldn’t fucking pander and enable him the way you apparently do,” he hissed

But he had hadn’t he? All this time, in his own way, he’d been pandering to Auguste, letting him dictate. Even when he had known Auguste was lying to him about the drugs Laurent had let him do it and told himself it had to wait. Because Auguste had convinced him it was true. Laurent had been complacent. Complicit in his total lack of action. Just like Damen apparently.

Damen reeled back, blinking rapidly even as he shook his head “it’s complicated,”

“You better un-fucking complicate it for me then,”

Damen nodded, swallowing thickly “the first time he overdosed we were sixteen,” he said

Laurent’s ears started ringing, he felt his body sway like he’d taken a blow to the head and he blinked, blinked again, fighting for a breath that wouldn’t come.

Sixteen.

Before Collette. Before the murder.

He was just a kid. And all this time- He’d been using all this time. Auguste had always had a problem.

Laurent sat down, didn’t even remember moving backwards but his calves hit the chair and he sank into it, blinking away and staring at nothing as his mind fought to make it make sense. Sixteen. Auguste had been sixteen when he first overdosed.

Which meant Damen had always known. He’d always known about the drugs. He knew more than even Laurent did. Fucking obviously.

All three of them were adults now and Laurent was still on the outside, wasn’t he? Like when they were kids. Still trailing behind. Still impossibly jealous even as his brother lay dying down the fucking hall. Like the worst shit in the world, he was jealous of his brother.

Maybe he always had been. In more ways than one.

He breathed out, the thought knocking the air of his lungs as he turned it over in his head.

“We were at school,” Damen said drawing Laurent’s attention “he was rushed to hospital because we couldn’t wake him up, your father flew down to Ravenel the next day, took Auguste home for a while and everyone pretended he had-“

“Mono,” Laurent swallowed, remembering.

Laurent would have been about eleven. He’d been in the other building; kept separate from the older children at Ravenel; part of the lower school and not the upper class. Auguste had been gone for maybe a month.

Not ill as it turned out. Just stupid. Sixteen and fucking stupid just as he was about to be twenty-six and even more stupid. Which meant their father knew about it too. And of course, he did. He’d sent Auguste to rehab after the murder. Had acted pretty quickly. Maybe he’d been monitoring. Maybe he’d been attempting to prevent another overdose. And he did. For a few years. Until last year. And now.

But it didn’t make sense. Why would Auguste do that to himself back then? To look cool? For fun? Where did he even get it from at fucking Ravenel? At school?

“Why would he even-“

Laurent snapped his mouth shut instantly as it dawned on him with horrifying clarity. He knew. He already knew why. For fun, maybe, to look cool, possibly, but he knew his brother and he knew why he did drugs and it was to lose himself. To forget. Laurent knew it with an intimate certainty because there had been times when Laurent wanted to bleach the inside of his own head just to forget.

But Laurent could never stomach the thought of losing control of himself with something reckless. It was different with alcohol; marginally and then because he mostly knew his limits. But drugs? He’d never be certain what was going to happen and that he couldn’t stand.

Auguste had stood it. Wanted it. Needed it.

Because of what their uncle tried to do to him. Sixteen. It would have been, what? Eighteen months? Two years after? Fuck. All this time.

Laurent had always thought it was about their uncle. But he had thought it was to block out the murder. He hadn’t even fucking considered that it was much longer, much deeper, and much more painful than that.

“Where did he get them from?” Laurent asked instead, voice cracking as his stomach churned; acid that felt as though it would and could dissolve him from the inside.

One look at Damen’s expression, torn open for just a blink, a fraction of a moment, and Laurent knew that answer too.

“You,” he surmised as Damen pressed his eyes closed “this is your fault, you did this, you gave them to him, this is your fault,” he accused

Laurent was shaking with it. With the realisation staring him in the fucking face. All this time. All those years. Every single hangover they ever had at Arles, every time they’d been hyperactive and stupid. It wasn’t just fun, it wasn’t them being entertaining teenage idiots, it was drugs. It had been the drugs the whole time.

“I didn’t know what I was doing either,” Damen said “we were stupid kids who just wanted to- we just wanted a break,”

Sixteen. Damen’s sudden overnight media stardom, all those stories, the women, and all the expectations that came with it. The pressure from-

“Kastor gave them to you,” he guessed

Damen sank back into his chair “it wasn’t just him; I was around a lot of older people a lot of the time and they all did it, I thought it was fun,”

Fun. Damen thought it was fun.

“This fun enough for you?”

“Yes clearly it went exactly as planned,” Damen snapped “what the fuck do you think? None of this was ever meant to happen,” he said “I quit, Auguste didn’t, how was I supposed to know it would work out like that?”

Because Auguste had an addictive personality. He hyper-focused. He bit his nails. He smoked. He drank when he was sad. He liked the addictive rush of chaos and to keep his bedroom tidy.

“So you keep babying him and helping him hide it out of what? Guilt?”

“Maybe, sometimes,” Damen said running a tired hand through his hair “you won’t understand,”

“No, no that’s the first thing you’ve said we can both agree on,”

“Auguste has- he’s a very intense person,” Damen said carefully “he’s one extreme or the other, he feels very deeply and when he hurts,” Damen made a gesture with his hands encompassing everything and yeah. Laurent fucking knew that.

When Auguste was happy the whole world was sunshine and roses. When he was not then it was the end of that world.

Laurent just nodded “Intense,” he parroted thinking addictive personality in his mind “did you figure that out when you were fucking him?” he asked

He felt like his stomach had dropped through the floor just saying it out loud. He was seeing Damen but not really seeing him as his mouth flooded with bile when Damen just looked up at him, expression unreadable.

“When what?”

“Are you sleeping with my brother?”

“What? No!” he said rising back to his feet “I’m not-“ Damen snapped his mouth shut looking at Laurent like he was scanning, measuring, eyes flickering before going wide “Jesus fucking Christ, you think I’m what? Sleeping with him? Behind your back? You think I’d do that? After what Kastor put me through you really think I could do that?”

Right, Damen’s weak spot. His biggest insecurity. His vulnerable point. One he had had no problem turning around on Laurent.

Laurent just laughed, stood, groped around in his pocket for Auguste’s cigarette case and threw it at him. Damen caught it, turned it over in his hands.

“I don’t-“

“I found that yesterday, under your bed,” he said “then you looked me in the eye and told me you hadn’t seen Auguste, you lied to me, to my face,” he said, proud of how low and terrible his voice sounded “you didn’t go and pick Nik up either, I asked, so it was Auguste, he hit his head that night, asked for you to get him, am I right? Did he sleep in your bed Thursday? Did you have to kick him out because I was due over?”

Damen’s face crumbled, swallowing thickly “yeah it was Auguste,” he said and Laurent felt sick “I went to get him, same on Thursday, I took the case off him because he’d had enough, I took him home not to mine, it must have fallen out of my pocket, I gave it him back earlier,”

Laurent just stared at him, gauging the sincerity in Damen’s expression. Damen must have read his doubt.

“I am not sleeping with Auguste,” Damen repeated

He supposed he should feel relieved. But he didn’t. He didn’t feel anything past the sudden cold drench of realisation. The reality of it opening up before him like some great crack in the middle of his world that he didn’t know how to avoid. This wasn’t a dream and this was all happening. Even if Damen wasn’t cheating on him.

But there was a voice in his head. A little adamant voice that didn’t believe him. Didn’t want to believe him. He had been burned before. So many times. By so many different fires.

“You mean you’re not sleeping with him anymore,”

There was an awful silence. Awful for all that it meant Damen wasn’t saying. No denial. No laughter. No incredulous outrage. Just silence. Silence and Damen’s palpable frustration.

“Did he tell you that? Because we never fucked, we fooled around a bit as teenagers, but we never actually fucked, what did he say?” he said, words spoken like an accusation

“You fooled around,” he parroted eyebrows drawn and he could imagine what that meant “he definitely left that part out,”

Auguste had never mentioned anything of the sort. But then, was it a surprise? Damen and Auguste at boarding school as teenagers? Sharing a room at Ravenel and sleeping in the same bed at Arles despite the hundred empty rooms? Fucking hell. Laurent grimaced and turned his face away.

Damen cursed, turning as he scraped a hand at the back of his neck, vigorous, animated, when he turned back around his expression was one Laurent couldn’t place.

“We didn’t have sex,”

“Does fooling around not count as sex now?”

“It was hands mostly, we were stupid kids- we weren’t- it wasn’t anything real we were fifteen for fucks sake,”

“It would have been nice to know that,”

“I thought you knew,” he said almost a plea “why the fuck- what the fuck did he say to you? How didn’t-“ Damen said voice strained “I thought you knew, I thought- I was so sure he’d have told you, I would never have purposefully- Jesus fucking Christ,” he hissed “what the fuck else did he leave out?”

Laurent was wondering the exact same thing.

“He-“ Laurent frowned “he didn’t tell me anything,” he said swallowing “he just never wanted to talk about you, he didn’t say- one day you were his best friend and the next it was like you didn’t exist, he never even told me what you fought over,“

“And you didn’t ask?” Damen asked, stressed, disbelieving

No he was too busy getting molested and then he hadn’t cared enough to ask until too many years had gone by.

“Clearly,” Laurent said “or do I look like the kind of person who’d want my brothers’ sloppy seconds?”

Damen sucked in an audible inhale, mouth opening and closing as he shook his head “We never f-“

“Tell me why you fought, tell me what happened,” he said “was it a break up? Was the fooling around not enough for Auguste? Or am I supposed to believe Auguste hasn’t been in love with you this whole time?”

Because that would make sense. It would make so much painful fucking sense.

Damen laughed but it wasn’t an amused sound “god, it would have been easier if it was like that, instead we get-“ he waved a hand out, useless for all it didn’t say “when we were at school do you know how much time we spent together?”

In a boarding school? Sharing a room? Damen and Auguste were attached at the hip twenty-four-seven. Had been since they were eight years old and starting at Ravenel. Laurent already fucking knew that. So he didn’t say anything, just arced an eyebrow.

Damen sighed “there was probably about a month out of the year when we weren’t together, even in the summer, he was in Ios or I was in Arles, we were together non-stop for ten years,”

Yeah all the way up until they were eighteen and arguing at Arles. He wasn’t sure what their relationship was now, or had been since, but it hadn’t been the same. Laurent knew that much.

“I fucking know that,” Laurent hissed because he was painfully fucking familiar with it.

He’d been jealous of them the moment he was twelve and understood what he was starting to feel. And thirteen, when he knew beyond a doubt how he felt about Damen.

He had been jealous then and he was jealous now. Nothing changed but the fucking date.

“No, you don’t know what it really meant, what it was like, why it-“ Damen shrugged, grasping for a word “imploded,” he stressed “Laurent do you have any idea how fucking unhealthy it was? How fucked up we were? Do you know there were times I couldn’t tell the difference between what he felt and what I wanted? There were days where Auguste couldn’t make a decision unless I was there, when we relied on each other for everything and we were anxious when we were apart,” he said 

“You loved him that much?” he asked blinking

Damen shook his head “We were best friends, we weren’t in love, don’t make it romantic, it was a mess, we were a mess, we were doing drugs, drinking at school, sleeping in the same bed-“

“Having sex,”

“No,” Damen said “sometimes we’d use our hands yes, sometimes we’d fuck the same person at the same time, or different people but in the same room but not- that,“ he scrubbed a hand down his face and sat.

“Right,” Laurent swallowed, remembering everything Damen had said about the threesomes he’d had “best friends,” he said beginning to realise what that meant.

It was normal he supposed. Right? To fool around at fifteen. Laurent wouldn’t know. His brand of fooling around had had lasting repercussions and definitely hadn’t been just hands. And he hadn’t had a best friend to experiment with. No, which was why he’d rolled over when his uncle-

“No, I need you to understand Laurent, we had no boundaries, we relied on each other too much, we were both such messes that we didn’t even-” Damen shook his head “it got all twisted, until we could barely function when we were apart like we were-“

“Co-dependent,”

Co-dependent. With a start he realised. He’d heard it from Auguste. Except Laurent had thought they were talking about Collette but they hadn’t been; they were never talking about Collette. It was Damen. The regret, the accusation, the jealousy and co-dependency; all of it had been about Damen. Auguste had talked to paschal about Damen and Paschal had told him the exact psychological term for what they had been back then.

And Auguste had tried to tell Laurent. Had looked at Laurent like he was crazy when he said Collette the first time. He’d jumped in before Auguste could say Damen but he’d tried to voice it anyway. Auguste had tried to tell him, Laurent just hadn’t listened, hadn’t asked the right questions. He’d been talking about a co-dependent friendship. Not a romantic relationship. Not Collette.

“Yes,” Damen said “we were never in love,” Damen stressed “I don’t even think Auguste is attracted to men, I don’t think I was attracted to Auguste, it was never about that,” Damen’s whole face crumbled “Laurent I didn’t know who I was away from him and when we argued, at Arles, we were always going to explode like that, we just- we had to stop being friends because we needed to find ourselves and we couldn’t do that as long as we were around each other, we were hurting each other… I’m not explaining this well,”

“No, you’re not,”

Damen groaned, pressing his eyes closed for a moment, gathering himself. When he opened his eyes again he met Laurent’s gaze and it was hard not to notice his eyes swimming, or the little crease between them, the exact downward tilt of his mouth or the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“It’s hard to hate someone as much as you love them, it’s hard to see what’s happening when there are no clear lines and no boundaries,” Damen said quietly “before that fight at Arles we were at each other’s throats constantly, still are sometimes,” he shrugged “we took everything out on each other, that’s what happens when two messed up kids isolate themselves like that,”

“Enabling each other’s bad habits,” Laurent said remembering what Auguste had told him.

Damen nodded.

“And you still are,” Laurent said, gesturing around.

Because what else could he call it? If Damen knew and hadn’t fucking done anything to help him then that was enabling him. He hadn’t prevented it. He could have. Should have.

“Please don’t think I haven’t tried, it’s just so hard to do anything, too much one way and he might lose it, too much the other and he’ll spiral even more I can’t-” Damen sighed put his head in his hands, pressing the heels of his palms hard into his sockets “he never listens Laurent,” he said turning his eyes up “sometimes all I can do is stop him from hurting himself and count it as a victory, I can’t pull him off the ledge but I can try to stop him from falling,”

Auguste didn’t want help. Laurent knew that. But did it matter? Damen should have done more. He should have fucking told him so Laurent could do something.

“Yeah, yeah it looks like you’ve stopped him, three overdoses now? Yeah, great job,”

Damen didn’t reply but he could see words building on his tongue. Words Damen denied him and locked down instead.

“I’m so sorry Laurent,”

Yeah. Fact lot of good sorry did him. It didn’t do Auguste any good either, did it?

“Why did you punch him? When you had your stupid best friend break up,” he sneered “what did he accuse you of?”

Because Auguste had said he’d accused Collette of something disgusting. If the rest of that conversation had been about Damen then he was willing to bet that was too.

“Don’t,” Damen said shaking his head “it’s not worth repeating,”

“More evasiveness, how lovely,”

“You’ll take it the wrong way and this is already-“

“It was about me,”

He had almost thought as much. Circling it in his head like a vulture over carrion.

“Laurent,”

He crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight and blinking at him expectantly. He didn’t know what it was lodged in his throat or why his body felt like fleeing but Damen’s eyes were practically begging.

Laurent didn’t move an inch and in the silence Damen’s swallow was audible.

“Out of context it’s-“

“What did he say?” He demanded

Damen didn’t respond for a long moment but Laurent didn’t give in. He wanted to know. He needed to know.

“He said I was obsessed with him, so obsessed that he wouldn’t be surprised if I-“ Damen snapped his mouth shut but his eyes said everything Laurent needed to know. Everything he didn’t want to hear.

Laurent already knew.

“Fucked me, he said you were so obsessed with him you would probably try to fuck me,” Laurent finished for him “like some kind of cheap replacement for what you really wanted,”

“Out of context-“

“Does it sound better in context?”

Damen looked torn open, entire expression bleeding the way Laurent felt like his heart was.

Laurent couldn’t look at him, too focused on the stabbing pain in his chest. It wasn’t a dull knife anymore. It felt worse than that. Like Damen had just confirmed a fear Laurent had never given voice to but one that had always plagued him.

Second son. Second choice. Second best.

“He was sleeping around, a lot, the drugs- it was risky and I was begging him to stop, and he was just lashing out with words because he didn’t want to hear it, he can be vicious when he’s on them- there’s no- it’s not like that, it was never like that Laurent, Jesus especially back then, you were just a fucking kid and that he could even-“ Damen shook his head disgust flashing across his face “the fact his mind even went there- please don’t think that has anything to do with us-”

“How the fuck can it not?”

Because of fucking course it did. It had everything to do with them, everything to do with Auguste. It had everything to do with that accusation. Because it had been that way from the start. He’d text Damen with Auguste’s name in the very first message and like a red flag to a raging bull Damen had responded. He’d kept on responding. And kept on babysitting Auguste the whole time. In secret. Without telling him.

Damen had had plenty of opportunities to tell him the truth but he never had. He could have just explained that sometimes he helped Auguste, that his drug habit was far worse than Laurent knew. After the benefit ball. He could have mentioned it then or in the month since then. But he fucking hadn’t.

“Laurent-“

“So what? I already know you fucked me that first time to piss him off, I gave you that fucking incentive after all, so what? Did you close your eyes and think of him?” he hissed tears stinging the back of his eyes “did you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself calling his name? Do we sound the same Damen? When we come for you do we make the same noises? Do we-“

“No, stop, please Laurent it’s not like that, it was never about him-“

“It’s always about Auguste,” Laurent yelled, the spike unleashed from his chest and he was practically vibrating with it “always, with you, with my dad, with the whole fucking world, I shouldn’t be surprised to find out my boyfriend is in love with him, why the fuck would you want-“

“I have never been in love with Auguste,” he said and Laurent could only scoff, turn his face away and bite down on his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. Giving him away.

Damen made a sound of distress, came toward him. Laurent stepped back instantly

“You need to fucking leave; I don’t want you here-“

“I’m not in love with Auguste, we were never in love, I’m in love with you it’s not-“

No. He didn’t. He wasn’t. Bastian used to do that too. Say those words when he needed a get out of jail free card. So did his uncle. To calm him down. To keep him off the edge. They always said it when they had no other option; like a fix-all. Not this time.

“So why haven’t you said it before now?” Laurent asked hating the tear that broke free and the crack in his voice “if you say it during sex or during an argument it’s not real, don’t pretend with me, don’t-“

He turned away, swiping angrily at the errant tear and hissed, a noise meant for himself. Damen behind him shifted, saying his name like it was a wound on his tongue.

“Don’t fucking touch me, you need to leave, I don’t want you anywhere near either of us, get the fuck out and-“

“I can’t do that Laurent, please,”

“Damianos get the-“

“I can’t leave, I would, I’d give you space but if they have more questions you won’t have the answers, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry Laurent but- not until I know he’s-“ he swallowed “I shouldn’t have said what I said, but it doesn’t mean I don’t mean it because I do, it’s not about-“

“He’s here because of you, you know that, right?” he said like wielding a knife “if he dies his blood is on your hands and I will never forgive you,”

Laurent turned on his heel and walked away. He found his way outside, into the early morning darkness that felt at once quiet and alive with sound. He collapsed down onto a wall close to the smoking shelter, hands shaking as he stared at nothing in particular.

He felt adrift. Like the world was going to spin too fast and Laurent was going to fall right off it. There was an ache in his chest and a sting in his nose and he wanted to go home. Not back to the apartment. Not to Arles either.

Damen.

All he could think about was the road to hell and how good intentions made the pretty stepping stones all the way down. That was Damen all over, wasn’t it?

It’s not like he had done something inherently terrible. He hadn’t cheated on him, which was a fucking first. And he didn’t hate Auguste. Auguste didn’t hate Damen; he should be pleased. A few days ago, that was all he wanted; a way to keep Damen and have Auguste not hate him for it.

Laurent could never call him a bad person with a straight face, frustrating as that was. But he had lied. He had lied and it could cost Laurent everything. He’d kept his secrets, Auguste’s secrets, it didn’t matter if he’d done it to protect Auguste because look where the fuck it had gotten them. He’d fooled around with Auguste. He might even have only slept with Laurent to start with because of Auguste and where did any of that leave them?

Laurent didn’t even know when the fooling around had stopped. Damen had said fifteen. Just hands mostly. But Laurent remembered them at eighteen, before they argued. He remembered going into Auguste’s room and seeing them both, in just their underwear, all tangled up, arms around each other- no boundaries. That’s what Damen had said. They’d had no space and no boundaries. And that was true. They never had. They’d been like one person. Even Aleron had noticed it, commented on how annoying it was. A tag team he’d used to say. Sometimes Aleron had said he could never tell if Damen sounded like Auguste or if Auguste sounded like Damen.

Laurent supposed there hadn’t been a difference back then.

He hadn’t cheated on him. But it still felt like a betrayal.

He didn’t think it was a lot to want; to be someone’s first choice. A priority. It didn’t even have to be their first priority. But it might be nice. Damen had made him feel like that. Like he could ask for anything and Damen would do whatever it took to make it happen. Would be there if he needed him. Even if he didn’t ask.

Laurent needed him now. His brother could die. Auguste could disappear right in front of him and he needed Damen to tell him it was going to be okay. Except no one could tell him that. Because it wasn’t. Nothing was okay.

He chain-smoked four cigarettes. Until his throat hurt and he felt sick with it. He watched the people coming and going, the flashing lights of ambulances and the nurses on break with tired eyes smoking cigarettes and drinking terrible coffee.

The sky was getting light and Laurent was sure he’d been gone for over an hour.

When he got back to the waiting room Orlant and Jord were back, sitting silently beside each other clutching those same terrible coffees the nurse had. Damen looked up instantly.

“Laurent,”

“Don’t talk to me,” he said as he went to sit as far away from Damen as he possibly could “it’s bad enough I have to look at you, don’t make me listen to your voice as well,”

Damen, because he never knew when to quit, didn’t listen.

“Auguste will be okay you know,” he said quietly

Laurent sucked in a breath, clenching his hands together in his lap and nodding at the sterile friendly peach wall opposite him.

“No thanks to you,” he said turning his eyes on Damen “and I said don’t fucking talk to me,”

Damen’s mouth opened, expression one Laurent couldn’t bear to look at, cracked open and raw and Laurent turned a pointed look on Orlant and Jord who were very busy pretending to be engrossed in their phones. Not here.

He heard Damen’s breathing hitch and he watched without turning his head as Damen got up and walked out. Laurent took a breath, slumping in his seat as he let his head hit the wall behind him.

“It’s not his fault,” Jord said quietly and Laurent wanted to fucking scream.

“I blame all of you, actually,” Laurent said meeting Jord’s gaze “so I’d shut the fuck up if I were you,”

Jord’s face crumbled and he turned his head down, swallowing thickly as he nodded at nothing and no one.

It was a long wait. A long silent wait. Even when Damen came back. When the sun started streaming in through the open blinds and he did nothing but think. Think and hate himself a little more every time he felt the urge to go over to Damen, climb into his lap and press his face into his neck and beg him to tell him again that Auguste was going to be okay.

The wait was tedious. With nothing to do and no one to talk to. Not him anyway. Damen didn’t speak either. Jord and Orlant spoke in whispers, quietly and beneath their breath like they were not immune to the tension in the room nor the frosty atmosphere.

When a doctor came in Laurent jumped up and hated the way the doctor’s eyes flashed from him to Damen, as though waiting for him.

“Auguste is okay, he’s going to be fine,” he said

Laurent swayed. Dizzy with the relief. It was Damen who caught him, one hand at the small of his back that Laurent was too tired to shove away from.

“He didn’t arrest, but we did need to give him sedatives to help regulate his heartbeat, and to calm him down, we used saline ice packs for his temperature,” the doctor said “he’s on an IV for the dehydration but he’s not on ventilation support, he’s breathing by himself,”

Breathing by himself. It was a relief to hear as much as it hurt. Because it implied there had been moments over the past few hours where Auguste hadn’t been able to breathe by himself.

“We’re going to keep him in for a day or two for observation but his vitals are strong, body temperature has returned to normal, he’s going to be fine,” he said “we’ll provide you with information for follow up care and our support recommendations regarding the drugs,” he said, the last he directed at Damen.

“Can I see him?” Laurent asked and his voice was an emotional croak.

Damen’s hand became a harder pressure at the small of his back and Laurent still didn’t shove him off. He leant into it unconsciously, letting it steady him.

“He’s asleep right now,” The doctor said “but you can sit with him, be there when he wakes up,”

He nodded and made to follow the doctor down the hall but he stopped, turned back to the others.

“Not a single one of you is to still be here when he wakes up, understood?”

It was Jord who tried to protest but Orlant put a hand on his shoulder, drew him back.

“We’ll talk to him when he’s home,” Orlant said “tell him get well soon,” he added as he gently coaxed Jord away.

When it was just Damen standing beside him Laurent drew in a breath, turned his eyes up, looking just over Damen’s shoulder.

“Go away,” he said but his voice was weak. Tired.

He didn’t even mean it. He didn’t want him to go. He wanted him to stay, he wanted to go to Auguste’s room and curl up in Damen’s lap to wait for him to wake up. But he couldn’t.

“Laurent please,” Damen breathed “I never meant to hurt you, and I’m so sorry that I kept this from you, I know I should have said but I was just so scared for Auguste, I made a bad call but I didn’t do it to hurt you,” he said voice as tired as Laurent felt “but I meant what I said, how I feel about you, it has nothing to do with Auguste and despite whatever he’s said I am not obsessed with him, I’m not in love with him, I only-“

“Please stop,” Laurent said, heart beating hard again in his chest, too tired to fight the perpetual sway into Damen that usually gripped him the second he was in his presence.

He couldn’t think straight. He didn’t want to do something stupid.

“I won’t tell you again, I’m sure Auguste will call you when I get him home,”

Damen blinked, looking away from him, eyes glassy and mouth pressed together hard.

“Don’t, please, he’s my friend and I’m concerned yes, but right now I care more about you-“

“That’s a first,” he said before he could stop himself, hated that he enjoyed the way Damen’s expression trembled, eyes getting glassier.

“Please,”

“Does Auguste know? That you’ve been fucking me this whole time?” he said hoping the word hit him like a slap.

It did, Damen didn’t flinch but his features twitched, like he wanted to correct him but didn’t.

“No,” Damen said “I was worried telling him would-“ Damen made a self-deprecating noise, gestured around them and Laurent nodded.

“Damen,” Laurent said and his voice was far more of a plea than he wanted it to be “please just go,”

Damen pressed his lips together but nodded, breathing out heavily.

“I’ll take care of the bill,” he said gesturing off down the hall “please call me, even if it’s just to tell me you hate me,”

Laurent just walked away. Because if he didn’t he might cry. Or beg him not to go.

It wasn’t until Laurent was shutting the door behind him in Auguste’s private room that he let the tears get him. It was the machines and the pallor of his face; how incredibly still he was. He knew he was sleeping but for the slow rise and fall of his chest and the continuous beep of the monitor he could have been dead.

He nearly had been dead.

And then where would Laurent have been? Alone. So entirely and completely alone he couldn’t even bear to think about it.

He slipped into the chair beside Auguste’s bed and he knew he needed to call Aleron. But it could wait. It’s not like Aleron had ever let Laurent know what was happening.

Everything felt- big. Big in a way it hadn’t felt for years. Overwhelming. And still all he wanted was for Damen to come through the door and just hold him. Hold him together.

But Laurent was very good at holding himself together. He had done it before. He could do it again. He’d survived worse. He just hadn’t wanted Damen to be something he had to survive. Not when he’d been so happy living. With him.

When he got Auguste home he was going to throttle him until he told Laurent everything. Sparing none of it. Laurent had a thousand questions and he wasn’t taking no for an answer no matter how shitty Auguste felt or how much he didn’t want to talk.

And then he’d tell him about Damen and let Auguste deal with that information however he saw fit.

Chapter Text

Laurent didn’t remember falling asleep but he woke to a darkened sky beyond the city view window and the mumble of the TV in the front room. It meant Auguste was up and about.

He peeled himself out of the bed, tugging his hoody on over the joggers he’d been wearing for too long. The hospital had kept Auguste in for two days and Laurent had only been home once to grab some things and jump in the shower. He’d been at his side as often as possible since. With his phone adamantly switched off since Saturday when he’d kicked Jord, Orlant, and Damen out of the hospital.

It was now Wednesday.

He only turned his phone on to text Ancel periodic updates and to tell Jord he was sorry for being rude to him. He hadn’t told Aleron anything yet. But he very much intended to. If he had been the one to persuade Auguste to get clean before then he could act like a real father for a change and do it again. Even if he had to threaten him there.

There had been nothing but time for him over the past few days. Time to think. Time to stew and worry and remember.

It was like seeing Auguste in a new light, or possibly for the first time. Every memory he had of him as a teenager at Arles looked suddenly different to him. His moodiness when Damen was not there, the way Damen and Auguste orbited each other and grew taut with strain over time.

He remembered parties in the years gone by where Auguste had been bright eyed and talkative and ever charming. He thought of interviews where Auguste looked fidgety or moments when he disappeared to the toilet and came back so much happier.

Everything was coloured all wrong in his memory before. But he saw it now.

And then there was Damen.

Laurent had countless messages and voicemails on his phone. He hadn’t acknowledged a single one of them. He thought part of it was fear, still. A much more solid part of it was the betrayal that had sparked a long dead fission of jealousy in him whenever he looked at his brother.

Misplaced and misguided it may be but Laurent had never pretended to be particularly rational. Especially when he was emotional. And he was most definitely emotional. But he didn’t think he could be blamed for it, the past week had been, for lack of a better phrase, a total fucking shitshow.

It was confusing.

Auguste’s familiar apartment felt eerily quiet and cold. Nothing but the low hum of the television and no lights save for the fluorescent glow of the screen that lit up the end of the corridor. Even the outside world felt too quiet, like all of Marlas was holding its breath.

He poked his head around the corner and flipped the light on. Auguste was curled up on the sofa with his hood up, hugging a pillow to his chest, eyes fixed on the TV. His eyes still had deep smudges of pink and purple beneath them, proof he hadn’t slept much since he’d come home from the hospital. They were red, not like he’d been crying but like he’d been rubbing them. He was chewing on the string of his hoody and Laurent was absolutely positive that if asked he wouldn’t be able to tell Laurent what he’d been watching.

Auguste had been quiet since he’d gotten him home late the night before. Laurent had barely slept since Friday night, busy keeping vigil at Auguste’s bedside despite his protests. And busy ignoring the urge to call Damen. Between the two of them there had been very little in the way of conversation. It couldn’t last. For once, Laurent was going to force the conversation. One that had probably been pending for a long time.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Laurent had only meant to power nap whilst Auguste was in the shower but that was seven hours ago apparently.

Auguste turned his head, flashing him a tired smile that didn’t last. He went straight back to chewing distractedly. On his thumbnail now. Laurent slid onto the sofa at the opposite end, pulling his knees up and watching as Auguste reached for the cigarettes and lit one. The ashtray on the sofa spot between them was already overflowing. He wasn’t rain man, but there was more than a pack there he was sure. He snatched the remote, turning the television off, but Auguste continued to stare at it. Or through it maybe.

“You needed to sleep,” Auguste said, voice hoarse, a croak that made Laurent want to take the cigarettes off him even as he lit one for himself “I was close to just knocking you out myself,” he said, the grin he flashed not meeting his eyes.

“You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, shaky, tired, feel like I was hit by a truck but I’m fine,” he said “and you?”

“Good,” Laurent said “I’m good,”

Silence fell between them, stuffy and loud with words unsaid and Laurent focused on his cigarette, on watching the furl of smoke up into the air when he exhaled, on counting the seconds as Auguste stared determinedly away from him, leg bouncing restlessly all the while.

“I have a question for you and I need you to answer me honestly,” Auguste said, voice a burst of noise in the quiet and Laurent snapped his head around to him incredulously.

“Is this a joke? You are the one who needs to be honest with me, I’m the one with questions, I watched you nearly die and-“

“Laurent,” Auguste said voice steady and serious and Laurent blinked, snapped his mouth shut as Auguste nodded.

Laurent watched, concern growing as Auguste stabbed his cigarette end into the overflowing ashtray, expression determined as he finally met Laurent’s gaze again. He couldn’t read his expression, realised there were many times in their lives when he had been entirely unable to read Auguste; kept on the outside by a wall he hadn’t even known to look for.

“Are you sleeping with Damen?”

The bottom fell out of his stomach and he sat up straighter, confusion swamping him, panic setting in at the edges as he regarded Auguste’s cool stare and calm pose. How did he even-

“Damen was here,”

Auguste nodded “he left about an hour ago,”

And of fucking course he’d come the second he knew Auguste was home. Did he have a key the way he did at Laurent’s? Did he greet the doorman downstairs at the front desk the same way he did in Laurent’s building? Did he just fucking delight in the idea of giving Laurent more reasons to be mad at him?

Damen had told Auguste. Auguste knew. He knew and he was staring back at Laurent with that unreadable expression on his face that made Laurent feel like he was the one about to be chastised. Interrogated. As if Damen hadn’t already fucking told him everything. That was how it worked between them, right?

“Spoon feed you more drugs did he?” Laurent said, voice more strained than he was comfortable with.

Auguste’s sigh was loud, accompanied by the slow blink of his eyes, like he was the one who needed to compose himself.

“Laurent I’m an addict,”

Laurent had never heard him say it before, wasn’t sure if he’d ever even admitted it. It was said with all the solemn gravitas that it deserved. The cold hard truth. Laurent was so blindsided by the admission that he almost forgot what he’d said to warrant it.

“With or without Damen, whether he was here or not, or taking things off me, cutting my contacts, I’d find a way to get what I want, what he does or doesn’t do, what Jord does or doesn’t do, won’t change that,”

Because Auguste was an addict. And addicts always found a way.

It was an inflammatory word. It conjured images of dirty people doing dirty things. Of desperate lives and crimes and a wretched kind of distant disgust. But he supposed that was the media view. The Hollywood view. The one that sold books and movies. The average addict looked a lot more like Auguste than anyone really wanted to believe. Maybe minus the title and the wealth. In some cases.

Laurent breathed out, nodded. An obvious truth for an obvious truth, he supposed.

“Yes, I’ve been fucking Damen,” he said, smarting at the idea that Damen could be honest with Auguste but not him “I’m sure he wanted to- what do we call it in the industry? Control the narrative?”

That’s why he’d told Auguste wasn’t it? To stop Laurent from telling him first. So he could plant whatever truth he wanted to spin him.

Auguste regarded him with calculation in his gaze, head tilted, bottom lip sucked into his mouth as his teeth grazed the edge of flesh that already looked raw. Like he had done nothing but chew on it for hours.

“He said he’s in love with you,” Auguste said and there was nothing in his voice. No hint at how he felt about that one way or the other. His politic face.

The words were as sweet as they were sour, as soft as they were sharp and Laurent couldn’t afford to let them settle in his chest. He couldn’t believe them. No more now than he had at the hospital when Damen had first said them.

Laurent sniffed, affecting indifference “well, why wouldn’t he be? I’m a version of you that he can control, that’s exactly what he wants, no?”

Auguste’s brows twitched, something flashing in his gaze, hardening.

“And does he?” he asked and Laurent only cocked his head in response “control you?” Auguste clarified

Laurent arced a brow, sitting up straighter as he stared at Auguste coolly, “well he’s very dominant in bed, though you know that already,”

There was an awful silence and Auguste stared back at him with a muscle working in his jaw. His entire expression flickered and Laurent regarded him as calmly as he could when his heart was pounding at the admission. He didn’t know whether he wanted to smirk or grimace for letting Auguste know it.

“And do you want him to be?” Auguste asked voice unsteady, like he was trying very hard not to let what he really felt shine through “or did he not give you the choice? Did he make you feel like you had to? Did you want it or-“

“What are you asking me?” he frowned, cutting Auguste off before he could ask him something that would make them both cringe.

Auguste levelled him with a look “Laurent if you think he’s controlling you then I want to know how fucking far he went and how badly he’s hurt you before I fucking kill him,” he said, voice a cold rumble that made Laurent sit up straighter.

Part of him wanted to. Wanted to tell him he never wanted it. That he did it because Damen convinced him. But he didn’t, he never had. Laurent liked it, loved it even. Damen was many things but he’d never -not once- made Laurent feel like he had to do anything. He was -if anything- obsessed with giving Laurent whatever he wanted. It was the best sex he’d ever had and Laurent knew the difference. He knew how different it had been for him before and the simple truth was he had never been as comfortable with anyone as he was with Damen and that was because he trusted him. Or had.

Laurent deflated but Auguste misread it, cursed and shot from the chair, striding to the other side of the room where his shoes had been discarded. Shit.

“No,” Laurent said to his back, jumping to his feet and stumbling his way around Auguste’s stupidly shaped coffee table “he’s not, he doesn’t- I wanted it,”

The words burst from him and Auguste turned, surveying him intently.

“Laurent-“

Laurent sighed, gaze shifting from Auguste to the window as he felt his cheeks heat up at what was about to follow. But he still made himself meet Auguste’s gaze, made sure his voice was steady.

“I wish I could tell you otherwise, believe me the last thing I want is to fucking defend him, but he’s never made me do anything, he’s never- he didn’t hurt me, and I always wanted it,” he made himself say “unfortunately, I know what it feels like and sounds like when I’m being manipulated in bed, so I know the difference,” he shrugged, but the gesture felt stiff, awkward, as Auguste regarded him.

Damen was always so respectful. Considerate and giving and even when they were having the kind of sex that got a little rougher or a little more intense Damen did nothing but praise him and make him feel safe: cared for. Laurent had known he had choices before, during, and after. Damen always made sure of it.

Auguste pressed his eyes closed and collapsed back down onto the sofa with his head in his hands.

“Yeah,” Auguste said breathing out “that sounds more like it,”

Laurent flinched.

“Yeah,” Laurent parroted “you would know, I hear,”

The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Damen practically sat in the room with them like a ghost as Laurent sat back down. He sat in the chair this time, away from Auguste so he could face him properly and not stare at his profile. The way he felt he’d been staring at Auguste in profile for years.

When Auguste looked up his expression was still blank and his hand went unerringly to the cigarette box on the seat beside him. Laurent could only watch as Auguste lit another cigarette and sat back in his seat, fingers of his other hand making a familiar drumming pattern on the arm of the sofa, a constant tap-tap-tap that made Laurent want to scream.

“Damen said you didn’t believe him,” Auguste said finally, canting his head “how plain do you want it? What’ll satisfy you here Loz? Shall I tell you I never had his cock up my arse? That yes, I know he’s a really good kisser, and yes, I know how to wank him off and-“

“Stop, I get it, stop,” Laurent grimaced, breathing out as he scrunched his nose, desperately swatting at the images it conjured in his mind of Damen’s body; the heat that wanted to unfurl in his belly when he lingered too long on the thought of him.

“We didn’t have sex, he wasn’t in love with me, we were never boyfriends, I already told you what we were,”

“Co-dependent,” Laurent mumbled

He had googled it, spent a lot of time trying to understand it whilst he’d waited for Auguste to wake up. Intense, complicated, tangled up in a way Laurent wasn’t sure he could fully comprehend. Like neither of them could function without the other one there and decidedly not in a romantic poetic way. In a way that was bleeding both of them dry, blurring the lines between them to nothing until their whole identity was one big merged mess and neither knew how to get out.

Auguste nodded, wry smile on his mouth “how much time did you spend reading about it?”

Laurent sniffed, turned his face away “a few hours,” he conceded

The snort Auguste gave him in response prompted an exchange of glances; familiar and knowing. But the small almost-smiles were quickly wiped away.

“It was Nikandros if you must know,” Auguste said, slumping further in his seat and taking a long drag of his cigarette. Laurent could only cock his head in question “I was jealous, felt like he was replacing me, I didn’t want to share Damen and I didn’t want to listen to him about the drugs either, or get better, when we argued at Arles it was just-“ Auguste sighed “a decade of pent-up emotions boiling over and as bad as it was we needed it, it was like… the breaking point, everything just exploded and it was so fucking stupid,”

“And now?”

Auguste shrugged, turned his eyes up as he exhaled smoke, watching it flutter and dance through the air like a fog of words only he could see.

“I call, he comes, he nags, I do something stupid anyway,” he sighed “he says something scathing in the press, we fight, I call, he comes-“ he made a gesture with his hand; rinse and repeat “it’s like we never could argue when we were wrapped up in each other so I think it’s like, making up for lost time, like we can’t not say the things we would have held in check before,” he said “in a way it’s cathartic, he’s just my safe person I guess, he can take whatever I throw at him and vice versa,”

His safe person. Yes, that was quite apparent. Damen literally dragged himself out of bed -out of Laurent’s arms- in the middle of the night for him. He was there when Auguste needed him. In a way, as much as he hated it, he was grateful Auguste had that. It didn’t stop it from feeling shitty though. He wondered, idly, what it would have been like if he’d known. If Damen had told him. If Auguste had told him. Would he have minded?  

Or was it the secrets and lies that bothered him?

“So why keep it all a secret? Why pretend?”

“Because I trust him, even if I spend most of my time wanting to wrap my hands around his neck,” he sighed “It’s complicated, it’s messy, it’s… the media had it right at first, you know? After the fight at Arles we went a long time without speaking, when we started talking again it was… well everything was already broken and it felt like it should be a secret,”

Secret. Yes, Laurent was becoming very aware that Auguste was not as open and honest as he pretended to be. There was a whole side of Auguste that he didn’t know, hadn’t even known to look for. He’d always just been Auguste, his big brother. The Golden Son. The next Duke of Belloy. He hadn’t realised until he was watching him nearly die that those three things were three entirely separate faces. How many more did he have?

“Secret from the press or from me?”

“Everyone,” Auguste shrugged, biting on his lip as he stabbed out his cigarette, cagey and restless as he fidgeted and Laurent waited him out “it’s just easier that way so, I just- when it gets bad it’s him that I call,”

“And it gets bad a lot,”

“It’s always bad and he’s always there when I need him,”

He had known. That Auguste wasn’t doing well, or wasn’t in a good place. But he hadn’t known it was this bad. Laurent still didn’t know what bad really meant for him. He had been so good at hiding it Laurent wasn’t even sure he’d have known in the past when Auguste was in a bad place.

But Damen knew. Damen always knew. He’d known this time and what had he done to stop the spiral?

“Yes, always here and enabling you,” Laurent clarified, bitterness lacing his tone.

“He’s pulled me off the ledge more times than I can count,” Auguste said “I’d be dead by now without him, there are times when it’s been dark when-“ Auguste shuddered, clenching his hands together hard in his lap “when I didn’t want to be here,”

The admission was quiet. Loaded. A punch to the gut for them both. How many times had Laurent felt like that? It felt wrong that Auguste should ever have felt it, that crushing weight too intangible to be despair and too heavy to be anything else.  

“And you’ve thought about that?” Laurent asked quietly, choking on the words. Refusing the word.

Auguste looked up “more times than I care to admit,” he said and the words had all the sting of a slap to the face.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that? Auguste I’m your brother- why go to him- why-“

“Because I don’t have to lie to him Laurent, he already knows what I am, he knows everything so there’s no- I don’t have to protect him from any of it,” he said eyes pleading “he knows everything,”

Everything. The word pounded like a drum in Laurent’s head as he swallowed, watching the graze of something awfully close to fear on Auguste’s face and he knew. Laurent already knew it.

“You told him, what you did,” Laurent said voice shaking “he knows what you did to uncle,”

What he did. That thing that hung over Auguste like a dark cloud. A murder he couldn’t take back but one he would never be sorry for. One Laurent could never be sorry for either.

Auguste nodded, breathing out a slow shaky breath and when he spoke again it felt like his words made the ground shake, or maybe it was just Laurent, a tremor of disbelief that made his stomach plummet.

 “Who do you think helped me get rid of the body?”

For a second there was an awful ringing in his ears and he thought maybe there was a fire alarm blaring somewhere in the building. But there was no alarm, just an indistinct buzz of awareness that itched in the back of his skull as he tried to take that in.

Damen knew.

“He… helped…” Laurent trailed off, felt suddenly sick with it as Auguste, ghostly pale and wide eyed, stared back at Laurent with all the haunted horror he usually hid so well.

Damen knew.

It clicked into place with abrupt violence, the last little puzzle piece that made the picture come to life. That was it then. That was what tied them together, the thing that kept them running back to each other even when they physically fought in a club or traded passive aggressive barbs in the press.

Damen knew Auguste had killed their uncle. And instead of being a sane, normal rational person about things, he’d helped Auguste hide the evidence of it.

Laurent had always wondered; what those moments had been like for Auguste. He didn’t know how he’d killed him, had never wanted to know. He’d always assumed it was with his bare hands around his neck, a fight most likely before that; some desperate edge that let him believe it had been Auguste’s life on the line too. Because Laurent didn’t know much, but he knew their uncle was capable of killing someone. The man would have fought.

His theory had never involved Damen. Just his father and their contacts, making it all go away as easily as taking out the rubbish. 

Auguste trusted Damen so much, even after their relationship went sour, that he’d called Damen. Damen loved Auguste enough to help him and never breathe a word.

Laurent breathed out in a rush and all the noise that had felt sucked out of the room seemed to swarm back, making him almost dizzy with it. There was a simmering unidentifiable emotion suddenly bursting to life in his chest screaming that it didn’t make sense.

“And why the fuck would he do that? Who the fuck does that? Who the fuck just covers up a murder and carries on like nothing ever happened? Why the fuck-“ he spat, jumping to his feet and pacing, needing to stand, to move, to do something-

“Laurent, he knew,”

The words stopped him short. Had his mouth snapping shut and his lungs constricting. It was all over Auguste’s face. Damen knew. Had known. Enough not to question why there was even a body to begin with.

Fourteen. Auguste had been fourteen when their uncle tried to molest him. It would have been right at the beginning of everything between him and Damen getting too intense when they were at boarding school. Not long before the drugs started making an appearance and Auguste started acting out. None of that was a coincidence, was it?

“You told him what uncle tried to do to you,”

“No,” Auguste said solemn, sober, a haunted look flashing across his face that Laurent couldn’t decipher.

“But-“

“I told him what uncle did,”

Laurent frowned, uncomprehending. It was like the words slammed against a wall in his head. He heard them, knew their meaning but he didn’t get it. He couldn’t. Could only shake his head as though it would make them settle.

“There was never a try Laurent,” Auguste breathed out in a desperate rush “don’t you get it yet? Don’t you see? Why it’s all my fault? Why I can’t talk to Paschal? Why I did what I did? It was all I could do and it was too little too late and I should have- I knew, I knew what uncle was capable of, what he’d probably do to you, and I didn’t tell anyone,”

Laurent’s heart was pounding, head buzzing and hands shaking as Auguste spoke, eyes glassy as he shook his head helplessly at Laurent.

“Wait, stop, Auguste,” Laurent swallowed around the bile, searching his brother’s face, the bitten raw lip and the bloodshot eyes and the tears Auguste wouldn’t let fall.

The wall in his head started to crumble and the dawning horror of realisation spread through those cracks until Laurent’s mind was awash with nothing but the vivid pulsating truth of it all.

“You didn’t stop him,” Laurent said his own voice sounding hollow and far away as his pulse pounded at the base of his neck and beat mercilessly in his chest.

Auguste just stared back at him, something breaking in his features.

“I didn’t say no to him either Laurent,”

His knees gave out, or maybe the chair rose up to catch him, he wasn’t sure which but he found himself sinking down, shaking as he realised the truth of it.

Auguste had-

He hadn’t said no. He never pushed their uncle away in disgust the way he’d said. He’d let it happen. No. He’d been raped. And he’d denied it the whole time. Years. A decade. More even. Auguste had been raped and molested just like Laurent and he had been dealing with it entirely alone, lying about it- hadn’t told anyone-

Except.

Damen knew. Auguste had told Damen. He’d told him the real truth. Just Damen. When they were just children. A horrible, world-altering truth that neither of them should ever have had to navigate. Alone. Together.

Laurent couldn’t think, could barely breathe, his head a swirl of too quick thoughts, of insults and shockingly vivid accusations that he wanted to hurl at his brother, of more betrayal and more lies and endless, endless pain. He had let Laurent think he was alone in it. He’d forced them both to be alone with it.

Auguste had lied to him. Even after he’d noticed, even after he’d realised what was happening to Laurent. Was that how he’d known? Enough to pull him aside and question him, he’d known because he’d lived it. And when Laurent had told him Auguste hadn’t looked surprised. He remembered that much.

All this time.

All these years spent thinking Auguste was just so much better than him, so much smarter, so much more put together. Years spent thinking he was fucked up and wrong and sick for letting it happen when five years before that Auguste had understood and pushed him away. Threatened him.

Except he hadn’t.

It didn’t change anything. Except it changed everything.

“You didn’t tell me,”

“I was ashamed, Laurent, I couldn’t,”

“And I wasn’t ashamed?”

“No, of course not I just meant, I was meant to be better than that, I-“

“And I’m not better than that?”

“No but you were-“

“What? What was I?” he asked, chest rising and falling as he fought down the nausea and the roll of misplaced anger.

Auguste saw it, breathing out in a rush and taking a deep breath with his eyes closed, concentrated, and forced.

“How I feel doesn’t make sense, it isn’t logical Laurent, if it was, I would be fine and quite clearly, I am not,” he sighed pushing a hand under his hood to tug at his own hair “I’m addicted to drugs, I drink too much, I form unhealthy attachments to people and let them become my world, I spend my life actively trying not to feel anything, putting myself in stupid reckless situations, and having sex with people I don’t always remember,”

Laurent sobered, swallowing thickly.

“Damen said he doesn’t think you like men,”

The words came out unbidden, an inconsequential thought that he latched on to just to let his tongue loose around something to spit out into the silence left in the wake of Auguste’s admission.

Auguste had been with men. With Damen. Yet Damen didn’t think he liked it. Laurent got stuck on that thought, churning it over in his head like if he chipped away at the surface for long enough he’d find the iceberg beneath it.

Auguste flinched, brows creasing “what?”

“I know you,” Laurent said “so what was it? Were you punishing yourself or just testing the waters?”

“Both,” Auguste said blinking furiously as he lit another cigarette “I don’t know what I am, I don’t know if I ever would have asked Damen for-“ he swallowed, not meeting Laurent’s eyes “I don’t know that it would have ever even crossed my mind and that’s- I don’t know if I even like it- men,” Auguste shook his head again, staring down at his tremoring hand “and if I do, does that mean I liked it before? That I liked it when it was him? That I-“

“Don’t do that,” Laurent said as carefully as he could “because I am and I do and it’s not the same Auguste, not even a little bit,”

“But you knew your preference before uncle, you knew it right, that you liked men?”

Laurent nodded, because he had known he was gay. He’d certainly known it in relation to Damen.

“I didn’t, and part of me- I don’t know if I do it to punish myself, or to just- I don’t know,” Auguste said and his voice was strained, rising as he breathed a little shallower “when it was over, afterwards, I used to question it all, I made myself watch gay porn and I got-“ he shook his head “I still do, but it still makes me feel-“ he sucked in a breath “sick, it makes me feel sick and it’s confusing, it’s always been fucking confusing and I can’t tell what I am or what’s me and what’s just a consequence of what he did to me,”

This whole time. Over a decade. Auguste had been carrying all of that around for over a decade and he’d had to put up with Laurent’s whinging on top of it all. The desperate idealisation and the horrible guilt and Laurent felt sick. High in his throat where bile seemed to seep across his tongue like at any moment he was going to throw up.

“Jesus Christ,” Laurent breathed “Auguste-“

“I asked Damen to fuck me,”

“But I thought-“

“He said no,” Auguste smiled, meeting Laurent’s eyes and it was the first time Damen’s name had been mentioned between them where it felt weirdly symbiotic, like Auguste was saying you know what he’s like. And Laurent did know. Understood.

“He knew you didn’t really want it,” Laurent said

“He always gave me everything I asked for, did anything I suggested or could think up, he was always up for whatever,” Auguste said “but not that, he wouldn’t fuck me and I’m glad he didn’t,”

“But you have since with-“

“I’ve had sex with men,” Auguste said “never erm-“ he made an awkward hand gesture that made Laurent grimace “Damen was the only one I trusted to fuck me and when he said no I just- retired the idea,” he snorted, swiping a hand down his face.

“I’m glad he said no too,”

Auguste chuckled and for a second there was a flash of mischief in his eyes that was at once familiar and unwelcome. Laurent narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t-“

“Did I miss out then? Is he good?”

Laurent huffed, sitting back in his seat and scowling as he crossed his arms over his chest “you fucking know he’s good so fuck off,”

Auguste just smiled, sad but desperate, like he wanted to cling to something normal, steer the conversation away. In the past Laurent would have let him. He would have followed Auguste’s lead because he always followed Auguste’s lead. But he couldn’t this time.

Swallowing down the pain and the horror he breathed out shakily “so you told Damen about uncle, and you both got into drugs and into bed and now you’re murder BFF’s or something?”

Auguste sighed, tipping his head back against the sofa and slouching further into the seat again “sounds about right,”

They lapsed into a silence that felt heavy, the way silences so often were when there weren’t any words that could soothe the ache of it. They sat for a long moment, absorbed in their own thoughts and Laurent watched through unfocused eyes as Auguste smoked another cigarette and tapped his fucking fingers on the arm of the couch.

Auguste caved first.

“It was the first time I’d really spoken to Damen in a long time,” he said

Laurent blinked, pulling himself out of his thoughts, watching Auguste buff at his cuticles and frown at them. He didn’t need to ask what he meant. The first time he’d spoken to Damen since their fight at Arles, the first time in two years and he’d called him to tell him about a murder. It was so uniquely Auguste that Laurent couldn’t keep the snort of laughter away.

The rueful smile Auguste shot him said he knew exactly what he was thinking.

“So, ideas of Damen and whatever fucking friendship we could have salvaged got all wrapped up in this awful fucking secret I made him keep, and I was pretty certain -and still am- that he fucking hates me for it, so I stay out of his way,”

“Until you need him,”

Auguste sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head back again and staring at the ceiling “it was the start of yet another unhealthy pattern, I am well aware,” he said and snorted “Damen probably only lets me get away with it because he’s concerned every time his phone rings that someone else will turn up dead and you know what he’s like, he likes to help,”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Laurent just nodded, aware that Damen was most concerned that it would be some doctor or paramedic telling him Auguste was the one that was dead. He wondered if Auguste knew that.

Laurent hummed, turning it over in his head, veering swiftly from the giant bursting obstacles of barbed wire and blood that he just couldn’t think about yet. Not yet. There was something else he remembered. Something else he needed to ask.

“You knew he’d fuck me,” Laurent said instead, the words sliding out of him before he could stop them and they weren’t really a question either, just a statement of fact.

They made August sit up straighter, narrow his eyes and cant his head like he wasn’t sure what Laurent meant.

“Actually, I thought it was a given that you were off limits,” Auguste said, a scowl making its way onto his face.

“That’s not what you said, when you were having your melodramatic dependency break up,”

Auguste frowned, still staring hard, eyes flickering like he had no idea what Laurent meant. He saw the light go on, saw the moment that he realised because his face was all surprise for a long beat.

“Oh fuck off Loz, I said that because I knew it would hurt him, not because I thought he actually would, not back then, he cared about you, it felt like the easy thing to hurt him with, you know, given what he knew had happened to me,” Auguste sighed “it was basically the worst thing I could say to him so I said it, because I knew how fucked up it was because you were a kid and because we knew you fancied him,”

Laurent ignored the part that made him want to curl up into a ball in embarrassment and lifted his chin.

“But you were right,” he said “he did fuck me and I’m meant to believe it had nothing to do with you?”

“Lord knows I can’t make you believe anything you don’t already think, Laurent,” he said “you get something in your head and come rain or shine by god you’re going to stick with it,” he snapped “but I can promise you, Damen isn’t into me, and he was never in love with me,”

“Obsessed then,” Laurent countered

“He’s not obsessed with me, back then sure, we were obsessed with each other but most of the time I think I’m Damen’s burden,”

“I don’t want to be your replacement Auguste,” Laurent said “not with him, I can’t be that for him,”

“You know,” Auguste said, careful like he was weighing his words with precision “after Jokaste, after what Kastor did, I honestly never thought Damen would say it to anyone else, I didn’t think he’d ever let himself be that vulnerable again,”

Laurent knew that. Some scars could never fade; usually the one’s that left no tangible mark. Laurent knew exactly how Damen felt about it, about his brother, the lover he lost. The insecurity and fear that went with it. It wasn’t a betrayal you could ever get over. Not really. It was one you buried and lived with.

“But he said it to you,” Auguste said, snapping Laurent out of his reverie, turning toward him with a held breath “if he said it he meant it Laurent, he’s not the kind of person to say things he doesn’t mean,”

“Then why did he lie to me?” Laurent asked “why does it feel like a lie?”

“Because you’re scared,”

“I don’t think I can do it,” Laurent said and as Auguste opened his mouth to respond Laurent rose to his feet “I can’t have this conversation with you Auguste, not if you’re on his side and- of course you’re on his side, you always were and he’s always going to cover for you, or be there for you, you’ll always be his priority and-“ he snorted, swiping angrily at tears that hadn’t flowed yet “I won’t-“

“Laurent-“

“I’m calling Jord,” Laurent sniffed, pulling his phone out before sending a scathing look at Auguste “don’t fuck him,” he said before escaping down the hall to the spare room to get his coat and shoes.

He needed to be by himself. He needed to digest everything, to fucking think.

He called Jord, who was eager to see Auguste and agreed immediately to come babysit him. He even gallantly accepted the scathing remarks and strict orders from Laurent with a cheery tone to his voice that sounded like relief.

Auguste was waiting for him in the hall, looking at him with dark eyes as he pushed off the wall where he’d been leaning in wait. In his hands he had the cigarette case. His other hand was a fist full of something Laurent couldn’t make out.

He stopped in front of him, eyeing Auguste warily and after a long beat of hesitation Auguste held his hand out. Laurent gave him his upturned palm, let Auguste drop the contents into his hand and realised he now had a fistful of drugs. He didn’t know what. Powder mostly by the feel. Some pills.

He turned his eyes up sharply and Auguste was looking at him warily, swallowing audibly like it was costing him a lot to do it.

“I don’t trust myself to have it here,” he admitted “you should get rid of it,”

Laurent was momentarily ashamed that he hadn’t thought to do this himself and nodded quickly, shoving it all into his pocket and accepting the cigarette case gingerly. Tainted as it was for him now.

“You’re going to rehab,” Laurent said, meeting his stare “I’ll have father drag you there by the scruff of your neck and I’ll invite every single newspaper in the country to come and watch if I have to Auguste,”

“I’ll call the clinic,”

“I’ll call them myself tomorrow at midday so if you haven’t talked to them I will know,”

Auguste turned his eyes down, folding his arms over his chest “okay,” he said, mumbling

“Auguste,”

“Honestly, I will,”

Honestly.

Laurent felt his temper snap and his hands shot out, shoving Auguste hard so that his back hit the wall anew.

“You do not pull that shit with me,” Laurent hissed “I am done pandering with you and I am not fucking joking, you are going to be at Foothill Priory the day after the fucking wedding or you and I are done,” Laurent said “I won’t lose you and I won’t let him win and if you don’t go then I swear to you Auguste I will do exactly what you do, you want to poison yourself, fine, I’m fucked up too, let’s make it a fucking bonding experience and we can kill ourselves together, you think I won’t?”

Auguste blinked, eyes flickering over Laurent’s face “you wouldn’t do that,” he said but he sounded unsure.

For Auguste? For this? Auguste had no fucking idea how far Laurent would go. Did he still think he was the only one? That he could murder a man for Laurent and that Laurent wouldn’t ruin himself for Auguste in return?

Laurent stepped back, hand stuffed in his pocket, holding the drugs out for Auguste’s inspection “wouldn’t I?”

Auguste frowned, squared his jaw “no, you won’t,”

Laurent felt himself smirk and he turned on his heel marching back to the guest room with Auguste right behind him. He managed to make it into the bathroom and locked the door, dumping it all out on the counter with shaking hands whilst Auguste beat his fist on the door.

“Very funny Laurent you can stop now,”

He picked a smaller sized one, folded up in thin paper that might have been a cigarette paper. Laurent unfolded it, ignoring the bangs from Auguste and his constant stream of open the fucking door Laurent.

“I have no idea how much you’re supposed to do, isn’t that funny?” he called

He knew what to do though, any idiot did.

He dumped the contents onto the cool tile reaching for the tube of toothpaste and turning it upside down, running the edge through the powder the way he’d seen other people do it, taking out the lumps and quickly forcing it into lines. Little white lines.

Who knew they could cause so much trouble. So much damage. But they gave Auguste his escape. His break from the horror show in his head. And Laurent was damned if he wouldn’t stick to his word.

The adrenaline made him shake as he leant down, worried he would hate this, the loss of control, just as much as he feared loving it. Before he could do anything, the door burst open with a loud groan of wood and Laurent snapped his eyes up in alarm. Auguste rushed at him, pushing the powder into the sink in one swoop and shoving Laurent out of the way with one hand.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Auguste snapped, turning the faucet on and turning wild eyes on Laurent.

He looked sickly pale, wide eyed and breathing erratically and Laurent deflated, watching the water stream the contents away.

“I never got it back more like,” Laurent said, meeting Auguste’s gaze

Auguste breathed out, shaking his head and when he reached his hands out to Laurent, he was momentarily unsure whether it was to hit him or haul him close. But Auguste didn’t hit him, he dragged him in, wrapping his arms around Laurent and squeezing him.

“I’ll go,” Auguste said “I’ll call first thing tomorrow,” he breathed against his neck

As soon as he said it Laurent let himself melt against him, buried his face in his brother’s neck and clung to him the way he’d wanted since he’d found him in that bedroom; the way he’d feared he would never have been able to again.

~*~

The last place Laurent wanted to go was to the fucking Bachelor Party. The last one, Nikandros’ official private party hadn’t turned out too well for him. Or for any of them really. This one would be worse because it would be public and crawling with press. The streets outside the prestigious club would be a who’s who of High Society and Laurent could think of nothing worse at that moment.

But Ancel was with him, strangely wary of him, and treating him annoyingly delicately since his return home two days prior. Laurent had barely eaten, barely slept, he’d barely done anything at all except lie in bed and stew in his own thoughts.

He had been flip-flopping between wanting to cry and wanting to throw up. Between loving Auguste so much he wasn’t sure he could live without him and hating him so vehemently he wanted to shove him off a cliff. And Damen. Always Damen.

He understood it now at least. The way they stood together. United by grief and a lie too big to contain. A murder. Teenage years full of drugs and fear, surrounded by adults like their uncle and Kastor that they couldn’t trust- who had either of them had to turn to except each other?

Understanding it didn’t magically take the pain away, but it softened the blow. It wasn’t malicious. He knew that. He did. But he was still hurt. Still kept on the outside. Again.

Ancel had told Laurent in no uncertain terms that he was scaring him and had forced him to eat the food he’d all but shoved in front of him. He had also woken in the middle of the night, after a bout of exhausting nightmares, to find Ancel asleep on top of the duvet beside him. Watching over him. He had been reminding himself every two minutes since then to be nice to Ancel even when his coddling was becoming unbearable.

“Fucking smile, you’ll make these turn out bad,” Ancel said through a dazzling smile as he posed for the press on their way into the club.

Ancel was wearing a green sequin halter neck top that was more string than anything and had on some tight leather trousers with heels that were no doubt going to hurt. Laurent was fairly certain that not a single person would be looking at him in the press photos anyway, but he did as Ancel instructed to make it quicker.

The whole circus was second nature by now and he smiled and answered one question about what designer he was wearing before all but dragging Ancel away and into the club.

Inside was loud, the kind of trendy flashy over-the-top shit that Laurent fucking hated. The music was irritating, the people were a shifting mass of familiar and Laurent wanted nothing more than to turn and go the fuck home. The press had photos of him arriving after all.

Though doubtless there were journo’s inside somewhere too, blending in and mingling with the celebrities and the social elite of more than one country.

A barmaid in a skimpy futuristic dress thing waltzed past, her hands weighed down by lightly smoking cases of some toxic looking test-tube shots. Laurent snatched two, downing them both as Ancel watched him with a pinched expression.

“So it’s that kind of night?” Ancel asked

Laurent sent him a glare because yes of course it was that kind of night. Laurent had had one of the worst weeks of his life. And in his shitty toxic mess of a life, that was saying something.

“If you can’t keep up then don’t, I am planning on getting very drunk very quickly and then leaving as soon as it is acceptable,” he said moving toward the bar.

Ancel followed him until they were leaning at the bar and ordering in record speed.

“Never insinuate that I cannot keep up with you, please, this already feels monumentally topsy turvy, I can’t stand to watch you have a good night whilst I babysit,”

“Then don’t babysit, I’m not Auguste,”

Ancel just nodded, expression lighting up when he spotted Nicaise.

“Laurent’s going on a bender and I need to go and send a dirty photo to my dissertation lecturer,”

“Of course you do,” Nicaise said looking him up and down “what of exactly?”

Ancel just smirked “the plug I’m wearing for him, obviously,” he said before waltzing away toward the toilets.

Or at least Laurent hoped he was heading to the toilets or else the bar was going to get an eyeful.

Nicaise turned to him for answers but Laurent just flapped his hand and took a generous swig of his drink “his lecturer let slip he’s watched some of Ancel’s premium online content,” he said by way of explanation

Laurent hadn’t been able to process much of what Ancel said about it. Only that he was generally pretty happy about it and was attached to his phone when he wasn’t smothering Laurent with attention he didn’t want. He’d also had several glaring love bites that he wore like trophies and had had exactly 0 guys over recently. Laurent imagined things with Professor Berenger were going very well indeed. Must not have been married after all.

“Well, in other news we’ve got a bet going and its even odds Aimeric hits on a consulate rep before the end of the night, 3/1 he goes home with that one from Kempt that looks like an action move villain,”

“And almost a sure bet that he follows you around like a puppy and cockblocks you?” Laurent snapped back before downing the rest of his drink as quickly as he could whilst Nicaise watched him with raised eyebrows.

“Firstly, that’s not true, and secondly, what crawled up your arse and died?” Nicaise asked, watching Laurent warily as he gestured for the barmaid to get him another.

“Can I not just want to get drunk?”

Nicaise snorted “babe, there’s getting drunk and there’s hitting self-destruct and we both know how that ends for you, so maybe slow down,” he said as Laurent accepted another drink.

“Oh piss off if you’re just going to lecture me, go finally hit on Aimeric before he fucks off with some old man and you get weirdly territorial again,”

Nicaise’s face went blank, the way a storm stills for a second when it’s directly above you, before all hell breaks loose. Laurent braced.

“Fine suit yourself Mr Kamikaze, tell Bastian I said hi, won’t you?” Nicaise said with a faux-saccharine smile before pushing away from him. Probably in the opposite direction of Aimeric now that Laurent had called him out.

Laurent tried not to flinch at the words, at the insinuation of them, but he let his eyes rove over the crowd anyway. Bastian, as always, was holding court with his like-minded arsehole friends. The rich entitled kind who thought poor was some kind of disease and laissez-faire was an entirely viable economic concept.

With a grimace he turned in the opposite direction, losing himself in the unfamiliar club until he was at a higher vantage.

Whether consciously or not it did not take him long to find Damen. He hadn’t been actively looking for him. It was what he told himself over and over as he scanned the crowd restlessly, wishing he had Auguste there as an excuse to be searching so blatantly. But he didn’t, Auguste was safely at home with Jord and Orlant.

He just needed to know where Damen was so he could avidly avoid him the same way he had been doing so for days. Damen jumped out at him, even across a dark crowded badly lit room. Like a moth to a fucking flame; the same way it had been for eight long years. If Damen was present Laurent’s eyes would be drawn to him.

Damen was in white. His shirt tight across his chest and arms, enough buttons undone to feel almost obscene but not enough of them to look cheap. His trousers were clinging to the muscles in his thighs like he’d fucking sprayed them on and every time he turned around Laurent couldn’t tear his eyes away. Bastard. His hair was doing that annoying artfully tousled thing it did like God was just cool with having someone be so obviously his favourite like that.

The worst part was Laurent knew Damen basically rolled out of bed looking like that in the mornings, except he was usually wearing a lot less. And so was Laurent. And fuck Laurent loved to watch him walk to the bathroom because Damen had the most exquisite arse. So fucking solid and tight and Laurent really liked holding onto it when Damen pounded into him and fuck-

He really needed to get his shit together.

“Boy looks good, we can’t deny it,” Ancel said popping up at Laurent’s elbow out of fucking nowhere.

He tutted, turning a scowl on him “I don’t know what you mean,”

“Are you going to go over?”

“Are you going to mind your own fucking business?”

Ancel wheeled him around, forcing Laurent to face him. It came with the added and quite frankly unwanted invasion of his personal space as Ancel leaned in to make himself heard over the music.

“Was what he did so bad?” he asked

“Yes,”

Ancel regarded him, eyes scanning over Laurent’s features in an uncomfortably knowing way.

“So you’ve split up with him?” Ancel asked one eyebrow raised and-

Oh. Laurent didn’t know. He hadn’t even thought about that. Were they just in a fight or were they over?

“Because if you have split up, Damen is going to have people throwing themselves at him all night and he’s not obliged to tell them to fuck off, and secondly he is fair game,”

Laurent’s stomach swooped, filling with molten lead or possibly acid as he struggled to contain what he was feeling under Ancel’s scrutiny.

“Damen always has people throwing themselves at him,” he forced out between clenched teeth.

Ancel smirked “so you don’t mind if I take him for a ride?”

Laurent bit back his initial and blinding objection, biting his own tongue and thanking God the cup in his hand was glass and not plastic because he would have crushed it if it had been. He sniffed, shrugged as casually as he could.

“You can do as you please,”

Ancel beamed at him, his eyes going overly wide in that fake fucking innocent way that got men to do just about anything he wanted.

“Well then I’ll be over there, if you need me,” he said and moved past Laurent.

Laurent didn’t watch him manoeuvre all the way across the room toward Damen. He didn’t watch him flick his perfectly fucking straight and shiny cascade of hair over his shoulder or stroke Damen’s arm for his attention and he certainly did not watch the hug that followed.

Except he did, with increasing distress and a mind full of too quick thoughts as Ancel threw his head back around that no doubt obnoxiously loud laugh he always did and fuck. Laurent downed his drink, grimacing at the burn and shoved his way out of the room entirely.

He found the single almost lit corridor in the whole club that led out into a wide smoking area full of tables and heaters and yet another bar.

He pressed himself to the side, lighting his cigarette and turning Ancel’s words over in his head. Were they still together? Did he want them to be? It seemed like the kind of thing that needed to be explicitly said and as Laurent had been avidly ignoring Damen since they were at the hospital, they hadn’t talked about anything much less about ending things.

Or was the ending implied in Laurent’s steadfast refusal to talk to him? Did he want it to be?

He was part way through his second cigarette when a figure appeared at his side holding an ostentatious lethal smelling cocktail.

“You shouldn’t be without a drink at a party,” Bastian said holding it out for Laurent.

He took it, uncaring that accepting anything from Bastian was stupid because he was too busy trying to get drunk and this would probably tip him mostly over the edge.

He didn’t say anything just pulled a decent amount through the straw until Bastian’s eyebrows were in his hairline and he pulled away to take a drag of his cigarette.

“You look incredible,” Bastian said

“You don’t,”

Bastian snorted, leaning against the wall beside him, body turned toward him with just a pinch too much intimacy not to make Laurent uncomfortable.

“Where’s your guard dog?”

“Why? Frightened?” he asked mostly just trying to get a reaction.

Bastian flashed him a rueful smile “should I be?” he asked before giving him a pout “you’d never actually let him hurt me, surely?”

Would he? Now that he knew what kind of real callousness Damen was capable of did it change anything?

He’d wanted to see Bastian punched in the face a thousand times but Damen was huge and a boxer and he could probably actually break the entirety of Bastian's face.

“I know you’re with him,” Bastian said his voice low as he ran his finger around the rim of his glass, eyes cast down. Laurent frowned. A week ago he would have considered that a problem but after Damen’s display at the previous bachelor party Laurent was hardly surprised that Bastian had put it together.

“Is that so,”

“Look I’m just worried about you, okay?” Bastian said, eyes wide “he has a reputation, you know he sleeps around, pretty sure the guest list is a combination of Damen’s conquests and his current to do list,” he said and Laurent cringed internally, avidly ignoring it because that wasn’t true and Damen would hate Bastian for saying it “and he’s mean Laurent, he’s not a good person, I just don’t want you to be with someone that could hurt you,” he said

Laurent blinked, turning his eyes up and meeting his gaze and maybe Laurent was a little drunk after all because Bastian looked sincere. But then, Laurent had always thought Bastian looked sincere and it wasn’t until afterwards he realised his mistake.

“I just need you to know you can come to me, okay? If you’re in trouble, you know I’d never let anything happen to you, you know I protect what’s mine, right?”

Laurent felt the claim like a slap and used the excuse of putting his cigarette end in a nearby ashtray to move away from him.

“Okay, go away now,” he said because his tongue was failing him and he didn’t want to say any of the things running through his mind because they all started with some variation of fuck you.

He didn’t have room for Bastian’s bullshit at that moment.

“Yes, I probably should, your guard dogs sniffed you out,”

Laurent followed the dip of Bastian’s head and saw Damen, hesitating but clearly staring right at him. Laurent met his gaze whether he wanted to or not and was aware that everything else felt very far away when he did so.

He waved Bastian away with a shooing motion, even as he was clenching his jaw and watching the way Damen and Bastian regarded each other as they passed one another by. Hostile might have been an understatement.

“Hi,” Damen said and his voice was uncertain

Laurent could feel the sting in the back of his eyes and he had to turn his face away, suck in a breath. Let the past week settle back over him with all softness of stone. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be ready for this, not when he was too angry and a little bit too drunk to pay it the attention it deserved.

“Laurent, please, can we talk?”

He sounded shaken. Like it was his world that had been tipped upside down.

Laurent snorted “yes maybe we should, shall we talk about my uncle first?”

Damen sucked in a breath, surprise lighting in his features.

Laurent smirked “ah yes, I see Auguste is good at keeping secrets from both of us, he told me, so let’s talk,”

Damen breathed out, staring at him hard for a moment. Laurent read defeat in the deflation of his shoulders and if Damen had been of a mind to keep it to himself, he’d clearly thought better of it.

“Okay, what do you want to talk about?” Damen asked leaning against the wall the way Bastian had been.

Unlike with Bastian, Laurent turned to face him so he could spit the next words out into the private space between them.

“Well, let’s see, which shall we talk about first? The murder or the many times he fucked me?”

Damen hissed, taking a startled step back, recoiling like Laurent had slapped him. Laurent let his answering smirk burn, branded on by fucking disgust and the realisation that had come to him several days ago that told him that if Damen had known about Auguste, it only stood to reason that he also knew about Laurent. After all, Auguste hadn’t tried to kill him after his own abuse. No, only after he’d found out about Laurent’s.

It made his skin itch. It made him feel small. And humiliated.

He expected to feel smug, waving the hideousness of it in front of Damen for the absolute fucking audacity of taking him to bed when he fucking knew. He knew his worst most dark and disgusting secret. He knew. He’d known when he answered his first text, when he’d taken him on a date, when he’d told him he loved him, he’d known the whole fucking time.

The most vulnerable terrible secret that was Laurent’s to share; a gateway to the hell he carted around in his own head and Damen already knew and hadn’t mentioned it. Even in all of the many conversations when Laurent had carefully sidestepped the truth. Damen had already known and had probably guessed what he was really saying all along.

Except Damen was staring at him, blinking, eyes wide and his mouth open and something breaking in his features that made Laurent’s stomach swoop. Instead of caving, he doubled down, pressing on as the walls closed in.

“Are we going to pretend you didn’t know?”

“Laurent what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about all the times I spread my legs for him, and you knew,”

Damen snapped his head away, eyes pressed closed as his hand went up to his mouth like he was going to be sick. Laurent frowned.

When he turned back Damen looked pale, his eyes somewhat glassy.

“I didn’t know,”

No. Arsehole. How dare he just- no. there was no way.

“So you knew about Auguste but were too stupid to put two and two together about me?”

Damen looked… he looked the way Laurent felt. Lost. Adrift. Hurting.

He shook his head “God Laurent, I- I didn’t think about it, it’s not an easy or nice think to just assume and I- no, I didn’t put it together who does that? I can’t just automatically- I couldn’t… Auguste would have said?” he looked at Laurent like he was waiting for Laurent to take it back and oh.

Shit.

Laurent couldn’t breathe. The smoking area was much too loud, the noise a buzzing in the back of his head as his chest tightened beyond the point of pain. It felt like shattering glass, in his chest and stomach and stabbing at him behind his eyes as he stared up at Damen and realised his awful mistake. His assumption.

“You didn’t know,”

The pain on Damen’s face felt like an echo of the pain in Laurent’s chest, his heart beating out a chorus to the tune of no please god no and Damen just stared at him helplessly, his hands rising and falling like he wanted to reach out but thought better of it.

“No, I swear to you, I swear I didn’t, but- god I’m so fucking sorry Laurent, do you need-“

Laurent swallowed, held his hand up, turned his face away. He tried to breathe through the rising panic as the burn of alcohol that glazed the back of his throat tried to catch fire in there.

One thing at a time. Distraction was the best form of defence. Or something like that.

“Tell me how he died,”

“What?” Damen asked looking even more confused at the quick change of topic

“Was there blood?” Laurent asked, canting his head, pushing on, watching Damen shake his head and blink again like he’d been hit on the head.

Laurent knew that feeling all too well. At his words Damen flinched, swallowed. He looked too shocked to do more than comply with an answer.

“Yes, there was blood,”

Laurent nodded, frowning “how’d Auguste do it?” he asked

He had asked Auguste only once and Auguste had sworn he would never discuss it with Laurent. That he didn’t need to know. Knowing only made it worse, made him complicit. That was what Auguste had said. He’d wanted Laurent as far from it as possible and Laurent had never really cared to know. Until now.

“Laurent-“ Damen asked, a warning ringing in his tone

“With his bare hands? Choked him to death? Beat him? Did he suffocate him or-“

“Stabbed,” Damen cut across him “he stabbed him,”

Laurent sucked in a breath. He’d always assumed it had been a fight. Like maybe Auguste had choked him, beat him to death. Auguste had always said he’d intended to kill him. Laurent had never even considered that it meant he’d taken a weapon. A knife. There would have been a lot of blood then.

“How many times?”

“I don’t know, a lot,” Damen said swiping a hand down his face “I couldn’t see his features through the blood, is that what you wanted to know? That by my reckoning it looked like there was more blood on the floor and the fucking walls then left in him,” he said

Laurent felt sick and he flinched as it dawned on him all over again. Auguste had meant it. That’s what he’d said, that it had been intended. He still couldn’t see Auguste as some kind of monster. He could have hacked the man up whilst he was still alive, piece by slow piece and fed bits of him back to himself and Laurent would still think it wasn’t enough.

“And the body?”

Damen turned away, shaking his head, eyes on the people around them enjoying their night and getting drunk without a horror show in their heads

“Dumped out in the sea,” he said “we took your father’s boat,”

Damen sailed. Laurent knew that. It made sense.

“And what if a fisherman-“

“He’s weighed down, or he was,” Damen said scrubbing at his face again “there wouldn’t be much left of him now and honestly, if he was found, the police would run the DNA and then it would get handed off to the secret service and it would never see the light of day again,”

“Because your cousin would take care of it,”

“The King is aware, yes,”

He forgot sometimes; just how powerful Damen was.

Laurent lifted his chin “I’m glad he’s dead and I’ve never lost sleep over it,” he said “but do you ever feel bad about it?”

Damen met his gaze “I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to see him die,” he said with the kind of fierceness that made Laurent suck in a breath “I’d have done it myself if he’d asked me to,”

Laurent froze, caught out by the sheer rush of something hot and ardent and the blistering honesty in Damen’s gaze. Damen meant it. He’d kill a man. For him? Or with all the righteous fury Damen was so easily capable of?

His heart knew which option he preferred. His head told him he couldn’t think that way.

“Did you feel that way before or after you realised that you’d been banging his sloppy seconds?”

Damen hissed and Laurent didn’t wait for an answer. He ran, he turned and marched back into the club in search of something to ground him. Anything to ground him. He was a little drunk but not nearly drunk enough not to recognise the ramifications of what he’d just done.

He’d just told Damen himself.

Idiot. Fucking idiot.

But he’d been so sure. Lying awake at night staring at his ceiling he’d thought of all the considerate careful ways Damen had always been with him and he just- He’d been so fucking sure he must know.

And desperate to be wrong.

And he’d been very wrong alright. But now Damen knew and Laurent would be lucky if he could ever meet his fucking eyes again. Let alone anything else. Why would he want him now? No one like’s broken toys.

It was too fucking much. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to think. He needed- something.

He found Ancel, dancing with Aimeric and Nicaise, Vannes was close by talking to a beautiful but forgetful woman that was probably famous for one thing or another. Lazar and Pallas were nearby, tongues down each other’s throats.

“What’s wrong with you?” Aimeric grimaced as Laurent barged into their little circle, downing what was left of his cocktail before handing the empty glass off to a person who was either a server or someone dressed unforgivably similar.

“Get me drunk,” Laurent said meeting Ancel’s eyes “I need to be black out,”

Nicaise smirked and drew him under his arm “Self-destruct?”

“Yes,” he sighed rubbing at his eyes

“Well shots it is,” Nicaise said as he dragged Laurent to the bar.

Laurent made himself drink whatever disgusting drinks Nicaise placed in front of him. He let Aimeric take stupid photos of him and he let Vannes tease him mercilessly as Ancel watched him like he was waiting for bad news. Laurent ignored him. He chased his thoughts away until they were drowning in alcohol and his stomach was protesting the thought of anything more.

When the drinking and the dancing got too much, he shoved away from them, aware that he was drunker than he had been in a very long time. The toilet offered a brief respite but it was far too bright for him and he wanted very much to go back to where it was dark, even if it was too loud.

He wandered back out, trying to remember where Ancel had last been. The arm around his waist was a surprise and though he looked down and noticed it he still tried to take a step or two, snorting when it turned out that wasn’t possible.

He swivelled, nearly over balancing as he did so.

Bastian was staring down at him, half amused as his eyes flashed over Laurent’s upturned face and then wandered over his shoulder. The smirk on his face wasn’t aimed at Laurent but turning around seemed like a lot of effort.

“Dance with me,” Bastian said and it wasn’t much of a question.

Bastian didn’t really ask a lot of questions, not ones he wanted answers too anyway. Laurent let himself be lead, swaying as much as he could as Bastian wrapped an arm around him and drew him close.

“Trouble in paradise?” Bastian asked

At Laurent’s frown Bastian tilted Laurent’s head to the side, until his eyes found Damen.

Damen. Who knew. Who’d lied and who knew and who Laurent wanted to hit so fucking badly. Until he couldn’t anymore and then he’d probably just fall at his feet and beg him not to think differently of him now. To not let it change things. To please still want him.

But that wasn’t likely was it?

Shame and humiliation were sharp twin points of pain as he held his gaze. When Bastian turned Laurent around and plastered himself down Laurent’s back as they danced Laurent let him. Encouraged him by tipping his head back, smiling as Damen frowned.

Nicaise would call him childish. Ancel would call him a bitch but he’d say it with a smile and Aimeric would have done a lot worse if he felt even a little bit of what Laurent felt. So he closed his eyes, let himself be led in the dance and ignored the way Bastian was breathing against his neck.

“I knew you’d argued, was it about me?” he asked like the arrogant prick he was.

Laurent didn’t respond, only span around so he could grip his stupid shoulders and not look at Damen. Bastian held him close, eyes too intense as Laurent let the music and the rhythm consume him, aware the whole time that every time he shifted Damen was watching. When Bastian slid his hands too far from Laurent’s waist he shoved his hands away, amused by the look of surprise on Bastians’ face.

It felt strangely empowering, watching him flounder for a moment. Until Bastian properly ruined it by pressing his mouth to Laurent’s neck. Before he could kiss or bite at him, Laurent grumbled, shoving him away harder.

“No,” he said already turning away.

The lights were suddenly too much and the music too loud and his stomach was protesting with all the frenzy of right-wingers at a family planning clinic.

He didn’t say another word as he backed away, just moved out of the crowd. Bastian was there the whole time, following him as Laurent made a move toward the exit.

“Not that way, side door, no press,” Bastian said, stopping Laurent’s retreat to physically swivel him in a different direction, grabbing his wrist and leading him quickly to a different door, past the toilets and through an Authorised Personal Only door. Eventually Bastian was shoving open a service door and they were exiting onto a side street. Cars lined the street all the way down, parked and waiting no doubt for their famous very rich owners and Laurent squinted, trying to recognise his own.

But it was too late for any sense of decorum or any sense of hiding what was about to happen. With a groan and a mumbled fuck he shoved Bastian out of the way, doubling over as he pressed his clammy palm to the rough brick wall and threw up.

Behind him Bastian cursed, talking about being gross and a turn off and whatever else he wanted to complain about. Laurent could barely hear him through the buzzing still pounding in his head and the retching noises coming out of his mouth.

Was vomit supposed to be such a toxic fluorescent colour?

The thought and the smell that hit him had him going for round two. When he was finally done and he was sure that he wasn’t in danger of doing it again he groaned, sidestepping away from the pool of it until he could lean back against the wall and close his eyes.

He’d move in a minute. In a minute he would get his phone out and he’d find his driver and go home. To his bed. Where the spinning might stop and his stomach would stop feeling like it was trying to escape his body.

The fall of a shadow on his closed lids made him peel one eye open. Bastian was in front of him, looking him up and down.

“Shall we get out of here,”

“No,” Laurent said closing his eyes again “go away,”

Bastian made a noise Laurent was too drunk to decipher and annoyingly came closer.

“But inside-“

“Dancing,” Laurent said opening his eyes despite the stabbing pain it conjured “it was just dancing,” he said again as Bastian’s expression morphed “I was grinding on Nicaise too but I’m not interested in fucking him,” he said closing his eyes again.

He needed to move. To go home. Call someone. Was Ancel still here? Was Damen?

“Damen,” he said opening his eyes, pouting at Bastian

Bastian blinked.

Bastian had pretty eyes. But they were the wrong colour. His eyes were like steel, like a rainy cloud. Damen’s eyes flashed gold in the sunlight and they made Laurent feel warm. He wanted to feel warm. Damen was the sun and Laurent was a cold dead hunk of falling rock that had accidentally slipped into his orbit. And he never wanted to leave. He wanted to orbit Damen forever. Always. Damen made everything feel better. Safe. He just wanted to feel that. Him. Damen would make him feel better. He always made him feel better.

“I want Damen,” Laurent clarified

“I see,” Bastian said and whatever his face was doing or saying Laurent couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Go get him,” he said intending to shove at Bastian’s chest to send him away but his body wasn’t quite cooperating and he flapped at him instead “please,” he added because this was Bastian, and he’d always made Laurent say please.

One way or the other.

“I think he left,” Bastian said watching him closely

Laurent felt the frown tugging at his face, the way his bottom lip was threatening to tremble.

“But it’s okay, I know where we can find him,”

“Yeah?” Laurent managed distractedly, sucking in a lungful of cold air as the breeze engulfed him, making him shiver on top of the wretched rolling in his stomach and heavy shakiness in his limbs.

“I’ll take you to him,” Bastian said tugging Laurent forward in a sharp move that made Laurent’s world spin and the ground feel like jelly.

“No,” he said trying to fight the hands on him

“Taking you to Damen, remember?”

The words filtered through and Laurent stopped fighting enough for Bastian to start awkwardly staggering down the street with him. Precisely none of Laurent’s limbs could remember what to do it seemed.

“Come on now, in the car, you can sit, see?”

Laurent was just grateful to get out of the biting chill and to have somewhere he could fold down and rest his head.

He didn’t pay attention to what Bastian said, didn’t pay attention to anything as they set off with their discrete tinted windows and nameless faceless driver. He needed to sleep. Or possibly throw up again.

When, several quiet minutes of driving later, Bastian shifted into the middle seat and put his hand too high on Laurent’s thigh the decision was made.

“Pull over,” Laurent said -or slurred- shoving Bastian’s hand away

When the driver did nothing, Laurent swallowed valiantly.

“Pull the fuck over,” he said slamming his hand on the headrest in front of him and then fucking finally the prick was pulling over.

Laurent had no idea where they were or if there would be witnesses but needs must.

Laurent swept the door open, leaning sideways, and he could no more of stopped it than he could force himself to see straight. Bastian behind him complained, making a faux-gagging noise as Laurent threw up again. In the gutter. Whilst hanging out of the car. Brilliant.

When he was slamming the door again all he could do to stop the spinning and to-and-fro motions in his stomach was close his eyes and double over, his forehead practically on his knees. He didn’t even have the energy or wherewithal to chastise Bastian for the hand he had against his back, stroking in annoying circles and dipping down far too low, fingers meeting the slither of skin where his shirt was riding up.

He just squeezed his eyes tighter and prayed they got home quickly. He just needed to lie down. Pass out. Everything would be fine if he could just lie down. He didn’t even care where.

Bastian gave up on trying to get Laurent to sit up after a few minutes and settled for stroking his back in a way that Laurent couldn’t be bothered to tell him actually made him feel more sick.

He was confused, when Bastian said they had arrived and he looked up to see the basement car park of his own building. At least, what he thought was his basement car park.

He didn’t comment, couldn’t really remember the conversation or if this had been the plan but he thanked any god that was willing to listen because all he wanted was his bed.

Bastian followed him into the lift, despite Laurent’s grumbles.

“I’m just taking care of you,” he said in response and Laurent frowned at him the entire ride up in the elevator.

At his door, the lock kept moving so he couldn’t put his key in for several long minutes until he finally managed it, ignoring Bastian’s attempts to help him the entire time.

He stumbled into his flat, so thankful to be home that he almost let out a whimper at the thought of being so close to his bed where he intended to curl into a ball to stop his whole fucking body from feeling so shit and then pass out. The pass out part sounded like bliss.

He was stopped from his last herculean stumble to his bedroom by a hand at his wrist. Found the hallway spinning and his stomach lurching as he was pressed back into the wall instead.

Bastian loomed in front of him, pushing his hair back from his face.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he said and Laurent could only frown.

When Bastian leant in Laurent leant away, shoving at the hand at his hip.

“No,” he said but Bastian ignored him, mumbling encouragement, and pet names as he tried a second and a third time only to be met with the same response.

“Come on, you know you want it,”

“No,” Laurent said something crowding at the edges of his thoughts that felt insistent and alarmed, something that was making him aware of his whole body as too-quick thoughts of what do I do had him looking down his hall for an escape that wasn’t there “m’drunk I wanna lie down, I need-“

“You need to spread your pretty legs and let me fuck you to sleep, you love that, I know you do,”

Laurent turned his face away, shoving at Bastian’s hand as it moved toward his belt.

“I said no, please just leave, I don’t want to,”

Bastian sighed, his voice tight “damn it Laurent you were hot for it in the club, don’t be a fucking tease,”

Laurent frowned, guilt punching at his stomach before he remembered he wasn’t with Bastian. Had he been teasing him? Probably. Fuck.

“No-“

“You can just lie back babe, I’ll do all the work, just let me, you know you want it, you can’t rile me up like that and then do nothing about it, that’s not very fair, is it?”

Bastian leant back in and Laurent turned his head again, crushing his eyes closed as the distant panic from a moment ago blasted its way to the front of his brain, so thick and so quick and clear that it choked him.

“I need the bathroom,” he said in a desperate rush, his words breath more than anything as he blinked and tried to make the hallway stay in one place.

Bastian groaned, sliding his hand further, from his hip. Laurent skittered away.

Bastian’s hand slammed into the wall near his head and Laurent froze, heart beating wildly in his chest as he turned startled eyes up to Bastian. In a blink the fingers of Bastian’s other hand were curling hard at his throat.

Laurent sucked in a strangled breath, grabbing at Bastian’s fingers like he could bend them backward and off him. His entire body lit up, panic nestling into his limbs and chest as Bastian refused to move. Just held on tighter, pushing Laurent’s head back against the wall and flexing his fingers, threatening to cut off his air completely. It was a visceral, startling motion and Laurent’s entire vision narrowed into sheer dread.

What could he do? What if he didn’t stop? What if he just took it anyway?

“Fucking tease, you can’t be all over me like that and then what? Pretend you’re not gonna spread your legs? We both know you’re gagging for it, little fucking whore,”

“Okay, okay,” he gasped nodding until Bastian loosened his hold on his throat “but I have to- clean up, throw up- I don’t- just- wait,” he said and took the opportunity of Bastian’s chilling victory smirk to stumble out from beneath his arm.

This time Bastien let him go. Mollified.

“Fine, but for the record I don’t care if you’ve fucked him tonight, might even make me hotter, but whatever, just don’t take too long,”

His heart was pounding as he lurched toward the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He leant against it heavily, feeling like he was on a fucking ship and this was all painfully, horribly, distressingly familiar.

How many times had he been in this exact position? When they were together? When he was with Xander? After that? How many times had Bastien ever taken no for an answer?

He hadn’t. He never had. He’d pleaded or taunted or reasoned until he’d worn Laurent down, or made him feel guilty or obligated, or like the whole situation was his fault, until he did as Bastian wanted.

That wasn’t right either, was it?

Jesus how many of his experiences were this fucked up? How hadn’t he fucking noticed? Damen wouldn’t do that. Damen would have accepted the first no. No, actually Damen wouldn’t have even asked when Laurent was this fucking drunk and-

Damen.

Laurent was such a fucking idiot. This was all his fault. This entire situation was all his own doing and for what? What had been his point?

He was going to be sick again. He lurched toward the toilet, sinking down and retching, painfully dry, not alcohol this time then. Alarm. When nothing happened, he pressed his forehead to the cool seat and fumbled for his phone. With one eye squinting at the infernally bright screen, he managed to hit call and held the phone up.

It rang four times before it was cut off. He tried again. It rang just twice that time before it was rejected.

“Damen please,” he mumbled into the toilet and tried again only to have that call rejected too.

Please. He begged silently, desperately, clutching the phone in his hand, and breathing unevenly. If he rejected the call again, he’d have to call Auguste, he would come. He’d have to, if Laurent told him-

“I know you left with him, so whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” Damen said and his voice was stern. Cold.

It still made relief plummet through him and he breathed out raggedly into the phone “I need you to come get me,” he said, ashamed of the slur he could hear in his own voice, the edge that threatened tears “he won’t leave- I don’t, he’s going to- he keeps trying to- and saying and- I don’t want him here, he’s trying to make me but I don’t want to, the room is spinning and I- please Damen, please come get me, I need you, I really need you, please-“

“Where are you?” Damen asked before Laurent could even finish his embarrassing litany of pleas.

“Home,”

Laurent could hear noise, Damen saying something to someone and a rumble that sounded like a car going up a gear “I’m on my way,”

Laurent breathed out, Damen was already in a car, which meant he wasn’t far away. He ignored the knock on the door and Bastian’s voice on the other side in favour for silently thanking god that was Damen wasn’t still at the club.

“Please get here,” He said squeezing his eyes closed and pushing a hand against his mouth to quell the urge to be sick again.

“Has he hurt you?” Damen asked

Laurent groaned, fighting the rising urge to retch again.

“Not yet,” he slurred,.

“Keep talking to me baby, where are you?”

“Bathroom,” he mumbled, pressing his head against the cool porcelain of the toilet seat again “can’t talk,” he managed breathing deeply through his mouth.

“Okay, that’s okay, just keep the phone to your face, can you do that? Let me hear you breathing sweetheart,”

“’kay,”

“You locked the door, right?”

“Mm-hmm,” he agreed, managing to push himself back so he could sit, leaning up against the counter with his forehead pressed to his knees and the comforting sound of Damen’s’ voice at his ear.

“Good, that’s really good Laurent,” he said “I won’t be long, and I know you can’t really talk, but I still need you to tell me if anything happens,”

“M’sick,” Laurent complained, swallowing a dangerous hiccup.

“You’re wasted,” Damen corrected “but that’s alright, it’s going to be okay,”

“Laurent!”

Bastian’s voice preceded the pounding on the bathroom door and Laurent groaned despite himself, flinching at how loud it sounded.

“What the fuck are you doing in there?” Bastian called, sounding at best, annoyed.

“Piss off,” Laurent called back, finding his voice enough to groan the words out and hope it travelled.

“What the fuck are-“

“I’m throwing up,” Laurent shouted, anger seeping into his tone “go the fuck away,”

“Fucks sake hurry up,” Bastian practically growled and Laurent listened to his footsteps recede back down the hall.

“Damen,”

“I’m still here,” Damen said and his voice had an edge to it that Laurent couldn’t place

“What if he breaks the door down?” Laurent breathed, closing his eyes, remembering the way Auguste had done just that at his far fancier apartment just days before.

“Then I’ll kill him,” Damen said and he sounded so serious, so fierce that Laurent could only breathe through the kick it gave his chest and the way it made his stomach flutter.

“What if-“ he began to see if he could coax Damen into saying anything else that was sexy as fuck.

“Nothing is going to happen baby do you hear me?” Damen said “I’m breaking about every traffic law in the country to get to you and I’m nearly there, I won’t let anything happen to you Laurent, there is no what if, it’s not happening,”

“Fuck, Damen,” He groaned, swallowing thickly, not around bile this time but to stem the sudden and incredibly ill-timed heat pooling through him.

“Laurent are you al-“

“Good, m’good, that’s just… really hot,” he said leaning his head back against the counter

Damen didn’t respond for a long beat but when he did his voice was unsteady.

“You’re very drunk,” Damen said

Laurent hummed his agreement “still hot,” he said

“I’m downstairs, I’ll be two minutes, okay?”

“Please,”

It felt like a long two minutes. With Laurent listening to Damen’s breathing and closing his eyes, letting his own breathing sync with his.

When Laurent heard voices, Damen’s voice, he dropped his phone and forced himself to his feet. The whole room tilted and he lurched, gripping the sink and blinking as though it would help. It was a struggle to the door, but when he made it, he threw it open and tripped out into the hall.

“He invited me here, he begged me to come fuck him,” Bastian was saying as Damen shoved past him and froze upon seeing Laurent.

Laurent frowned, shaking his head as much as he could “Damen,”

Damen came toward him, checking him over before drawing him in against his chest and Laurent melted, let Damen draw him around

“Get the fuck out,” Damen said “he called, he told me you wouldn’t leave but I have no problem physically fucking making you,”

From the safety of Damen’s chest Laurent peeled an eye open and saw Bastian smirk that awful smile that set off warning bells in his head.

“He sucked my cock in the car you know, you’re already too late,”

What. The. Fuck.

Rage bubbled up in Laurent’s chest as Damen stiffened against him and loosened his hold. Ignoring the nausea and the slip slide of his vision Laurent launched himself from Damen’s arms, flying at Bastian and shoving him hard.

“Bastard,” he hissed noticing the surprise on Bastian’s face “liar, what. Is. Wrong. With. You?” he demanded hitting him and shoving him backwards until Bastian was grabbing for his wrists.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, voice rising an octave and hysteria as he yanked himself away “you repulse me,” he spat “why are you such a fucking cunt all the fucking time,”

“You asked-“

“Liar,”

He threw his fist out. He didn’t make the conscious decision to do it, his hand seemed to act of its own volition. Laurent wasn’t even aware of it until he felt his fist connect with Bastian’s face; the satisfying thud of impact and pain in his knuckles as Bastian’s head snapped away and he stumbled, right into the wall.

Laurent groaned, holding his fist to his chest as Damen moved around him and hauled Bastian away. He was quiet at least, eyes wide and mouth open and Damen didn’t say a word, just physically shoved him out the door.

He didn’t realise how badly he was shaking until Damen was back in front of him, holding him by the shoulders and meeting his eyes.

He looked like he wanted to say something but he did that thing with his shoulders again and deflated, giving a gentle sigh instead.

“Come on,” Damen said, carefully taking Laurent back to the bathroom.

Gentle. His hands were always so gentle. Right up until Laurent asked for them not to be. Fuck he really loved those hands. Big. Wide. How good they felt on him and in him- even at his throat- he loved them so fucking much.

“Laurent,” Damen said, tone a warning and oh. Did he say all that out loud?

He tipped his head up, blinking stupidly at him but even drunk and ready to pass out he recognised the look on Damen’s face. How dark his eyes were. He liked it.

“S’true,” he shrugged as he let Damen lift him up onto the counter and turned the tap on.

Damen just shook his head and then he was forcing Laurent’s hand under the freezing faucet and what the fuck?

He hissed, trying to drag his hand back but Damen was, as ever, immoveable.

“Just let me,” he said, the kind of tone that meant no argument.

Laurent relented, let his knuckles get blasted by cold water that he would probably only appreciate tomorrow and settled for staring at Damen instead. Damen. Who had come when he called. Even when they were in a fight.

But then, he shouldn’t be surprised should he? He did that for Auguste. It’s what the whole mess was about in the first place.

But he thought, maybe, just maybe, if Auguste felt even half of the I-don’t-know-what-to-do panic that Laurent had felt and desperately needed someone to come to the rescue, to come without question, someone who he could rely on… he understood why it was Damen. He understood. And Damen cared enough to do it because that’s who Damen was.

Damen just had it didn’t he? That slightly annoying presence that just filled a room and made you feel like you could breathe right, or let go, like it was safe because Damen would know what to do. He could understand Auguste needing that.

He might even pity him slightly for ever losing it to begin with.

Damen was Laurent’s safe person too. Maybe his only safe person. He wanted to lean on him, into him. Let Damen turn his brain off. He could do that. Just switch off. Damen would take care of him and it would be so nice not to think. Decisions were hard. Thinking was awful.

Damen was avidly avoiding his stare as he fussed over Laurent’s knuckles but Laurent couldn’t feel the throb through the numbness anymore so he didn’t bother to check. Damen would make it better.

After he had meticulously dried Laurent’s hand and rummaged through Ancel’s cabinet for a cream Laurent didn’t bother to ask the point of, he turned his attention to Laurent’s face.

He must be a mess. He’d thrown up so very much. But Damen didn’t comment. Nor did he meet his gaze, he just wiped carefully at him with a damp cloth and Laurent hummed, closed his eyes and leant into it.

“Never hit anyone before,” he mumbled into the quiet.

Damen breathed an aborted chuckle and when Laurent prised his eyes open he was shaking his head fondly “well you’re a natural,”

“I’ve dreamt about punching him in his stupid punch-able stupid lying face,”

Damen did grin then, meeting Laurent’s gaze after what felt like three hundred years “feel good?”

Laurent managed what he hoped was a smirk “better than fucking him ever did,”

Damen laughed out loud, surprise on his face as he shook his head and Laurent loved that sound.

He made a conscious effort to say that out loud and Damen quieted immediately, meeting his gaze.

He cleared his throat “do you need to brush your teeth?” he asked “mouthwash?”

“I don’t taste sick anymore,” Laurent said scrunching up his nose because he honestly could think of few things worse than mint and brushing his teeth at that moment.

He’d be sick for sure. His gag reflex would not survive. He would regret it in the morning but at that moment he couldn’t bear it.

Damen looked down, fiddling with the damp flannel “wasn’t what I was asking,” he said

Laurent cocked his head, trying to understand and the second realisation dawned he made an embarrassing mewling noise and reached for him.

“No,” he said as emphatically as he could when his voice was shaking and his stomach was rolling “no he’s an ugly fucking liar, I didn’t-“ he said, upset with the hiccup that came out of him “I wouldn’t,”

“It’s- if you did I’d rather just know,” Damen said staring at him from behind a shield, that same shield Laurent had seen on him before. The other times he’d hurt him.

He made a sound of distress, scooted closer, spreading his legs around Damen’s hips and shaking his head “but I didn’t, I wanted you and- Damen please, believe me, I- I didn’t, it was just a stupid dance, please- I can’t-“

“It’s okay,” Damen said, soothing him, making shushing sounds and letting an arm wind around Laurent to settle him.

And it did. He relaxed, let his forehead fall against Damen’s shoulder.

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” Damen said

Laurent nodded.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Damen said

“M’not walking,” Laurent mumbled against his chest.

Damen sighed but his hands went carefully to Laurent’s thighs and Laurent’s body reacted to the familiar ease of the position. Damen carried him like that, with Laurent clinging to him, back to his bedroom.

Damen laid him down gently and Laurent immediately groaned and kicked his own shoes off as Damen disappeared out into the hall. When he came back he had a glass of water, some painkillers, and he’d rescued Laurent’s phone.

Laurent just watched him, his heart beating as Damen set them on the side for him and then drew the comforter up over him instead of making him move to get in the bed. Damen knew him so well. Damen loved him, didn’t he? Even Auguste said so. Even after what he knew. Even when Laurent was mean and ignored him. He still came. When he was mad and hurting he came when he called. Who the fuck else did Laurent ever have that would do that for him?

It was stupid. It was all so stupid.

When Damen was done tucking him in he stepped back but Laurent caught his wrist, tugged “stay?”

“Laurent-“

“I love you,” Laurent said blinking up at him “I do, you know? Have for a while like- maybe I always have, before I even knew what it meant,”

Damen sucked in a breath, expression twisting for a beat before he stepped closer. He didn’t lie down. But he did sit down on the edge and carded his fingers through Laurent’s hair.

“Sleep it off Laurent,” he said

He closed his eyes, let the familiarity and the soothing feel of Damen’s fingers in his hair lull him under.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbled eyes still closed, sleep dragging him down quickly.

He didn’t hear Damen’s response but when he woke up, Damen was gone.

Chapter Text

Laurent’s head was pounding so hard it took all his energy to reach for the water and swallow some painkillers. After, he sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as the previous night flashed in annoyingly vivid images in his skull.

Fuck.

He forced himself up off the bed, too dehydrated and hung over to process any of it.

Ancel was already in the kitchen when he wandered in, feeling he’d been trampled by something very large. And angry.

“You look like shit,” Ancel said from his place at the dining table.

He was fiddling idly with his notebook, watching Laurent with an unimpressed stare as he downed another glass of water and set about making coffee.

The silence was thick and Laurent could feel Ancel’s judgement. He figured he was about to get a lecture about leaving without telling him so when his coffee was made, he sat down opposite him and lit a cigarette.

“Look-“

“I know,” Ancel cut across him “Damen left me a note,” he said holding the notebook up so Laurent could see Damen’s familiar handwriting.

Laurent froze, heart soaring for a hopeful moment before he realised from the look on Ancel’s face it probably wasn’t anything good.

“What does it say?” he swallowed

“Bastian? Really? Are you fucking serious?” Ancel said and he didn’t even screech the way Laurent would have expected, he was calm. Angry even.

“Please don’t,”

“I don’t get you Laurent,” Ancel sighed “jumping back into bed with Bastian and for what?” he snorted “and you said I was a petty bitch,” he snorted as he got up from the table thrust the note toward him “he left this with it,” he said putting the key down in front of him before leaving the room.

Damen had left his key. Laurent picked it up, turning it over in his palm before picking up the note with unsteady fingers.

Ancel,

Laurent’s drunk. He had Bastian here last night so I don’t know what he’ll be like in the morning but look out for him please.

I also borrowed some of your arnica.

D x

It did not take a genius to infer what he wasn’t saying. Damen believed Bastian.

And why wouldn’t he?

Part of Laurent was angry that Damen believed Bastian but it lasted all of two minutes before he realised it wasn’t about Laurent’s word vs Bastian’s. It wasn’t about believing Bastian, it didn’t matter, did it? Whether he had or hadn’t. The insinuation was enough and now Damen was gone.

Funny really, how losing him had made Laurent realise how viscerally he did not want them to be over. Had he ever thought of them as over? Not really. Not truly. Despite how much he’d ignored him and how much venom he’d spat at him he hadn’t really considered them over. But then, perhaps he’d been guilty of not thinking about them at all. Just himself.

Fuck.

He followed Ancel to the living room, abandoning his cigarette and his coffee and padding on bare feet until he was on the threshold. Ancel was typing, and pointedly ignored Laurent lingering in the doorway for a long moment before finally looking up with an annoyed huff.

Whatever was on his face made Ancel frown, move his laptop to the armrest.

“I didn’t sleep with Bastian,” he said

Ancel snorted “I’m not the one you need to lie to,”

Laurent closed his eyes and tipped his head back, breathing harshly through his nose. Even Ancel didn’t believe him and he hadn’t heard it from Bastian’s mouth.

“I really didn’t,” Laurent said, voice shaking and word vomited the entire sorry story.

Until he’d told Ancel everything from start to finish.

Ancel frowned, staring at him carefully “so that’s why Damen was here?”

Laurent nodded “but he told Damen I blew him in the car on the way here and now he’s gone,” he said with a helpless kind of shrug that belied the absolute explosion happening in his chest.

He could feel his eyes welling, could feel his throat getting tight and it must have been obvious because Ancel relented and came toward him, dragging him into a hug that for once, Laurent didn’t protest.

He felt sick with it. It was an uncomfortable feeling and one he could choke on. He wasn’t sure how to name it, how to classify it. The feeling bubbling up in his chest and sinking in his stomach was unfamiliar but strong; so strong he could concentrate on little else but the fractured ache settling there.

Ancel wrapped his arm around him, stroking his hair and his back and drew Laurent’s face to his shoulder, let him lean against the solid weight of him and breathe him in.

“Okay,” Ancel said pulling back and dragging Laurent by his sleeve to sit on the sofa “and we’re sure Damen believes Bastian?”

Laurent groaned, tipped his head back against the sofa and stared at the ceiling “he left his key, you read his note, and notice how there is very much no Damen in this apartment right now,” he sighed “yes, he believes him, he has every reason to,”

A fresh wave of nausea rolled through him. Recalling the incident in the smoking area where Laurent, in all his drunk childishness, had told Damen about his uncle.

“Fuck,” Laurent said doubling over to put his face on his knees as the reality hit him.

Because that made it worse. Now that Damen knew what type of person Laurent really was. What he was really capable of. Even if he didn’t believe Bastian why would he want Laurent now? Now that he knew the truth.

“You need to talk to him,”

Laurent nodded against his knees, even though the idea of calling Damen made him want to vomit. Ancel patted his head before tugging gentling on the back of his shirt to get him to sit up.

“There’s no point wallowing,” Ancel said “not before you know for sure what Damen is thinking, last night it was fresh and he was hurt, plus you were drunk and after like, a week of flat out ignoring him, even without Bastian, Damen would have gone home last night,”

That was true. Damen wouldn’t impose himself on him if he wasn’t sure Laurent wanted him there. And he really had been very drunk. So drunk that he’d-

“I fucking told him I loved him,” he hissed, cringing at the memory. How trite, how fucking disingenuous, did that look?

It looked like a fucking get out of jail free card. The same way Damen’s words had when he’d said them at the hospital.

Ancel snorted “drunk,” he grinned, shaking his head “course you fucking did, Christ Laurent,”

“God, I’m never fucking drinking again,” he swore

“Do you love him?”

Laurent could barely think the word most of the time but he knew the answer. It had come to him before. The bubbling feeling in his chest and the warmth that pervaded him. It wasn’t like the warmth from a fire, or the way the sun heated your skin. It was inside, like Damen had set something aglow, lit something up, brought him to life in a way he hadn’t even known to miss or want and there was only ever one answer.

“How could I not?”

Ancel nodded, flashing him an encouraging smile “go shower, get dressed, then call Damen and explain,”

“What if he won’t listen?” Laurent asked, hating how fucking unsure his voice sounded.

Ancel snorted, pinched the end of his nose “then I’m sure you’ll tell me how your own medicine tastes,” he said pointedly as he went back to his laptop and armchair.

Laurent may have deserved that.

~*~

As he went through the familiar monotony of making himself feel more human, he had nothing but space to let his mind wander through a series of worst case scenarios. The splintering feeling in his chest and the lead in his stomach only intensified as he did.

It was worse somehow: knowing it was his fault. There was a kind of comfort in wallowing in someone else’s mistake, a sense that he couldn’t have done anything to truly change it. Righteous indignation was far easier to swallow than regret.

He’d acted like a child. No matter how many reasons he’d thought he’d had for acting the way he had since Auguste came home from the hospital, it was perfectly clear now that he had been a fucking idiot. A twenty-one-year-old child sticking his head in the sand and refusing all lines of communication. He’s chosen to stew in his anger and his hurt and he’d shut everyone out. Shut Damen out. Chosen his isolated spiral.

Was it any surprise that Damen had instantly believed Bastian? Laurent had been acting petty all fucking week, was it a stretch, especially after the dancing at the club, to imagine he’d do something with Bastian just as a fuck you?

Probably not.

He had never regretted anything more. He’d had everything he’d wanted and it was only now that he faced losing it, he realised everything with Auguste, all of his other fears, all of his hurt and anger, seemed woefully insignificant. Less like mountains and more like speedbumps.

A truly perfect time for clarity really. Given that he’d just erected a wall between them the size of the Mariana trench.

Showered, dressed, and wearing a hoody he couldn’t possibly have mistaken for his own given its size, he sat on the edge of his bed, working up the courage to reach for the phone on the nightstand.

He could just go and see him, he supposed. But with the wedding just a day away Damen was most likely not at home. Laurent didn’t know what kind of duties a best man had, but he did know Nikandros was demanding and over-strung so probably had Damen at his side regardless of what he was doing.

With one last deep breath he picked his phone up. Instantly, hope was flaring in his chest when he saw he had a message. It very quickly deflated when he saw who it was from.  A voice-note. From Bastian.

Dread filled him, like his body already knew what his brain hadn’t yet understood.

He hit play.

Bastian’s voice came over the speaker, a hiss, a snarl of words that made Laurent’s stomach sink.

“Fucking whore, you’re lucky it’s my sister’s wedding or I’d be speaking to the press right now, telling them all your dirty little secrets, you think I won’t? I’ve got photos to prove it and they’ll just love to see them I bet, you think you can just treat me like that without consequences? You’re so fucking wrong,”

Laurent had to play it three times before it sank in. His entire body was shaking and it took a few moments to realise that he was hyperventilating.

Bastian had photos of him. He doubled over, sliding to the floor to bring his knees to his chest, trying to breathe through the static swell in his lungs that made him feel like the air was too thick.

This couldn’t be happening.

He had never let Bastian record him and never sent him anything. He’d never been that stupid. As far as Laurent was aware the only person who had sex photos or a video of him was Damen. He’d been the only one he ever trusted.

Which really only left one option. Bastian had taken photos of him at some point without him knowing and without his consent. They could be of anything.

His head was filled with the horror stories, of celebrities leaked nudes and sex tapes and scandals splashed all over social media and the front pages. Of videos being put online forever one google search away. He felt sick; a roiling rolling discomfort that nearly choked him.

If he’d thought last week was his nightmare come to life then he was wrong because this was his nightmare. How many times had he been scared of something like this? Afraid the truth about his Uncle would get out. Afraid of the stories Bastian told the people they knew. Afraid of the gossip and even the insinuation of anything to do with his sex life. It made him uncomfortable. Petrified even. A solid weight of absolutely fucking not that made him want to sink down into the depths of the earth and stay there.

He’d been mad at Damen for telling Pallas details of the sex they’d had the first time. And that was just one person. He could scarce imagine the magnified dread and humiliation of knowing thousands -fuck, millions- knew details like that. Worse, could see those details.

His mind instantly conjured the worst possibilities: him drunk, him bent over the edge of the bed, him on his fucking knees entirely oblivious to the camera…

The possibilities were endless. Except he was most likely drunk if he hadn’t been aware, and he was most likely not looking directly at Bastian. Which wasn’t anything new. He never really looked at Bastian. He never had. That gave him ample opportunity to film him or take photos without him being aware.

He sucked in a breath, lungs not inflating properly, like they were too fucking full of dread to fill up with air the way they should. It felt like there was a hand at his throat, like he was on a treadmill running flat out but breathing through a straw.

He gasped, shaking with the intensity of the flare of imminent dread, the spike in his pulse, the jittery feeling in his limbs, and the warning bells in his head that told him he couldn’t breathe and this was really fucking bad.

The panic was sharp, hot, and blinding. An unsettled gasp that clawed at his throat and chest that had him floundering, gasping and gasping with a hand pressed to his heart, aware it was beating too quickly, that his head felt like it was drowning, that the fucking walls were narrowing in and an illogical voice screamed at him that he could die like this.

Logic told him loud and clear that he was having a panic attack. That it was nothing new. That he’d survived every single panic attack he’d ever had in his life.

A louder somewhat younger voice reminded him he hadn’t had a panic attack this bad in years and this was, undoubtedly, pathetic. Weak. So fucking stupid.

And all his own fault.

It took him a long time to come back down, for his chest to stop heaving and his brain to stop churning violently so he could think straight again.

Usually, he’d tell himself it was okay. That he was okay. But he wasn’t okay. This absolutely was not okay.

With shaking hands he called Damen, instinct compelling him. Over and over. Five times until on the sixth dial Damen didn’t just ignore or reject it. He’d turned his phone off.

Laurent did the only thing he could in response when he was spinning out and spiralling. He went to Auguste’s. He ignored Ancel’s questions and slammed out of the apartment. Calling for a car as he went down in the elevator.

When he arrived he let himself into Auguste’s like he usually did and was immediately accosted by the sound of voices down the hall coming from the living room. He clicked the door shut, praying it was Auguste on the phone because he really needed his undivided attention right the fuck now. He needed his big brother to tell him it was going to be okay.

He padded down the hall and when he rounded the corner his stomach sank, even as his stupid heart lifted when he realised he was staring at Damen’s back.

Shit.

Auguste saw him first. He frowned, expression one of instant concern probably from the state of him and of course that got Damen’s attention.

Damen turned and even when their eyes met his expression shifted for a beat, a millisecond, a fucking blink. It was too fast for Laurent to recognise it, but the way Damen’s eyes slid down him reminded him that he was stood there shamelessly in Damen’s hoody. And his hair was still damp.

So, was the flash a good thing or a bad thing? When had he gotten so bad at reading him? Damen usually liked him in his clothes. But maybe today that was not a good thing. He didn’t fucking know and he hated it.

“I should go,” Damen said already turning back to Auguste.

Auguste’s expression went from concerned to surprised “oh,” he said dumbly, eyes back on Damen “right- you don’t have to-“

“No, I do,” Damen said already picking his jacket up from the arm of the sofa.

Auguste’s expression was pinched, gaze flickering between them for a moment “okay, but you’ll come say goodbye before you go?”

“Go?” Laurent interrupted “go where?”

“Ios,” Damen said without looking at him “I’ve got to go, Nik needs… I’ve got to go,” he said, pointedly to Auguste like Laurent wasn’t even there.

When he turned it was obvious he had no intention of even looking at Laurent, but the panic in his chest had him side stepping to block Damen’s hasty retreat.

“Wait, can we talk? Please?” he asked, holding his hands out like he had a hope in hell of physically stopping him should Damen decide to shove past him.

Damen’s eyes flashed, sparing him a brief glance before his expression went tight and he clenched his jaw “I’ve got a rehearsal,” he said, taking a step forward as though that was going to deter Laurent.

“After then? Please Damen, please,”

They needed to talk. He needed to explain. Beg. Justify. Fucking anything so long as Damen actually fucking looked at him.

Damen didn’t look sure but he nodded, jaw clenched “I’ll text you when I’m done,” he said before he slid past Laurent, walking away too fast for Laurent to do anything more than swivel on the spot to watch him disappear out the door.

At least he had said yes. Better than Laurent even in this, it seemed.

Laurent swallowed, watching him leave with his heart in his throat and when he turned back to Auguste there was confusion on his face

“I feel like I missed something,” he said slowly, frowning

Laurent nodded “I fucked up,” he said, voice thick with tears that he had refused thus far but it was getting really hard not to give in and just sob.

But he couldn’t, he would continue to refuse them. Crying was useless. He wouldn’t pity himself. Not right now. If he cried he might not stop and that was just- no.

He blinked furiously, tipping his head up to chase them away and Auguste was in front of him instantly, a hand at the back of his neck, tilting Laurent’s head back down.

“Loz, what happened?” he asked, and his voice was troubled, radiating with it, all of his worry and his protectiveness and fuck- that was going to set him off too.

He batted his hand away “no, don’t be nice, I’ll lose my shit, just, go over there, I’ll tell you, but I really need your help Auguste, I really fucked up and I don’t know what to do,”

Auguste took a step back, sinking down onto the sofa and gesturing Laurent to take a seat. He chose the seat at the other end, pulling his knees up and leaning against the arm to face him. His usual spot.

“Bastian threatened to leak photos of me to the press, or online, or- I don’t know, how does it work? Does he just post them? Or does he sell them? What happens then? Is it instant? What about if it’s a video? Do I need-“

“Whoa,” Auguste said holding his hand out “slow down, what the fuck are you saying?”

“Sex photos,” Laurent said “at least, that’s the implication, I-“

“Why? What? How the fuck does Bastian- I thought this was about Damen?”

Fuck. Well. He supposed he should tell him everything. He started at the beginning of the night, reciting the whole fucking mess the way he had with Ancel except he paid much more attention to Auguste’s expressions.

When he mentioned the part about dancing with Bastian to make Damen jealous Auguste rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he pressed his eyes closed and yeah. He was mad at him. Why wouldn’t he be? Auguste had never liked Bastian and for once, Laurent also understood that the same protectiveness he’d witnessed before for himself, probably also extended to Damen.

All this time he had been angry that he’d found himself in the middle of Auguste and Damen’s messed up friendship. He realised, as Auguste sighed and lit a cigarette, that it was probably Auguste in the middle. At least, in this.

What a fucking mess.

When he told him about the voice-note and his own voice shook Auguste looked furious, and for a long moment he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He paced, chest rising and falling and Laurent could only watch his agitated marching.

“For the record I wouldn’t mind you killing him,” Laurent said to break the silence.

It stopped Auguste short, eyes flaring wide as a disbelieving snort came out of him.

“Laurent!” He chastised but it was enough, the moment was broken and Auguste sat back down, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette and shoving the box at Laurent.

He lit one by habit, for something to do with his hands, not really because he wanted one.

“Bastian’s threat is the most pressing, and is also probably easier to solve,” Auguste said and Laurent’s eyes were on Auguste’s leg; the way it was jumping agitatedly. Fuck. He probably shouldn’t have dumped all this on him.

“Are you okay?” he asked

Auguste nodded “it actually helps to have something more screwed up to focus on,”

Laurent scowled at him “thanks for that,”

Auguste just waved him off “I think it’s fairly obvious I’ve been off my game for a long time, and if we go to the PR team they’ll tell Dad, which is exactly what you don’t want I assume?”

Laurent nodded, he would give his father absolutely no reason to give him a lecture or to look at him with anymore disdain than he had done before. Like it was his fault Auguste went and committed a murder.

“He did help you though,” Laurent said biting on his lip

Auguste shook his head “honestly, not really, he came but he’s not the one who buried it,”

Laurent pressed his eyes closed because of course. Of-fucking-course.

“Damen,”

Auguste hummed “yeah, Damen, and the King, and the secret service,” he shrugged

Laurent groaned “I can’t tell him,”

“It’s dad or Damen, they’re the only people with the power to block it, that won’t take us ages to get to or convince,” Auguste sighed “or the actual police, but you have to know that will get leaked to the press anyway and then you’ll have to deal with speculation about what’s going on with you that you need the police,”

Fuck, he was right. He knew that. He hadn’t even considered calling the police. They’d be fucking useless anyway.

“No police,” he said “but I can’t ask Damen, not after… he’s not talking to me,” he admitted, stabbing his cigarette out with more force than necessary.

“I’ll talk to him,”

“What? No!” he said sitting up straighter “I can’t ask you to-“

Auguste snorted “you think I’m above begging for his help with this? It’s not like I’ve got any dignity left to lose with Damen anyway,”

“Don’t say that,”

Auguste huffed “he’s cleaned sick and blood, and someone else’s come off me a hundred times,” he said flapping his hand at Laurent “definitely had to hold me up whilst I pissed once or twice, not to mention he’s seen me at the tail end of a week-long bender where hygiene didn’t exist and let us not forget the multiple occasions where I was off my tits and ugly crying,”

Laurent groaned, already knowing that this was going to happen and hating it. He didn’t want to put this on Damen too. Not now.

Auguste scooted closer, folding Laurent into his embrace, one arm wrapped snugly around his shoulder as he spoke into his hair “it’ll be okay, whatever happens, no matter what, I’ll be here, you’re not alone, we can fix this,”

Laurent didn’t -couldn’t- respond, so he turned his face into Auguste’s chest and squeezed his eyes closed. He really fucking hoped he was right.

~*~

Laurent excused himself to the guest room whilst Auguste called Damen. He didn’t want to hear a single word between them, in case Damen sounded angry. Or worse said he wouldn’t help.

Not that Laurent really believed that. But it wasn’t an option he wanted to rely on solely. Damen was good, but he didn’t deserve to have to clean up another of Laurent’s messes. He couldn’t sit by idly and just let his life fall to fucking pieces without doing anything about it. Bastian was sneaky and underhand and a total fucking prick. He had a feeling that in order to rectify the mess he would have to match him.

It was a good job he had no problem with any of that. He was calling Nicaise before he could think better of it.

“This better be good, I’m in bed, and so hungover I want to die,” Nicaise grumbled as he answered the phone.

From the sound of it Nicaise had his face smushed into the pillows and had wedged the phone beneath his ear.

“I need you to do something for me,”

“Oh well in that case let me magically give a shit,” Nicaise huffed

“It’s serious, are you with Aimeric?”

Nicaise didn’t answer right away, and when he did his voice was careful “why the fuck would I be with him?”

Laurent didn’t answer, he let the silence speak for him.

With a huff Nicaise relented “yes, fine he’s here, what’s wrong?”

“I need you to do some digging, your parents are in everyone’s business no? And Aimeric has connections just about everywhere, right?”

Nicaise groaned “he has one-night stands everywhere yes,” he said “and I can dig, but I might need to know what I’m looking for,”

“Bastian,” he said “anything, everything, anything fucked up or dirty that I can use,”

“Use for what?” Nicaise asked but he sounded interested now and not annoyed.

“Against him, to ruin him, whatever you want to call it, can you do that?”

“Fuck yes I can do that,” he said and Laurent waited as he relayed the information to Aimeric “Aimeric said yes, we’ll see what we can find, Bastian’s not that smart, if there’s something we’ll find it,”

“Can you do it quickly?”

“Why?” Nicaise asked “what’s happening?”

“Just-“ he didn’t want to go over it again, twice was enough for him “please? Trust me, it’s necessary,”

“Alright,” Nicaise said “my step-father is a sketchy fuck so if there’s nothing, should I have him plant something or-“

“Maybe just, look first alright? Not just him, his family,”

If there was something, anything, he could use to make him back off then Laurent was absolutely not above dragging his entire fucking family through the shit to do it. There might be nothing, but it was better to be prepared, if there was, then maybe he could leave Damen out of it.

“Alright well, guess I’ve got dirt to dig up,” Nicaise hummed “I hope there’s something awful,” he cackled

Laurent hoped so too.

~*~

Damen had told Auguste to send Laurent over at one in the afternoon. He had arrived fifteen minutes early and had chain-smoked two cigarettes whilst anxiously pacing outside; building up the courage to knock.

It was ridiculous. But his body was a maelstrom of emotion that he wasn’t very good at processing at the best of times let alone under such intense circumstances. He wanted to see him more than anything, even if he knew it was going to hurt.

When Damen opened the door, he met Laurent’s eyes. There was a static moment, neither of them moving or blinking or speaking. It came with a creeping tension that made Laurent’s swallow audible and had Damen shifting restlessly.

“You can-“ Damen stepped aside, sweeping his hand out to show Laurent in and with a deep breath, he went.

Laurent followed him to the kitchen, where the quiet hum of the television playing on the wall provided at least some background noise; suppressing the inevitable silence.

“How are you feeling?” Damen asked as he directed Laurent to the familiar table and wandered off behind the island to make him a coffee.

How many times had he been sat in that exact spot watching Damen do that for him?

He got lost in that thought, in the memory of being fucked on that table, or over the island counter, or-

“Laurent?”

He sucked in a breath, shaking himself out of his wildly inappropriate musings.

“Pissed off mostly,” he sighed “stupid, foolish, insert synonym here,” he said “you?”

Damen flashed him a wry smile “about the same,”

About him. Because of him.

He turned his eyes down, fiddling with the overlong sleeves of his hoody that he really should have left at Auguste’s.

Damen set the fancy coffee down in front of Laurent and instead of taking the seat at the head of the table like normal, where his knees would brush Laurent’s, where it was easy and intimate to lean forward to touch him, he sat beside him. He supposed it was better than having him sit opposite.

“You’re going to Ios?” Laurent asked, and wanted to step out of his own body to slap himself round the back of his head.

Damen hummed as he drew his tablet toward himself with one hand and awakened the screen of his laptop with the other.

“Brought my trip forward, that’s all,”

Not so long-ago Damen had asked Laurent if he wanted to go with him. He was supposed to be spending the summer down south at his family estate with him and instead Damen had brought his trip forward several weeks. Without telling him.

“Why?” he asked, not looking at him, still fiddling with the sleeves.

Damen didn’t answer for a long moment, but when Laurent peeked at him his expression was tight.

“I thought some space would be prudent,” he said clearing his throat “Auguste said Bastian left you a voice note?”

Laurent snorted at the anything-but-subtle change of subject and nodded, unlocking his phone and pulling up the text conversation with Bastian. There were many, many, months between the last message and the voice note. Laurent had absolutely no ulterior motive in letting Damen see that as he handed his phone over.

Damen played it, expression darkening and fingers clenching and unclenching rhythmically on the table top.

“He doesn’t explicitly mention sex photos,” he said

Laurent nodded “it’s heavily implied, I mean, what the fuck else would the press care about?”

“You gave him a black eye last night,” Damen said “could be that or of the two of us?”

Laurent considered. It could. But Laurent knew Bastian. He knew him and he knew how he thought. If he wanted to spin a tale of violence to the press sporting his black eye as proof, he’d have done it without the warning. No, he wanted Laurent to panic. He wanted him to freak out and he was using one of the only ways he knew how to make it happen.

“No, if it was us he’d have mentioned you, if it was the punching him thing he’d have done it already,”

Damen handed him his phone back, shaking his head “such a piece of shit,” he said, quiet enough that Laurent was very aware it was not something he was meant to respond to.

If he did, it opened the door to the next obvious question: What the fuck were you doing with him in the first place?

Laurent didn’t have an answer for that except to say that when they’d first gotten together, he’d been broken and stupid. Desperate people will take what they can get, after all.

Since then? Laurent was starting to realise that maybe Auguste wasn’t the only one of them prone to a little self-flagellation.

“Right,” Damen said and Laurent recognised the transition from Damen to The Earl just in the tone of his voice; the quiet authority and immediate business expression “I’ve put a block on any photos of you, and I’ve requested to know if and when he attempts to sell them, if he puts them on social media or some revenge porn site I have my team on alert, they’ll find them and have them taken down,”

Revenge Porn.

That’s what it was, wasn’t it? What it would be. Photos or a video of Laurent at his most intimate. Vulnerable. Weakest.

He swallowed thickly, sucking in a breath and rolled his lips between his teeth to stop himself from voicing any of the stricken thoughts ruminating in his brain.

“Okay,” Laurent said instead of asking any of the questions he probably should have been asking.

“Do you know what they’re of?” Damen asked, all matter-of-fact, like he really was talking business and not revenge porn with his- with Laurent.

“I didn’t even know he had photos,” he said staring at the wall beside the table where Damen had fucked him the first morning Laurent had woken up here “I never let him take any or record me so I-“ he closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands into the sockets “fuck,” he said doubling over like it would stop the panic rising in his system like a fucking disease.

This was literally his worst nightmare made manifest. The whole fucking week was. He forced himself to count to ten, forwards and backwards twice with even breathing before he felt right enough to sit up. When he did Damen was staring at the floor. His mouth a thin line and his hands folded together tightly in his lap. He was rigid.

When Damen stole a glance at him and realised he was back in the moment, he nodded, face morphing again to his infuriatingly calm and cool business face.

“Well it’s a crime, so best case scenario he’s stupid enough to put them online and my team take them down, we report him and he gets arrested,”

“Best?” Laurent hissed “are you forgetting the part where people would see them?”

Damen sighed “I won’t lie to you, there is a very high chance they’ll surface, one way or the other, no one can do much of anything except be in place to act quickly and provide remedies when they do,”

Laurent felt his stomach churn and he blinked the sting from his eyes as the realisation set in. It wasn't really an if it was when. They were likely going to get out and all they could do was try to limit the exposure. He felt fucking sick with it, mind flashing with a thousand scenarios, each more and more grotesque. His father would see them. His grandmother. His old school teacher. Millions of random fucking strangers.

Damen. Damen would probably see them and though Damen had seen Laurent like that a hundred times he desperately did not want him to see them.

Damen was silent for a long moment “could he have taken them last night?”

Laurent shook his head, too stuck in his thoughts to process the words “there was nothing to take a photo of unless it’s me throwing up, it’ll be from when we were together or-“ he trailed off and frowned, whipped his head up “nothing happened last night and I didn’t want it to,”

Damen sighed “Laurent,” he warned

“No, I mean it, nothing happened, he was saying it to get to you and to punish me for saying no to him, he knows Damen, he knows we’re… he knows about us,” he said staring hard at Damen’s profile.

He watched Damen swallow, watched the bob of his Adam’s apple and the way his mouth parted before he snapped it shut again.

“Okay,”

“Okay? That’s all you’ve got?”

“It’s all I’m willing to give, yes,”

“Do you hate me that much that you don’t even care about this?” he asked, mostly to get a reaction. Any reaction. But he did want to know. Did Damen hate him now? He’d barely been able to look at him since.

Damen did look then, turning furious eyes on him that made Laurent blink.

“Of course I fucking care, would we be here if I didn’t?”

When Laurent just stared at him expectantly Damen scowled. A look he usually reserved for Auguste.

“You think arranging any of this for you was easy? Or that it hasn’t cost me? Would I do that if I didn’t fucking love you?”

He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, in a tone of such finality that Laurent could have been forgiven for missing it. But he didn’t. His brain jumped on those words and clung to them, turning them over and holding them close; hating himself as he did so for the hope that burst to life in his chest.

Hope was a dangerous thing to feed, he knew that much.

“You have so much money you could live a hundred lifetimes without lifting a finger, don’t act like the cash matters to you,” he said

Damen’s humourless laugh was loud and he shook his head incredulously as he rose to his feet, moving away from the table and pacing back toward the kitchen counters to put some space between them.

“You think it cost money? That’s not how it works Laurent, don’t be naïve,”

He frowned “what did it cost you?”

Damen scrubbed a hand down his face “forget it-“

“Damen, what did you promise them?” he asked getting to his feet to stand across from him, like he could reach out and physically shake the answer from him.

“It’s a game Laurent,” He said tiredly “the only way to do it is to promise a different story,” he shrugged

Laurent’s mind whirred to a halt and he shook his head. He did know this game. He knew it had to be equal to or greater than. Damen was their headline darling, a guaranteed story. Had been since he was basically still a child. When Kastor let him be paraded around with that older woman, when he started giving him drugs, when Damen started to look like a fairy tale prince and had cameras and reporters digging into every single aspect of his life. But most notably and famously: his sex life.

“What did you promise them?” he asked but his voice felt hollow

“A scandal,” Damen shrugged, voice blasé and devoid of any emotion, like it didn’t matter to him “potential sex photos of you?” he snorted “it wasn’t exactly an easy deal to get them to agree to,”

“What kind of scandal?” he asked, voice rising despite himself but he knew.

Eye for an eye. Like for like. Of course it was a sex scandal. What else would sell as well?

“What do you think I promised them Laurent?” he asked “I promised them a video with someone famous,”

Laurent’s heart tripped over itself, racing his stomach in a contest for which organ could declare how viscerally he hated the idea first.

“With who?” Laurent frowned, scanning back through any conversations or headlines that could be relevant.

Before Laurent, Damen had been linked with someone new all the time. Still was if they stood too close or smiled at him. It could be anyone.

Damen waved a hand “an actress, a model, a socialite, anyone relevant, it doesn’t matter who,”

“And you just have a video like that ready to go with permission from-“

“No Laurent, strangely I don’t record one-night stands and I wouldn’t keep that kind of thing after a break up,”

The implication, of course, was that Laurent shouldn’t worry about it being him because Damen had already deleted him from his camera roll. Like he’d never been there to start with. Because they were broken up. Or at least Damen probably thought so. He supposed it didn’t exactly need saying. The key was a bit of a fucking flashing neon I won’t be needing this anymore so it’s not like he had room to argue.

It also meant, obviously, that Damen was going to have to do something intimately imitating sex. For money. To get Laurent out of his mess.

Damen was going to put himself out there like that, filthier and more scandalous than even his dirtiest headline to date, for Laurent. He was willing to rake himself over the media coals -on the global stage- for Laurent.

“You can’t do that for me,” he all but gasped and he was surprised by how much the idea hurt.

Damen hated that shit. He hated the reduction of his character to the media’s Casanova bachelor. And he was going to do it for Laurent. Fuck. Laurent had fucked up so fucking bad.

“I can,” Damen said “it was me or you so… I can handle it,”

Laurent flushed, turned his eyes away.

“You’re willing to sell part of yourself because you love me, but you can’t believe me when I say nothing happened last night?”

Damen stiffened “I hurt you, I owe you, call it atonement if you want, but it’s different and you know it,”

“I was asking for you,” Laurent said desperation getting the better of his tone “before that I was trying to make you jealous because I am petty and I was hurt,” he said “I was stupid drunk, I got sick, and he got me in the car because he told me he was taking me to you,”

Damen stared at him for a long moment and Laurent was aware of every passing second by the frantic pounding of his heart.

“Did you tell Xander something similar?”

Damen, he forgot, could be a bastard when he wanted to be. Damen could be mean and he was a marksman with his words. When he took aim, he always hit the bullseye. The beautiful thing about him was that most of the time he chose not to. He chose compassion and understanding even when it wasn’t deserved.

But he knew how to choose vitriol too. Auguste knew it first hand. So did Laurent and he wished it wasn’t deserved. It didn’t stop him from flinching. He forced himself calm, curling his hands into fists and absorbing the impact, letting it wash over him.

“I didn’t tell Xander,” he said against his better judgement. Because he hadn’t. When he’d cheated on him he hadn’t said a fucking word about it.

“You didn’t do it right in front of him then,” Damen said

Laurent shook his head “it was a dance and it was stupid, I have no excuse except I wanted to hurt you, I’d just told you I was groomed by my fucking uncle and I was ashamed, there, are you happy now? I was lashing out because I was drunk and afraid and it’s what I do,”

Damen nodded “yeah,” he said quietly “I’ve noticed Bastian is the end result for a lot of your moods,”

How the fuck did he explain he had only ever been an easy means-to-an-end? That he was only ever more of a punishment than a distraction?

“Nothing happened beyond what you saw, please don’t hold that stupid dance against me, I didn’t kiss him, I didn’t want him, I asked for you,“ he all but begged “he wouldn’t be threatening me if anything had happened, he’d be gloating but he isn’t,”

That got Damen’s attention and he whipped his head up, eyes scanning Laurent’s face. Thinking. Measuring. He knew it was true. He had to. If Bastian had gotten anything from Laurent last night he’d be gloating not seething.

“I wish it was that easy,” Damen said, but his voice was quiet. Uncertain maybe.

Laurent closed his eyes, shook his head. He hated him for that sentence. For not believing him. For having a reason to not believe him.

“It’s best if we just cut our losses after all this mess,” Damen said stepping away from him, not meeting his eyes “if you’d just run to him after every argument then it’s for the best,” Damen said “I don’t understand the hold he has on you and maybe I was just busy believing you were over it-“

“Of course I’m fucking over it,” he hissed. He’d never been on it or under it or what the fuck ever. He’d never loved Bastian it had never been this.

Damen shrugged, swiping a hand down his face “that wasn’t true, literally the first night you and I-“

That fucking text. Meant for Bastian, received by Damen. A truly magnificent mistake. The least regretful thing Laurent had ever done.

“Don’t do that, it’s never been about him, we are so far removed from-“

Damen looked up at him, expression cracked open, eyes searching and voice impossibly soft when he spoke.

“Are we?”

Laurent swallowed, blinking as he shook his head helplessly. How could he even think that?

“Damen please don’t say that,” he said stepping forward, voice shaking “he has only ever made me feel like shit, and I didn’t believe I deserved anything better,“ he had to swallow, physically force his lip not to tremble “that I should just be happy that someone wanted me at all,” he managed, watching Damen blink, pressing his lips together, eyes piercing as he gazed back at Laurent like he was hanging on every word, needed every word “you made me realise that wasn’t true,” he said hesitantly “so please just let me-“ he took a step forward.

Damen took a mirroring step back, a quick reflexive step that had Laurent freezing. It was that, that one insignificant little gesture that nearly fucking broke him.

“You do deserve better than him, you deserve the fucking world,” Damen said and his voice was so clogged with emotion that Laurent realised he’d never seen him even close to that upset before. Not even in the hospital with Auguste.

It made his chest ache and his stomach swoop and he wanted so badly to wrap his arms around him but Damen wouldn’t let him. He’d made it perfectly clear.

“So do you,”

Damen swallowed “do I?” he said and it sounded like an accusation

Laurent sighed, pressing his fingers to his head where an ache was beginning to form  “you know you do, but please don’t act like I didn’t have my reasons last night, stupid as they may have been,”

“The way you acted like I didn’t have mine?” he asked with raised eyebrows, eyes glassy “your reasons for trying to purposefully hurt me are more valid than my reasons for trying to do right by my friend?”

When he put it like that he supposed it didn’t sound very good.

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” Laurent said tiredly “I-“

“You got what you wanted,” Damen said and Laurent snapped his gaze up and felt it like a punch to the stomach when he saw Damen’s face “you did hurt me, so,”

“This is not what I wanted,”

“Then what did you want? what did you think would happen if you were all over him like that?”

“I don’t fucking know I wasn’t thinking, I was drunk and miserable and missing you and it just happened,“

“I know,” Damen interrupted, blinking, chest rising and falling evenly, controlled, purposeful “but it’s not even all about you, not really,” he added

No. That was the worst part. Because Damen’s fears and his past and his worries were right there in the room with them. Taking shape in the spectre of Jokaste and Kastor and the broken heart they’d left behind.

“I know,” Laurent breathed, blinking away the glassiness in his eyes.

Damen’s snort was unamused, followed by a rough palm dragging down his face.

“I just- can’t ever seem to trust myself with people I care about, I put too much faith in them, too much of myself into them and then-“ Damen said gesturing at Laurent “I get fucked over and I’m tired, am I such a fucking horrible person that I-“

It hurt to hear what Damen thought of himself. What the people around him had made him believe. He did, didn’t he? For Auguste, for Laurent, Jokaste, and his brother, and fuck even Nikandros. Damen was at his beck and call and he imagined Nikandros, like the rest of them, had never once stopped to ask if he was okay. Never stopped to consider that Damen might not be, because he was steady and strong and reliable and always there, it never crossed Nikandros’ mind the same way it had never crossed Auguste’s with any real clarity. Or Laurent’s. He was guilty of it too.

“No, god Damen, no-”

“If it’s not me then it’s you,” Damen said “You and Auguste and- fuck your whole fucking family is poison,” Damen hissed “it doesn’t even have the decency to be fast, it’s a slow poison that just drains you fucking dry and I am-“ Damen cursed, turned away “I am so fucking tired,”

Laurent swallowed the emotion clogging in his throat, watched the tense line of Damen’s back, at a loss for something to say. His tongue rarely failed him but right now he didn’t know how to make it better.

“Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I’d never met Auguste, never met you,” Damen said, his voice devoid of any real emotion “and for a moment I can convince myself it would be better but-“ he laughed, a sharp derisive sound “then I think about the fact that you are the only person who makes me feel like I’m living, not just fucking existing and following some bullshit plan I had no hand in, I can’t even wish Auguste away because he’s inextricable from you and I would rather have my heart ripped out by you than never have had you live in it,”

Damen was staring at him hard, not with anger, or pain, but rather something tinged with questioning, the kind of look reserved for a particularly difficult puzzle. Laurent didn’t much understand it either. Not what he’d said or why, or the fact he loved Laurent in any capacity even knowing what he knew now. It had never really made sense to Laurent.

“I need you to hear me,” Laurent said “you-“ he drew in a breath “you have no idea how many ways you have saved me, you have taught me more about myself in a matter of months than I’ve managed to figure out my whole life. I cannot count the ways that I love you, or all of the many fucking reasons that I don’t deserve you,” Laurent breathed “I don’t even blame you now for wanting it to be over because you should, we are poison and you deserve more than that,” Laurent said around a wet laugh “but I’m selfish, because I love you and I want you anyway because I think maybe if I’m poison then you’re the antidote, the only one you know? Meant for me,”

“Please don’t do that, I’m fucking gone enough on you that I’ll believe you, and I can’t Laurent, I can’t do that again,” he shook his head, helpless “it would ruin me,”

“Damen please trust me, I didn’t do it, there is nothing and no one else for me, it’s always been you and-“

“Laurent stop, please just stop,”

“Damen-”

“I -or someone from my team- will call you if there is any update regarding the photos,”

It was as blatant a dismissal as Damen had ever given him and all he could was acquiesce.

“Okay, I’ll go just- I love you, please remember that,” Laurent said, voice shaking.

He tried not to notice the way Damen’s jaw clenched or the way his fingers twitched, his head turning just slightly to give Laurent his side profile, hiding the brunt of what was no doubt a heart wrenching expression.

He counted his steps all the way to the door. Then to the garden gate. Then to end of the street. Damen never came after him and he knew better than to really think he would.

~*~

Laurent called Paschal the moment he got home, hoping he could talk him down. Hoping it would help to have a logical perspective. It didn’t. Paschal didn’t have much insight to offer besides techniques to help him cope.

Laurent didn’t feel much like treating the symptom and coping. He wanted -needed- to go after the fucking disease itself.

It haunted him for the rest of the afternoon. He fielded calls from Auguste, from his father reminding him to be on his best behaviour at the wedding, and from their publicist advising of the comment his father was making in the press about said wedding. He checked his phone approximately every fifteen minutes and scrolled social media anxiously in-between.

Ancel joined him on his bed eventually, distracting him with greasy food and a tale about Berenger and their weird new method of communication: Ancel’s online content.

“So he tells you what to do?”

Ancel hummed “sometimes, it’s hot knowing he’s watching, I’ve never had that before, you know? It’s like it’s just him and me,” he said “he still hasn’t fucked me yet though,”

“So that’s why the endless parade of glorified human dildos have disappeared?” Laurent asked

Ancel made a scandalised noise and slapped him hard in his chest “maybe,” he shrugged “maybe I don’t feel like filming with anyone,”

Laurent hummed, closing his eyes and listening to the latest gossip as Ancel prattled on endlessly. It was nice of him. It was nicer of him not to mention Uni or the classes Laurent had missed. It was nicer still that he didn’t mention Damen. Though Laurent could tell he wanted to ask. He supposed the moping in bed said what Laurent’s mouth hadn’t in regards to how not well it had gone with Damen.

And he hadn’t told him about the photos. Or the threat. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He wanted to rewind time to before all the crap with Auguste. He’d go back to finding Auguste’s stupid cigarette case and he’d ask Damen outright. He’d keep Auguste away from the bachelor party and stop him from overdosing. Or maybe he’d go back to the first night with Damen and he’d just tell Auguste straight away that he wanted to pursue something with Damen.

Or maybe he’d go back to the start. Find fourteen-year-old Auguste before the drugs and before their Uncle and… find a way to save him.

He should have known, in hindsight, that Auguste was lying. All of the pieces were right there and it made a sick kind of sense. Auguste wouldn’t have just gone off the rails without a good reason. He probably wouldn’t have gotten so tangled in a toxic friendship with Damen without a good reason. And the drugs. The murder. And Collette? How Laurent had ever been blind enough to think she meant enough to Auguste to kick start a spiral was beyond him.

Fuck, if his Uncle was still alive Laurent would fucking kill him himself. Funny, he’d never thought about doing it for himself but Auguste? Yeah, Laurent would have stabbed him for Auguste. He supposed it was how his brother had felt.

When his phone started ringing his stomach dropped and Ancel snapped his mouth shut, looking at him carefully as Laurent peaked at the screen.

Nicaise.

“Did you find anything?” Laurent asked, putting him on speaker as Ancel canted his head curiously.

“I don’t know it depends,” Nicaise said “how does tax evasion and suspected money laundering sound?”

“Holy shit,” Laurent said sitting up straighter “You’re sure?”

“Bastian’s daddy seems to make sizeable donations to his own charity via his business fund, but those numbers seem to magically disappear and there’s no record of where the money goes or what it’s used for,”

“So he donates for the tax break and then what? Siphons it back out?”

“Apparently,” Nicaise said “the accounts and all of the public information is convoluted as fuck which absolutely reeks of a scheme, you can thank Aimeric for this by the way, he had his friend at the treasury do some digging and I made a call to the charity commission to have a snoop on behalf of my step-father,” Nicaise said “you’re welcome,”

“That could be huge right?” Laurent asked, aware there was a note of desperation in his tone

“Yes Laurent, this is prison worthy,” Nicaise said “you said you wanted to ruin him right? Because this is pretty big, not to mention we haven’t finished snooping through his estates private email server, just to see what we can dredge up, there’s a lot so I’ll send it over when I have it,”

Fuck. Okay. He tried not to get excited but he felt energised, buoyed by the news that there really was something worth threatening him with. Which was hardly a surprise, Bastian was shady as fuck and his father was a creep. It didn’t matter what actual proof there was, Laurent could fucking bluff his way through it if he had to.

Laurent closed his eyes something like relief settling in him “seriously Nici, thank you so much for this,” he said

Nicaise snorted “any time, ruining people is my future career after all,” he said “And Aimeric is a nosy bitch, so, good luck? Will you let us know what happens?”

“Yeah, I will just- thank you both,”

“Don’t get sentimental, I’d have done it for any of you,” he said “now don’t disturb me again today, I have plans,”

“Plans with Aimeric,” Laurent grinned, meeting Ancel’s knowing gaze.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Nicaise said before hanging up.

Ancel was staring at him when Laurent looked up and he realised he was smiling.

“Okay, well I think I’ll leave you to your shady schemes, just- promise you’ll ask if you need anything?” he said and when Laurent agreed he shifted his hair back over his shoulder “good, I’ll be in my room, I have a date with a bad dragon and a collar,” he winked as he slipped out of the room.

 The second his door was closing Laurent was calling Auguste. He answered on the fifth ring with a sigh.

“I’m at home Loz, Jord and Orlant are here,” he said

“Yeah cool, so,” Laurent said “I have some shit on Bastian’s family, tax evasion, laundering, whatever, so I think I have a plan,”

Auguste laughed “Uno reverse?”

Laurent smiled despite himself “something like that,”

“So, what do you need me for?”

“I need you to call Damen and find out who he made the deal with,” Laurent said “and don’t be coy, I know you’re aware what he had to promise to help me with this,”

Auguste grumbled and complained but twenty minutes later Laurent had the details he needed.

Whoever Bastian tried to make the deal with, they were to take the photos, pay him as required, and then alert Damen. Damen would buy them back and give them a story in exchange. He supposed there was more to it, something about authorities and rights and he imagined the second Damen had them his lawyers would be all over it. And Bastian would either have to face the authorities or sign whatever Damen’s people put in front of him to silence him.

It was a good plan. It covered the big hitters in the media and press, but it didn’t cover online portals, social media, and of course all of the smaller media outlets. It was impossible to get them all. But Damen had the big news distributors and that mattered. Their contract agreements were water tight and Bastian would struggle to shift them anywhere else once he’d made a deal with one of them.

Laurent wasn’t sure what to do with the information. He could call Bastian now, he supposed. Threaten him. Hope for the best. But Damen’s deal with the papers didn’t magically go away and Laurent wasn’t privy to any clauses regarding time limits or the eventuality that Bastians’ photos never surfaced.

He had a way to silence Bastian, but what about Damen?

The idea was churning in his head. The only way. He had few options and no matter how hard he tried not to think about it he knew, deep down, what he’d need to do to absolve Damen of his stupid fucking selfless heroics.

He’d said he was atoning. For hurting Laurent. But Laurent didn’t want him to. He couldn’t stand the thought of it. Damen didn’t deserve it.

None of it was his fault and Damen had always just been doing his best. He didn’t need to atone. There was nothing to forgive; if it had even been about forgiveness to begin with. Which, in hindsight it probably wasn’t. Just layers of insecurity and fear that neither of them could help.

No. There was really only one option. And Damen was right. It was a game. It was all a fucking game and for once, it was a game Laurent knew he had to play. He knew how. Even if he’d never done it before himself.

What had he said to Auguste? Control the narrative.

Fuck. But could he do it? Could he weather it? Damen didn’t think he could, he’d said so, hadn’t he?

Laurent didn’t know but he knew he’d rather try and be miserable than let Damen do it for him. His own discomfort didn’t really matter, in the end.

He stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling and tried to calm his raging heartbeat just at the thought of it. He had no idea what photos Bastian had of him. But he knew what photos he had on his own phone. What video he had. Would it be so bad? To beat him to it?

At least he’d know what was coming.

He had to look at it economically. Oversaturation, specifically. If he did sell his own photos, he could make sure they were fucking everywhere. That way he could control what was seen and more importantly, decrease both the value and the shock of whatever bullshit Bastian had in his back pocket. If he was really lucky they would get seen by everyone and demand would drop because in their world everything moved ridiculously fast. A headline scandal or story from one week could be gone the next, replaced by something else. Something bigger.

And for the media there were really only two things they cared about in regards to the nobility: sex and money. Laurent could sell them sex one week and he could create a storm the next week with everything he could guess about Bastian and his family estates and charities.

It could work.

If his life was about to fucking implode again, he’d rather it was a controlled demolition this time. He would know when and how and what was coming. It would take the power right out of Bastian’s hands. That’s what it was, after all. Bastain didn’t care about the photos, or about humiliating Laurent. He just wanted the power. If Laurent beat him to it, he’d be taking that power away from him.

If he did it right then he could spare Damen his heroic fucking promises and free him from his deal. The papers wouldn’t care as long as they got their story.

It wasn’t even really about him. Not really. How he felt about it was secondary because what mattered to him most was making sure Damen was protected. That he didn’t have to prove a point, or fucking atone, or throw himself on the mercy of the relentless savagery of the media for him.

He couldn’t -wouldn’t- let him whore himself out to the press to protect Laurent. Not from this. It was a mess of his own making and Damen shouldn’t have to play hero for him. Not this time. With all the things Damen had done for him -and they were fucking numerous- this was not going to be one of them.

Even if it frightened him. If it turned his stomach to think about. If it was scary and awful then that was just one more reason to do it. Because he might be afraid of it, but that didn’t mean Damen was immune to it either and Laurent couldn’t be another reason for Damen to feel like that.

~*~

Laurent really wished he had his own publicist. If he hadn’t wanted to hide so much he would have had one by now. Aleron had fired Auguste’s a long time ago; they all relied on their fathers’ team. And that was just out of the question. There was really only one person he could call to make this happen. Someone as invested in keeping Damen safe as he was.

Daphne: Damen’s publicist who was likely very unhappy with Laurent and the deals Damen had made.

“And you want me to what?” she asked suspiciously “go behind his back?”

Laurent had been on the phone with Daphne for a little over fifteen minutes, his proposal -such as it was- had been met with surprise, derision, and now suspicion. It wasn’t the photo distribution that bothered Daphne, it was keeping it from Damen.

“Protect him,” Laurent corrected.

Daphne was a hard ass. Though why he was surprised he had no idea, anyone that tried their hand at keeping Damen in line would have to be.

“Alright, say I agree, what price are we angling for?” Daphne asked, and he could hear her typing, tried not to imagine just what the fuck she was thinking.

“No price,” Laurent said, taking a deep breath “I don’t want money, I just need them distributed and a promise that they’ll publish them as soon as possible, I don’t even care what story they go for as long as they say they don’t know who’s in the photo with me, and they cancel the deal with Damen,”

“You realise you’re insane right? You could make a fortune,”

“I have a fortune, it’s not about money, it’s about protecting Damen… and myself,”

“Controlling the narrative?” she said reminding Laurent of his opening gambit with her.

“Yes,” Laurent said “I’ll pay you, of course,”

“Yes, you will,” she said unapologetically “you understand that at least one of the frames will need to be explicit, correct? You are aware just what you’re putting out there? Once it’s out, it’ll be there forever, the internet is an infinite portal of pure memory,”

Laurent tried not to think about that. He didn’t want to think about anyone seeing him like that let alone having them online forever.

“I know,” he said “but at least it’ll be on my terms,”

“And can you tell it’s Damianos? Will he be identifiable?”

“I’ll make sure you can’t tell it’s him,” Even if -to the press at least- it would be fairly obvious, given that Laurent was using it to get Damen out of his deals but. Needs must.

“And in exchange they nullify their deal with Damianos, keep his name away from speculation initially,” she said “and save themselves a lot of money,” she sighed “you realise Damianos will be furious with us both?”

“If he fires you I’ll hire you, if that’s what you’re worried about,”

“Damianos wouldn’t fire me,” she scoffed “but he’ll sulk for a month,”

Yes, Laurent could well imagine.

“Okay, send me the frames and if I approve them I’ll do what I can, I’ll email you final terms, okay? Leave it all with me, I’ll take care of everything,”

After hanging up, the only thing left to do was settle on the frames and send them to Daphne. Who would be the first but definitely not the last to see them. Forcing himself not to think about that, he opened one of the few explicit things he had on his phone.

It was a video of him sucking Damen off because it was probably the least embarrassing and least explicit one he had. Also, the one with the least of Damen in it. In most of the others there was his hand and his face and his legs and it was all so obviously olive skinned and muscular and the background showed give aways and there was just so much to think about. If he got this wrong it could blow up in his face.

He opted for a frame of him with his face turned up to the camera as instructed, so that it was very clear it was him. Followed by one with his tongue out and the tip of Damen’s cock in frame which they would blur. Then finally one of him with his face pressed all the way down, only his hair and hand visible and the bottom of Damen’s abs. The angle was doing most of the work of hiding anything else.

It’s not like people didn’t know he was gay, he reasoned after he’d sent Daphne the frames. It was nothing shocking. They knew he was gay. That a gay man had probably given a blow job before wasn’t really breaking news.

He vehemently ignored the fact that there was a vast difference between speculating and seeing.

He recognised the emotion. It was shame. He was ashamed. He didn’t need to speak to Paschal about it to know why he felt that way. It didn’t take a rocket scientist and it was something they’d gone over before.

It wasn’t just the blow job thing though he had particular trauma related to that specific act. It was sex in general, what he liked, what he wanted. On bad days it still made him feel weak and all of the other hateful words that his uncle had said to him. Made him feel. Made him believe.

It made his skin crawl so he went for a shower, turning it up as hot as he could and stood beneath the scolding water until his skin was pink. It didn’t make him feel better but then he supposed nothing was going to.

He kept reminding himself that it was his choice. That he was doing it for a good reason. For himself. For Damen. No matter what it cost him, it was a price he was willing to pay if it meant sparing Damen.

It was his mess and he would protect Damen from as much as he could. He’d cropped enough out to keep his identity hidden, they weren’t linked in the press, there were no photos of them hanging out or talking, as far as he was aware.

Unavoidably his skin colour was apparent, as was the definition of his stomach and thighs but it could still be anyone. There would be speculation of course. It was impossible that there wouldn’t be. But the papers in the know couldn’t print Damen’s name and the others? Well he just had to hope they didn’t make the leap.

~*~

By the time midnight was approaching Laurent was beyond exhausted, feeling sick, anxious, and on edge. He went to bed at Ancel’s insistence close to one am, even though his brain was far too alert to find sleep. He already knew there would be none. It would be a restless anxious night staring at the ceiling and imagining all of the headlines he was going to have to endure come morning.

He climbed into bed, already uncomfortable and forced himself to reach for his phone from the nightstand. He had been ignoring it since he’d sent the frames to Daphne and had her confirmation an hour or so later that it was done. He hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone since.

He had a message and his heart sank instantly with dread. The last time he’d picked his phone up from this spot his fucking world had imploded. With shaking hands he unlocked it and even seeing it was from Damen didn’t automatically bring him relief.

Damen:
I should have been more supportive earlier. Are you alright? If u need me call me. For anything. It’s going to be okay, I promise x

Damen had a nasty habit of making Laurent feel like a piece of shit. Did he have to be so impossibly good all the time? It made Laurent feel even worse for not going straight to Damen at the club and just talking to him. Or fuck, even once during the whole fucking week. But then, they were useless thoughts. The damage was done. From both of them.

All he had left was his own gingerly beating heart and a man he couldn’t untangle from it, even if he wanted to. And he desperately did not want to. If this was Damen’s metaphorical olive branch, it was beyond welcome.

You:
I’m just scared. Are you okay? Would you hate me very much if I asked you to call? xxx

It was late and Damen had to be up stupidly early for the wedding. He knew there was a very likely chance Damen would tell him no and he braced for it. Even as he hoped.

When his phone lit up with the incoming call he felt a strange kind of longing in his chest that made no sense. Damen was right there; it wasn’t possible to miss something that was right in front of you.

He hit answer.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Damen asked, a low rough rumble that made Laurent’s chest loosen.

“No, my head won’t be quiet,”

Damen hummed “I finished my speech yesterday,” he said, instead of the million and one things they probably should be saying

Laurent smiled despite himself “how much did Nikandros make you change?”

“All of it,” Damen laughed “but he only found my decoy, so it’s fine,”

“You wrote Nikandros a decoy speech,” Laurent snorted “of course you did, I’m not sure what psychological warfare that is, but it’s clever,”

“Thank you,”

Laurent chuckled, and there was silence, just Damen’s breathing and the coil of tension that made it seem like his bedroom was a living and breathy entity; writhing with it. An audience.

“I hate this,” Damen said eventually, voice quiet and tentative.

Laurent buried his face in his pillow, stifling the choke-hold of emotion brimming in his chest “me too,” he said “so much,”

Damen sighed; a shaky kind of breath that made Laurent wish for his body next to him so he could bury his face in his neck. He wanted to tell him what he’d done. But Damen would try to stop him. He had to wait until it was too late for Damen to do anything about it. All he could do was endeavour not to talk about any of it before he crumbled and confessed.

Hopefully -fucking god willing- Damen would understand, he’d know how huge it was for Laurent. And if he didn’t? It’s not like things between them could get much worse.

“Have you heard anymore from Bastian?” Damen asked, voice tentative

“No,” he sighed “but he wants me to be freaking out, so why would he?”

“You know I’ll bury him without remorse if he does try anything,” Damen said and it sounded like a promise. An oath.

“I’ll help, but I’m not much of a sailor,”

Damen laughed on the other end of the line, and Laurent closed his eyes, basked in the sound of it.

“There’s something seriously wrong with us that we can fucking joke about this,” Damen sighed “but I’m not sorry, I meant what I said, I’d have killed him myself if I’d known,”

It wasn’t hyperbole. A declaration for the sake of it. Laurent knew, with everything in him, that if his uncle had still been alive when Damen had found out about Laurent’s ordeal, then he would have done it. Damen would have killed him.

The swift flash of heat in his stomach wasn’t as much of a surprise as it should have been. His whole body was attuned to it, basked in it; the shameless flare of arousal that those words caused.

“There’s something seriously wrong with me that hearing you talk like that gets me hot,”

Damen’s swallow was audible and when he spoke his voice sounded tense; restrained.

“We’ve talked about this,” he said carefully “liking what you like isn’t something you can help and it’s not something to be ashamed of,”

“Damen you talked about killing for me and my dick twitched,” he said plainly

Damen laughed, all surprised amusement and Laurent found himself smiling too. Probably his first real smile for days.

“There are a lot of things that relates to, protectiveness, possession, caretaking, primal-“

“Yes,” Laurent said “all of that,”

Damen’s hum was a rumble down the line and Laurent had to stifle the way his body was responding, heat curling quietly beneath his skin and pouring up into his chest and his limbs.

“I know,”

Two little words. Insignificant really. In the grand scheme of things. And yet.

It spoke to how well Damen knew him. Anticipated him. It said so much without saying much of anything at all. And that voice. Christ Laurent loved that voice, so fucking masculine.

Laurent’s breath fled him and he rolled onto his back, swallowing against the surge of arousal rising inexorably in his core.

“You like it too, right?” he asked, feigning bravery when he really just wanted reassurance

Damen’s chuckle was just as dangerous, did wicked things to Laurent’s insides and he had to reach down, press his hand against his hopelessly hardening cock.

“If you could see me now you’d know the answer to that,” Damen said and Laurent sucked in a breath “shit, sorry- I wasn’t- pretend I didn’t say that, I-“

“Me too,” Laurent blurted, interrupting before Damen could change his mind. Talk himself out of his instinct. Or out of forgetting they were technically over right now, and that he was furious with Laurent.

“Yeah?” Damen asked hesitantly and once Laurent had confirmed it the heavy exhale he released over the line made Laurent groan “tell me what you’re thinking,” Damen demanded

Laurent loved when he did that. Framing a question as though it were a command. It was so fucking hot.

“I want to get off,” Laurent breathed “with you, I want- I want you to get me off, get me out of my head, make it stop,”

Damen’s breath sounded in the phone and Laurent clutched it tighter, already shoving his blankets down. If he said no Laurent would go to his fucking house and beg shamelessly for it.

“Put your ear-pods in and put your phone on the pillow beside you,”

Laurent scrambled to comply and breathed out his affirmative when it was done. Anticipation was a twin rhythmic beat to his heart in his chest, just enough desperation to make him feel like nothing else really mattered.

“Good, are traffic lights, okay? Green means good, red to stop?”

Laurent breathed out, audibly shaky, but it was anything but anxiety. Anticipation. Adrenaline. The too-quick pound of his eager heart. Safe words. Holy shit he was turned on.

“Green,” he grinned, quietly pleased with himself.

Damen breathed a laugh “good, is there anything you don’t want me to do?”

Laurent licked his lips, cock almost completely hard just from the shocked eagerness of it all. Ready to squirm.

“Just don’t call me a whore,” he said, biting his lip after the words had left his mouth, cheeks heating up in the darkness.

Damen would know why this time. Or at least, part of it. But he didn’t comment, of course he didn’t.

“Good, now don’t touch yourself until I tell you to,” he said “you’re not going to do anything until I tell you to, understood?”

“Yes,”

“And Laurent, don’t you dare come,”

Fuck.

Laurent breathed out shakily, closing his eyes so he couldn’t be distracted by the room around him. With his ear-pods in Damen’s voice was right there, he could practically feel him breathing. His voice was soothing even as it was provoking. Rough like all the things that were bad for you and steady in a way that always made Laurent feel sure. Safe. His light house in the dark.

He was so beyond fucking sure right now. He’d do anything Damen wanted him to do. It was easy to trust him; Damen knew what Laurent liked better even than Laurent did.

“Tell me a fantasy, something we’ve never talked about, something that gets you off but you’d never want anyone to know,”

Shit. Fuck. Where did he even start? Something they hadn’t talked about?

Laurent was smart enough to know it for what it was. He was asking Laurent to be vulnerable with him. Demanding it of him. Laurent had asked to get out of his own head. Damen certainly knew Laurent well enough to know exactly how to do that.

He had expected a slow coaxing, a firm but careful tug from his thoughts but this wasn’t that. Damen was going to demolish any thought that didn’t belong solely to him. Laurent was already part way there.

He swallowed. Something sprang to mind, of course. He had an idea but he wasn’t sure what the reception of it would be. Given everything. Would he judge him? Could Laurent just say it? When he thought about it by himself, when he was too far gone to avoid it, he felt ashamed afterwards. Embarrassed. Was that the kind of thing Damen was after here?

“Colour?” Damen asked when Laurent didn’t immediately respond

“Green, I’m- I’ve got something,”

“Good, now close your eyes and put your hands above your head,” Damen instructed and immediately Laurent let his arms rise, fingers brushing the headboard, eyes already closed “now, tell me where you are,”

Here went everything.

“I’m in bed,” Laurent breathed, doing as Damen had asked “I’m not sure if it’s my room, I can’t really remember where I am, I’ve just woken up, I’m so groggy,”

“What woke you up?”

“I heard a noise,” Laurent said “there’s someone in the room,” he added, voice getting quieter reflexively, feeding into the fantasy.

“Tell me what he looks like, what he’s doing,”

With his eyes closed and Damen’s breathing in his ear it was so easy to imagine. To see it exactly the way it would happen. A vision alive in flickering glimpses sparking against his eyelids.

“He’s standing next to the bed, looking down at me, I can’t tell what he looks like because- he’s wearing a mask,”

“Are you afraid Laurent?” Damen asked, a hushed rumble that made Laurent’s entire body shift, shuddering as it was breathed into his ear.

“Yes,” the word escaped him on a breath

“Do you know what he wants?”

“Yes,” Laurent said, breath coming a little quicker “he pulls the blanket down, slowly, and I’m too scared to move,”

“What are you wearing?”

“Nothing,” Laurent said

“Good,” Damen responded “take your clothes off,”

Laurent rushed to obey, stripping quickly before lying back down in the position Damen had ordered.

“Colour?”

“Green,” Laurent confirmed, licking his lips

“Good,” Damen said “his eyes, you can feel them on you,” Damen breathed “touch yourself now, not your cock, just your skin. Use your fingertips- light as you can, across your collarbone, up your neck, around the shell of your ear and all the way back down, across your stomach, into your groin, don’t stop until I tell you to,”

Laurent held back his groan, doing as he’d been instructed. His fingers almost tickled as they followed the path Damen had spoken, sweeping a featherlike caress against his heated skin. It felt magnified. So different from any other time he’d touch his own skin. Almost like the fingers weren’t his at all.

“You said you don’t know who it is, but that’s a lie, isn’t it? You don’t need me to take my mask off for you to know it’s me,”

Laurent did groan then, fingers dipping into the crease of his groin, down over the tops of his suddenly sensitive thighs. Damen’s eyes on him. His gaze a caress. He shivered, imagining the sharp dark pierce of those gold-flecked eyes on his skin and the way it always lit Laurent up; made his skin come alive.

“You’re mad at me,” Laurent breathed

“Furious,” Damen agreed “when I reach for you, what do you do?”

“I say no, I tell you to stop,” he said still stroking his skin, a maddening trace of finger tips that had his muscles clenching as he resisted the urge to touch his cock and spread his thighs. Damen’s voice strumming in his ears made it a difficult thing to avoid “but you don’t listen,”

“You know what I’m there for,”

“Yes,” Laurent groaned “but I don’t want it when you’re mad at me,”

“Touch your cock now Laurent, stroke it slowly, just five times, hard,”

Laurent whimpered as he reached down, finally wrapping a hand around his cock. It was hard already, jutting upward, desperate for attention. It felt so good and not nearly enough.

“That’s my hand on you Laurent, I’m going to take it,”

“Yes,” Laurent agreed, fighting to keep his hand still after the five he’d been given, whole body going taut with the effort of restraint.

“Did you stop?”

“Yes,” he admitted breathing erratically already. Ridiculously turned on. Close. From practically nothing.

“Pinch your nipple now, hard, give it a twist, when I reach for you I want it to hurt, I won’t go easy, I’m too mad,”

“Oh, fuck,” Laurent hissed, hand frozen around his cock as he twisted savagely at his nipple and whimpered at the pain of it

“That’s it baby, you can stroke your cock again, go slow, keep your hand light, don’t stop until I tell you to, keep pinching your nipples, hard as you can, one after the other,”

Laurent hummed, sucking in a breath at how fucking sensitive he was, how easy it was to close his eyes and imagine what Damen was telling him. The sting of his nipple made the sensation around his cock feel magnified, had his hips shifting and his body thrumming.

Damen wouldn’t go easy, he would twist the little bud between large fingers and smile a wicked smile when Laurent moaned, when he saw his chest arcing off the bed for it.

“God, look at you,” Damen said, his voice so fucking sexy Laurent moaned as he twisted his swiftly reddening nipple and ran his fingers lightly over the head of his cock “your mouth is saying no but that’s not what your body is saying, is it?”

“No,” Laurent breathed, smiling around the word even as he pinched the opposite nipple, just as hard and with a hint of nail that made him throb.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you, you’ll be screaming for it, begging,” Damen said, voice a low hum that had Laurent panting “you think you don’t need it, but I’m going to give it to you anyway and you’ll thank me,”

Laurent was practically writhing, his nipples feeling sore and sensitive, little throbbing buds of pain that made his cock twitch in his slack grip.

“You’ll have to make me,”

Damen’s groan was more a growl than anything else and Laurent could only whimper, toying with the flushed leaking head of his cock with too-light fingers and a heaving chest.

“Spit in your hand, get your cock nice and wet, then stroke it hard and tight,” Damen instructed

He exaggerated the sound of himself spitting so that he was sure Damen heard it, and caught the answering hum of approval over the line. It was easy to imagine Damen the way he’d said: beside his bed, looking huge and dangerous, impressive cock a hard daunting line in his trousers. A threat and a promise.

When he finally wrapped a firm hand around himself he was helpless against the noise that spilled out of him.

“Imagine that’s my mouth on you,” Damen said and Laurent’s cock fucking pulsed, legs falling open as his hand sped up “the mask is gone, I’m between your legs, you’re all sprawled out for me, naked and vulnerable and mine,”

Laurent moaned, fucking up into his own fist, imagining Damen between his legs, his mouth swallowing him all the way down, big hands pinning Laurent’s hips to the bed hard enough to bruise.

“I’m sucking your cock into my throat because I want you begging, I want you hard and leaking for me, I want you to know that even when you say don’t want it, I fucking own you and I can make you want it,”

“Fuck, Damen, so good, you feel so good, I love your mouth,”

“Spread your legs wider, I want you to touch your pretty little hole for me Laurent, imagine it’s me, my finger feels big when it’s dry and you’re so tight, doesn’t it?”

Laurent’s body was moving on autopilot, following his instructions. There was nothing but Damen’s voice, the fantasy swelling around them and the absolute need pulsing inside him. It felt like letting go or slipping under. Except it wasn’t scary and dark. It was pure sensation. Instinct. Light. Damen’s voice his anchor.

He reached down, widening the spread of his thighs and pressed a dry finger to his hole. He circled, pressing and massaging, imagining Damen between his legs, his finger there as he swallowed him down.

“Suck on your fingers now,” Damen said and Laurent groaned, doing just that, sliding his tongue around and over each one, getting them wet and humming around them so Damen would know he was doing as he was told.

“I love seeing your mouth open for me Laurent,” Damen said, the cadence of his voice so fucking dark Laurent’s entire body clenched in anticipation, whimpering around his own fingers “gag on them, when I shove my fingers in your mouth I want you choking baby,”

Laurent pushed his fingers into his mouth deeper, feeling the stretch of his lips around his knuckles as he pressed his tongue down, shoving them as far as they could go. Until he was gagging around them, flooding his mouth with saliva and soaking his fingers.

Damen just hummed, so Laurent stayed where he was, choking on his own fingers and stroking his cock.

“I’m not going easy, I’m going to push my cock straight in,” Damen said, voice rough “fuck yourself with two fingers now Laurent, don’t hold back,”

He tore his fingers out of his mouth, legs shaking as he pulled his knees up and his whole body felt like he was teetering on the edge. He pushed two fingers inside, sucked in a moan despite the burn as he sank them as deep as he could, eyes squeezed closed; lost in the fantasy and Damen’s voice.

“Let me hear you, we both know you can’t hold back, you’re pretending it doesn’t feel good but you’re shaking for it aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Laurent groaned “I want you to stop, I want you to never stop,”

Damen chuckled “I’m going to fuck you now,”

Laurent felt his balls draw up at just the timbre of his fucking voice saying those words. Lethal. He gasped, panting, his thighs shaking from the strain of holding back.

“I’m going to fuck you on your back, I want to see your pretty flushed face, your eyes all glazed and fucked out, I’m gonna make you watch, grab you by your hair and hold your head up, so that you have to watch the greedy way your body swallows up my cock like it was made for me,”

Laurent moaned, mouth hanging open as he fucked his own hole with fingers that didn’t feel nearly deep enough. But god he could imagine; he knew what that looked like, how huge Damen looked when he was pressing the head of his cock between Laurent’s pale thighs, how open he felt when Damen started to fuck in and his body was stretched around the head of his wide cock. The tantalising moment before he started to sink in, the promise of it, the sting of it, the burn of stretching and wanting and taking. It was obscene and possibly Laurent’s favourite feeling in the whole fucking world.

“Beg me for it,” Damen said “beg me to put my cock in you,”

“No, I tell you to stop,” Laurent gasped even as he was crooking his fingers, hips flexing into his fist and back on his hand; chasing and teasing himself. Too close to do anything but keep going.

“I don’t listen,” Damen said “are you going to fight me?”

“Yes,”

Damen hummed “good boy,” he said and Laurent moaned outright at that, practically writhing on his fingers “it doesn’t matter though, I’m stronger than you, it’s easy to hold you down, and you know it,”

“I do know!” Laurent gasped, stomach tensing as his hand sped up around his cock, fingers stroking at his own insides as he slammed his head back against the pillow “it turns me on, my cock is so hard when you manhandle me where you want me, fuck you know what you do to me,” he babbled and he wasn’t sure if it was part of the fantasy script or just the truth. Or maybe the script was all true.

Because fuck he trusted him. With any of it. All of it. Damen made him feel safe even when he had a fucking hand at his throat. Always Damen. Only Damen.

He was ready to fucking explode, could feel his body tensing even as his mind felt switched off, laser focused; unravelled and held together only by Damen and his voice.

“Look at your cock Laurent, look how hard you are for me, for this,” Damen rasped “such a needy little thing,”

Yes. His body betraying him, screaming yes when his mouth said no. The hopeless defencelessness of it. The freeing weight of a decision made for him. All he had to do was feel, let go, safe in the knowledge that he was absolved of thinking, of choice, lost in the current of someone else’s river. Damen’s river. His steady endless current and Laurent wanted to fucking drown in it even when he knew Damen would never let him; would keep him afloat.

“Three fingers now Laurent, four if you can take it,”

Laurent whimpered, hitching his leg up higher and screwing three fingers into his body; greedy just like Damen said.

“You’re so tight around my cock,” Damen said “how does it feel?”

“Too big,” Laurent panted “too much, like you’ve split me open, you always feel so fucking big,”

“Yes and you’re so fucking wet for me, leaking so much, your body doesn’t lie baby it wants me so fucking bad, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Laurent moaned, fucking himself harder “yes, I want it, it feels so fucking good,”

“I knew I’d make you want it,” Damen hummed “is that a good feeling Laurent?”

“No, I’m- ah-ashamed,” he gasped “so embarrassed, like my body isn’t mine and that shouldn’t turn me on but it does, you do,”

“It’s not yours, you know who it belongs to, I want you to say it, tell me who it belongs to, whilst I fuck you hard and deep the way I know you need it, whilst I press your face into the bed and hold it there, tell me,” Damen said and Laurent could hear the rhythm of his breathing, knew he had a hand around his own cock and that thought made him whine; Damen’s large hand around his obscenely large cock. What a fucking sight that was.

“You, fuck, Damen, it’s yours, I’m yours, you own me,”

“Fuck, yes, I do Laurent, I’m going to paint your insides with my come, make you mine, fuck it so deep inside of you that nothing leaks out,”

“Please,” he whimpered “I need it,”

“I know you do, I know you love it when I come inside you,”

And fuck. Yes. He did. It might be his favourite thing in the world. A piece of him to carry around, fucked so deep inside him, so fucking deep, deeper than anyone else had ever been; like he was branding him, inside.

“Oh god, can I come?”

“Yes, come on my cock like the needy little liar that you are,”

Laurent’s entire body spasmed, pleasure flooding him as he came, so hard he was sure his vision swam. His body lingered in the space of it for too long, muscles clenching around his fingers, cock twitching as he painted his stomach and chest in his own come and moaned shamelessly. Fucking screamed. Entire body taut with it and his toes curling so fucking hard it hurt.

“So good Laurent, so fucking good,” Damen groaned, and he heard the hitch of his breath, the deep gravelly noise that spilled from him that let Laurent know he’d just come as well.

He wished it was inside him.

Everything felt fuzzy, as though the edges of the world around him had blurred. It made his tongue feel heavy and his mind unshackled. Free to float. It felt really fucking good.

He giggled despite himself, still trying to catch his breath as he gingerly pulled his fingers out and tried to find the wherewithal to close his thighs.

“Laurent?” Damen panted “are you okay?”

“M’good, I’m so good, that was- you’re… okay, yes,” he babbled, pretty sure he was talking like he’d bit his tongue and making no sense but whatever. He didn’t care. It felt too good.

Damen chuckled on the other end of the line “you still with me?”

“Always,” he answered instantly

“Can you move? Or are you too out of it?”

“M’not moving,” Laurent protested because his limbs felt like jelly and concrete all at the same time.

He was jittery with it, adrenaline and pleasure and whatever the fuck else.

“You have your water bottle?”

“Mmhmm,” he said forcing himself to lean over to snag it from the nightstand.

“Drink some for me, keep taking little sips baby,”

He always got tangled in that word, revelled in it. Did Damen know he loved it? Probably. It was Damen. He took small sips of his water, doing as he was told.

“Get in the bed now,”

Laurent breathed out, yanked the covers up and let himself sink into the familiar warmth of it. But with nothing but his water bottle for company he felt strangely bereft. It rushed him all at once; the loneliness, the fear, the shame of everything he’d just admitted and how Damen could barely look at him this morning but still wanted to get off with him. So what would he think now?

After what he knew. His uncle. What Bastian had tried to do. Did Damen think he wanted them because of it?

The thought was too far away, floating out of reach along with the rest of his brain but it felt pretty shitty. Something about being what he was good for. He felt his breathing change, picking up, his chest jittery now and not just his limbs.

“Laurent, sweetheart you’re alright,” Damen said, slow and soft “I’m right here, you’re not alone,” he said like he knew “It’s just us here Laurent, did you drink your water?”

“Yes,” he made himself say, even took another sip before all but tucking it into bed beside him.

Damen hummed “bring your blankets all the way up,” he said “I’m with you, I have my arms around you, there’s nothing but us, just our bodies pressed together and my voice in your ear,” he said “I’d stroke your ear, run you a bath,”

“Play with my hair?” Laurent asked, eyes falling shut even as he asked

Damen chuckled again “of course,” he said “I’d remind you that you’re amazing, that everything we just did was amazing, that I am constantly in awe of you,”

He sucked in a deep breath, feeling his limbs melt, like Damen had a direct line to them; or to the part of his brain that was still functioning and wanted the calm. Damen kept talking, peppering praise in between his idle chat. It chased away the loneliness and the worry until he felt mostly like himself again.

It felt like coming back to his own body, a slow awareness, like he was sinking back into his skin after floating above it.

“Thanks Damen,” he said eventually

“You back with me?”

“I’m good,” Laurent breathed out “I’m really good, I- yes,”

“Tomorrow morning you’re going to eat breakfast, something substantial, not just that sugary crap that passes for cereal, understood?”

He was too tired to ask him why it mattered to him. To remind him that earlier that day he’d told Laurent they were better off cutting their losses. And now here he was casually dominating him over the phone and telling him what to eat. Because he knew Laurent would feel shaky tomorrow morning, that the sugar and caffeine made his head too loud after and would have insecurity creeping in. It was confusing. But it was a welcome confusion. A hopeful one perhaps.

“Okay,”

“You’ll take a photo and send it to me?”

“I will, I promise,”

“Good, I’m proud of you Laurent, that was so hot, so good for me,”

Laurent soaked up the praise like a spring time shoot soaking up the first rays of sun.

“I really liked that, it was what I needed to- get out of my head,” Laurent said “you were amazing,”

“I needed it too,” Damen said, voice going soft and sleepy the way it did before he drifted off

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Laurent asked “to fantasise about that after… after what happened, like it means… I enjoyed what happened, like I must want-”

“No,” Damen said cutting him off “of course not,” Damen said “it’s one of the most common fantasies, maybe what happened has something to do with it, maybe it doesn’t, do you think it’s weird that I got off on it?” he asked softly “do you think me getting off on it means I’d enjoy hurting someone in reality?”

“No, of course not, it’s different-“

“Laurent, I liked it,” he said firmly all traces of sleep gone “and there’s nothing wrong with either of us, you’re amazing, you like what you like and that’s okay, I’m really proud of you for sharing that with me, there’s nothing else to it baby, it’s just you and me, understand?”

“Okay,” he breathed out, clinging to those words.

“Go to sleep now Laurent,”

“Mmhmm,” he agreed “And Damen? Thank you,”

“You’re welcome, now go to sleep sweetheart, it’ll be okay,” he said “I’ll check in with you tomorrow morning,”

Sleep came easily afterwards, when he was relaxed and warm and sated down to his bones. It had been cathartic. Hopeful.

~*~

The morning of the wedding dawned with a perfectly clear sky and a relative quiet in Laurent’s brain. It was interrupted by a shriek from Ancel down the hall and the pound of feet as Ancel raced to his room.

The door swung open and Laurent sat up in bed, staring as Ancel brandished his phone at him “don’t go online,” he said “you don’t want to see, okay? I’ll get it fixed, you don’t-“

“I already know,” Laurent said as calmly as he could “I sent them,”

Ancel’s expression would have been comical in any other situation. Laurent let him process it and calmly set about getting up and getting ready whilst Ancel stood in his doorway, confused, and thinking.

“Like on purpose?” Ancel asked with a frown “something to do with Bastian I assume?”

“Yes, I’ll tell you everything later,”

“Right,” Ancel said “well at least you look hot,” he said “though I could have given you tips on angles and filming,”

Laurent sent him a sad smile, nodding as he stared at him over his shoulder through the mirror.

“It is Damen, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” he confirmed though there wasn’t really anything but a bit of thigh in the shot anyway. Nothing discerning. He had made sure.

“Does he know?”

Laurent breathed out “he will now,”

Everyone would know now. The entire fucking world was going to see it. See him. On his knees. And liking it. He breathed out again, a puff of a breath and stared at his reflection, reminding himself why he was doing it.

Ancel just nodded and came up behind him “well, you better be looking your best and come ready to fight because you just stole the bride’s thunder and all eyes will be on you,” he said “If Gabi or Damen doesn’t kill you Nikandros certainly will,” he grinned

He was right. The wedding was going to be a shitshow.

Chapter Text

Ancel’s grating voice was an unwelcome slap of noise as Laurent force fed himself breakfast, stomach tangled with nerves even as the rest of him felt strangely numb. Disconnected. Like this wasn’t real life and he was simply watching it all unfold for some other poor embarrassed fucker.

“Is Damen here?”

Laurent rolled his eyes as Ancel slipped into the seat across from him at their dining table, fully dressed in his wedding attire. How Ancel managed to make a black suit look like that was beyond Laurent. It might have been the lack of shirt or the cut of the waist. Either way it was very irritating.

“No,” he said, ignoring Ancel to take a photo of his food like he’d promised.

Ancel watched him, eyes flitting between his breakfast and Laurent’s phone like he’d grown a second head “but you don’t eat that crap unless Damen is here,”

Laurent shrugged, sending the photo with nothing but a couple of kisses. When he was done, he immediately turned his phone back off so he could ignore all of the hundreds of notifications, mentions, texts, and calls that were coming through. He knew better than to see what people were saying. Even when he was itching, in all his masochistic anxiety, to do just that.

He’d sent a message to the group chat telling them he was okay and not to worry. He’d fired a message off to Auguste to tell him he’d done it and not to do anything silly. He didn’t know what to send to Damen beyond the photo of breakfast. It still felt strange after the night before. Yesterday afternoon Damen had basically said they were over. Last night hadn’t really felt like over.

“He is making me,”

Ancel’s eyebrows went up “like… why?” he grinned before leaning closer across the table to mock-whisper at him “is this a sex thing?”

“It’s a post sex thing,”

“That’s hot, didn’t realise you were back together,”

“We’re not,”

“O-kay,” Ancel said still eyeing him suspiciously “well I didn’t know you were so into the whole sub thing either,”

“It’s not-“

“He told you what to eat and had you prove it, that’s either some serious control issues or some seriously sexy twenty-four-seven,”

Laurent ignored him, cheeks getting hot as he shoved a spoonful of glorified mush into his mouth and tried not to ruminate on the implication of all that. It was just far too much to unpack so early on a hectic day wherein all of Laurent’s current thoughts were busy on a conveyor belt of oh fuck and photos and headline and double fuck.

So, because he was an adult who had his shit held together with peeling sticky tabs and fraying string, he ignored it. All of it.

“Call Auguste and tell him to send the car at 10 and tell him my phone is off but not to freak out,” Laurent said around his yes-it’s-food-Laurent-it’s-good-for-you-please-don’t-offset-it-with-that-much-sugar mush.

“It looks disgusting,” Ancel commented lightly

Which was rich when Laurent knew for a fact Ancel had put far worse things in his mouth.

So also because he was an adult who’s shit was overflowing from the string and peeling sticky tabs, he opened his mouth wide to let Ancel see his mouthful before he swallowed and smirked in victory when Ancel grimaced.

“I will never know how someone so fit can be so gross,” Ancel said

“Hello Pot, my name is kettle, we’re both stylishly black,”

Ancel cackled but he excused himself to go and call Auguste as he’d been told. And probably to preen in front of a mirror or to text something scandalous to Berenger.

When Laurent had forced himself to eat and to swallow past the lump in his throat he retreated back to his room. His entire body was restless, on edge, aware that beyond those walls people were seeing and discussing those images at length. There would be words like hacked and leaked and blurred out images would be popping up on sleazy celebrity news shows, and day time television talk shows would be discussing it with comments such as right to privacy and waiting for a comment from Arles and no doubt something about it’s usually the older brother embroiled in scandal.

He wondered, vaguely, what Bastian was making of it all. Laurent hoped he was pissed the fuck off and he hoped he was seething in the make-up chair whilst they tried to cover the bruise on his stupid face.

Much less vague was the ominous pressing throb of thoughts about Damen. What he was thinking. Was he pissed off that Laurent had used images of him without asking? Did he even know it was him?

Ridiculous, of course he did, he’d fucking filmed it.

Laurent groaned, throwing himself backward on his bed and not caring if it mussed his hair. He should have asked the stylist to pop over. After she was done making Auguste look less like a guy who’d overdosed a week ago.

He stared at his ceiling, breathing deep and even, in through his nose, out through his mouth, and tried not to think of anything at all. He failed miserably but Paschal would give him points for trying, he was sure.

The deep resounding slam of a fist on the front door made him flinch and sit up. Ancel appeared in his doorway, arcing a brow in question, jaw already set as though they’d had the same thought.

“It’s probably Bastian,” Laurent swallowed rising to his feet to follow Ancel out into the hall as the pounding continued.

Ancel made a disgusted noise and marched toward the door “if it is I’m going to kick him so hard he’ll need a testicle retrieval operation,”

Laurent just watched, steeling himself and drawing his walls up as Ancel threw the door open.

 The second it opened Laurent’s walls crumbled and his shoulders sagged, every single inch of armour he’d tried to muster absolutely obliterated by the sight of Damen standing in the doorway. He was in his suit, full coat-tails in dark grey, cinched in at the waist with Damen’s shirt unbuttoned at the top to give a roguish air to what was otherwise very formal attire. He looked like every version of Laurent’s future he could possibly want and the shock of it knocked the wind from his sails and every single thought from his head.

Before Laurent could even open his mouth or think to answer the questioning look Ancel had flicked at him Damen was talking.

“I did not send that video,” Damen said, his expression one of fury as he stepped into the apartment and slammed the door behind him “I already have my team on it, when I find whoever did it I will fucking kill them and I will make it my mission to fucking ruin their lives,” he said “I swear to you, I would never share them, I would never do that to you, I don’t know how they got them,”

Laurent blinked at him, his brain racing as he tried to comprehend what Damen was saying. It clicked into place with a soft little snick that made Laurent’s stomach fill with heat. Not desire, not arousal, just warmth. Unending, unflinching, unshakeable warmth.

Damen wasn’t mad at him; he was mad for him.

“No, I- thank you,” he said clearing his throat to chase the emotion away “But it’s okay, I have it under control,” he said

“Laurent-“

Laurent shook his head, stepping back to let Damen into his bedroom. Damen huffed but he strode forward, entire body tensed with agitation. He slid past, a wave of scent and heat that made Laurent want to throw himself at him but he met Ancel’s eyes instead.

“I’ll wait for my car down stairs,” Ancel said somewhat reluctantly and Laurent nodded, turning back to his own room and letting the door shut behind him.

Trapping him with Damen who was pacing like an agitated caged lion.

“I have no idea how-“

“I sent them,”

The words landed like a slap: loud and ringing.

“What?” Damen blinked.

He froze, head canted to the side like a curious fox on high alert, expression so blank it might almost have been comical if Laurent’s heart wasn’t currently trying to escape his throat.

“I made a deal with your publicist, I gave them the photos and cut you out, everything else still stands but you’re free of your obligation,” he swallowed “your deal with them is dead,”

Damen just stared at him, his chest rising and falling and Laurent’s heart was lodged somewhere it shouldn’t be making everything feel shaky and erratic. There was a cascade of emotion in Damen’s eyes, so quick Laurent couldn’t latch on to a single one but otherwise Damen’s expression was blank, his shoulders tense, and all Laurent could do was wait.

When Damen stepped in close and reached for his hand, Laurent’s breathing hitched. That such a small gesture could choke him spoke volumes for how precarious his grip was on the situation but he couldn’t care. Not right now. Not when Damen was tracing his thumb across Laurent’s knuckles and staring at him with concern and- something else. Something that Laurent felt the echo of in his heartbeat.

“Why would you do that sweetheart?” Damen asked, voice gone quiet, expression uncomprehending “I had it under control, I-“

Laurent swallowed, meeting his gaze “I couldn’t let you do it Damen, it means so much to me that you would have, that you were going to, but I couldn’t do it, it had to be me, after everything you really think I’d sit back and let you do something like that for me?”

Damen was staring, his eyes transfixed, the heat of it warming Laurent up from the inside out until he was sure his cheeks were flushed with it.

“Laurent,” he said shaking his head

Had his name ever sounded like that? Like he was a revelation.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the Cathedral?” he asked, clearing his throat, fighting through the fog.

If he didn’t, he was likely to do something stupid like kiss him. Or beg him not to go. But even as he said it he didn’t drop Damen’s hand. He curled his fingers tighter around Damen’s, always so surprised by the size difference. By the warmth of him. Laurent’s hands were always cold.

They weren’t cold now.

“Yes,” Damen said sheepishly “Nikandros will kill me, I just- I had to see you, you weren’t answering your phone and-“

“I’m sorry,” he said “I turned it off because… well notifications,”

Because there were many. All over his socials. Texts, calls, messages, DMs, even platforms his father’s publicist had set up for him that he didn’t even fucking use.

“No, that makes sense, I just- I overstepped,” Damen said clearing his throat and dropping Laurent’s hand “I shouldn’t have-“

The loss was instantaneous and Laurent crossed his arms over his chest instead, turned his eyes down like not having Damen in his immediate gaze would let him catch a proper breath.

It didn’t.

“I’m glad you did,” he admitted and chanced a peek back at him.

Damen was staring at him. Hard.

“Yeah?”

Laurent nodded “it means a lot to me that you came all the way here,”

“How could I not?”

“You said we were over,”

Laurent said the words and felt them all over again: a stone dropping into his stomach, a wound aching and open where his heart was. Damen had said it. Laurent probably deserved it. But-

“It doesn’t feel over, does it?” Damen said

Laurent’s stomach rolled. Not the unpleasant kind. The heaving of a dangerous fluttering that had hope leaping into his throat like it would drown him and he couldn’t afford that. Not if it was in vain. It was just a statement of fact. It didn’t feel over but then, when you loved someone, it wasn’t really over was it? Ending and over were two different things.

Over meant dead and buried and whilst they were certainly on life support, had had a resuscitation team in at least once, there was still a pulse. At least there was for Laurent and at that moment it was working double time.

“I think I made it fairly obvious just last night how not over I think it is,” Laurent said

Damen shrugged, half shaking his head as he palmed the back of his neck.

“That could have been different, it could have been just sex-“

“There is no such thing as just sex to me, you know that, I don’t-” Laurent exhaled “I wouldn’t, especially not like that- I wouldn’t have said that to anyone else, I mean- you don’t think-“

“I know,” Damen interrupted, meeting Laurent’s gaze with an intensity that made his breath catch “didn’t stop me from overthinking and second guessing, but I guess I hoped,”

“I hoped too,”

The silence was thick, heavy with the words floating between them and Laurent wanted to give voice to them. To say them. Say it. But he didn’t know how and it didn’t feel like the right time.

“I should go,” Damen said, the small smile he sent him apologetic

“Yeah, you have best man things to do and Nikandros is probably in tears without you,”

Damen nodded, not even denying it. Laurent walked him to the front door, jittery and on edge and he couldn’t shake the feeling that despite their words it was over. That it was goodbye. That letting him leave was a mistake but… what choice was there? They were both due at the church. They had no choice but to wait.

And sit through a fucking romantic wedding in the meantime. Fucking fantastic. Just what everyone wants to do: attend the same wedding as their maybe-maybe-not-ex.

Laurent was lost in his own head, holding the door open and refusing to meet Damen’s eyes as he chewed on his lip, anxiety making him restless, emotion making him quiet. Damen moved to cross the threshold, turning at the last minute to briefly touch Laurent’s jaw.

“Oh, and Laurent?”

“Hmm?”

Damen hooked a hand around the back of his neck and drew him close, pressing their mouths together in a kiss that Laurent felt all the way to his toes.

“It’s not over,” he said

“Damen-“

“Later,” Damen said “we’ll talk about it later, I just- I needed you to know that,” he said “the rest we’ll figure out,”

It was just a shame the rest included Bastian and his lies. Which he was fairly certain Damen still believed. But did he? Would he have kissed him if he hadn’t changed his mind somehow? Could they really fix this? Or was this just going to get his hopes up for nothing because he couldn’t -couldn’t- do this if Damen didn’t believe him.

~*~

Auguste was grinning at him amusedly when Laurent climbed into the car. Ancel had already been picked up, a fancy fucking white car his mother had sent for him.

“You don’t do anything half way do you?” Auguste said “I mean, some warning would have been nice, I opened social media this morning and the first thing I see is my little brother choking on-“

Laurent growled and slapped his hand out, eyes on Auguste’s driver who was pointedly not looking at them. At a glare from Laurent the partition went up.

“Stop,” Laurent hissed at his idiot brother “don’t be a dick,”

“But it’s funny,” Auguste grinned “Dad is fucking furious with you by the way, I thought he was going to have a heart attack on the phone and I had visions of having to take the title before I’d even fucking gone to rehab,”

Laurent groaned and buried his face in his hands, cringing at the idea that his fucking father had seen those images. Christ. His father. Who he was going to see in about fifteen minutes at the church. Fucking hell.

Auguste just laughed and Laurent whipped his head up.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?” he snapped

“Oh come on Laurent, just trying to lighten the mood, besides, they’re not that bad and I’m like, weirdly proud of you right now,”

“Proud that I sent the papers screenshots of me sucking Damen’s dick?” he asked archly

Auguste laughed, head thrown back and genuine amusement in his gaze. It reached his eyes. He looked younger when he smiled and it had probably been a long time since he’d heard Auguste laugh like that. Even if he was being a dick and it was at Laurent’s expense, he was happy to indulge him.

“Weirdly, yes, as it happens,”

Laurent turned his gaze to the window, wringing his hands together as he watched the passing scenery, the nausea rolling in his stomach and the shakiness of his limbs making him feel ill. As if he were on his way to the gallows not a wedding.

“If I told you it was him for me, would you be mad?” Laurent asked, eyes on his own watery reflection in the glass.

Auguste snorted and Laurent dared to peep at him. Auguste was eyeing him dubiously, giving nothing away. Auguste’s hands, Laurent noticed, were entirely still.

“Would you care?” Auguste asked

Would he- had Auguste not being paying attention? Of course, Laurent cared. He’d cared for Auguste’s opinion when he thought they hated each other, now that he knew the truth he cared even more.

“Of course I do,”

Auguste didn’t immediately answer and Laurent’s heart stopped, waiting with baited breath because this – even if he could work things out with Damen if Auguste was dead against it, Laurent wasn’t sure that there was any future for them anyway.

“Well then no,” Auguste said seriously, reaching out to grip Laurent’s hand, squeezing his fingers “he’s the best person I know, why wouldn’t I want that for you?” he asked, voice gone softer “I trust him with me and all my shit, but I also trust him with my favourite person in the world and I’m surprised after all this that you really need to ask me that,”

“So- really? You’re not just saying that?”

“I mean, for selfish reasons I would have preferred to keep the two of you separate but- you make sense, it makes sense and I- I want you to be happy, you deserve to be happy and you deserve someone who’ll set the world on fire to make that happen for you,” Auguste said, staring at him hard “Damen’s loyal and protective and genuine and I- I never really hated him, you know? So yeah, yeah if you’re happy then I’m happy,”

If he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and if Auguste hadn’t already whined about having spent 45 minutes in the stylist’s chair being made to look less like someone who had gone knocking at death’s door, then Laurent might have launched himself over the middle seat into his arms.

Instead, all he could do was swallow thickly, reject the stinging in his eyes and squeeze Auguste’s fingers tighter.

“And are you alright?” Auguste grinned “with me and Damen being friends?”

“It’s okay,” Laurent said and turned his gaze to the window, watching Marlas whirl past “he likes me better anyway,”

Auguste squeezed his fingers again “that’s because he’s smart,”

“I really love him,” he choked out

Like the words just wouldn’t be held the fuck back. Which may or may not present something of a problem given the wasps nest of gossips, assholes, and reporters they were heading toward.

Auguste rolled his eyes “yes, I am well aware, you should probably work on-“

“Telling him, I know, but- what if he can’t forgive me? Or worse, what if he wants to get back together but still thinks I cheated on him?”

Auguste breathed out, giving him a grim smile “it might take time, he has some pretty deep scars from that and it’s hard to get over, you know? But give him time, he never keeps his head up his ass for long and I’ll be more than happy to give him a giant fucking shove in the right direction if I have to,”

Time. Right. It was very clear from the abject horror radiating in his chest at the mere idea of time that Laurent would not survive any kind of drawn-out game. If Damen needed to think about things then he’d let him obviously, but he’d hate every single second and he’d make himself sick with anxiety.

Paschal would be earning his money for fucking sure in that case. But, he supposed, Damen needing time was better than him saying they were done. Marginally.

~*~

Laurent may have chickened out of getting out of the car at the Church and had Auguste’s driver circle around the church again. And again. And maybe three more times for good measure.

“I can’t do this,” Laurent said

The second he’d seen the cameras and the press and the public gathered outside the fucking church to gawk, all of them just watching the arrival of the rich and famous, he hadn’t been able to face them. All of them had seen Laurent on his knees. Because it was, according to Auguste, literally everywhere.

“Can we circle around-“

“Oh my fucking-“ Auguste huffed, cutting himself off, digging in his pocket for his phone.

“What are you doing?” Laurent hissed struggling against the hand Auguste planted on him to keep him at arm’s length as he made a call and held the phone to his ear.

“Damen?” Auguste said, giving Laurent a saccharine smile when Damen’s voice answered.

Laurent thumped his head against the window, trying and failing not to care about what the actual fuck he was doing.

“Yeah no I’m good, I’m with Loz,” Auguste said “is there a side door you can-“ he cut himself off and Laurent tried not to react so fucking viscerally to the sound of Damen’s muffled tinny voice “uh-huh, yeah, no problem, give us five,”

Auguste hung up and Laurent glared at him for all he was worth.

“Side door, you are welcome,” Auguste said before redirecting their driver.

It wasn’t awkward at all and Laurent definitely wasn’t about to throw up. Except his stomach was churning and his heart was in his throat when the side door of the church opened and Damen was there.

Laurent’s gaze got caught in Damen’s, fidgeting from foot to foot beneath Damen’s stare and it was only Auguste clearing his throat that made either of them move. Damen dropped his stare, stepping back to let them in and gesturing them down the hall.

“How are you doing?” Damen asked, his voice painfully sympathetic and Laurent could take a lot, he really could, but the puppy dog eyes flashing in his direction was just not one of them.

“We need to talk,” Laurent blurted

As though they hadn’t agreed less than an hour ago that they would talk later. Well, it was later. Laurent had thought of 300 things that needed saying fucking ASAP on his deepening anxiety spiral around the church.

Auguste fidgeted, eyes shifting from place to place, letting Laurent know he was cringing probably as hard as Laurent was internally. Smooth. Really fucking smooth. His well-meant plan hadn’t even lasted ten seconds in Damen’s presence. Delightful. It was always good to know your willpower was a bag of shit.

Damen blinked, posture straightening and gestured to a door behind them.

“Wait here,” Laurent ordered of his brother before letting himself into the room.

It wasn’t lost on him that Damen and Auguste exchanged hushed words before Damen was following but for the first time Laurent didn’t give two shits what they were talking about. It wasn’t important. Not right now. Maybe it wasn’t important at all either way.

It was a dressing room, there were bags and shoes all over the place, he recognised Damen’s jacket thrown over the arm of a chair and someone had thrown a pair of trousers over the triple mirror vanity. It was probably a good thing Laurent couldn’t see his own face. He didn’t need to know if he was as pale as he felt.

The clicking door felt ominous, even though the noise on the other side was still a loud inescapable hum. Reminding Laurent he was about to walk head first into trouble. Damen stood against the door, unfairly attractive, stiff, shoulders straight and eyes that really did put a puppy dog to shame.

“Urgh,” Laurent groaned and span around to glare at the wall “I can’t look at you and do this,”

“That isn’t awkward at all,”

“Shut up,” Laurent said clenching his hands “we didn’t talk about what to do and I think you need to stay away from me today,” he swallowed aware Damen was shifting, coming closer “the vultures will be looking for any clue about who the photos are of and the last thing you need is to be associated with-“

Your ex.

He couldn’t get the words out.

“Me,” he choked out instead

“And is that all you wanted to say?”

Laurent frowned and span around, ready to scowl and ask if he was joking because obviously fucking not but they couldn’t exactly hash it out now. But Damen was closer than he’d thought and meeting his eyes had his mouth hanging open like a fucking idiot instead. It wasn’t fair that his mental capacity went out the fucking window the moment Damen got that close.

“You said it’s not over,” Laurent said, blinking furiously as he tried to reign in the maelstrom choking up his throat.

“I don’t want it to be,”

“You’re the one who ended it,”

He hadn’t meant it to sound so accusatory. He wasn’t even sure if that was true. But it felt true. Everything between the hospital and Damen rescuing him from Bastian was something of a blur. A horrible, nauseating, painful blur that Laurent wished he could wipe clean. Do it all over again with a clear head and tell his past self he was a fucking self-sabotaging idiot. And whilst he was at it he’d tell Damen’s past self that lying even to protect someone wasn’t a good fucking idea. Road to hell and good intentions and all that.

“Did I?” Damen asked, pointedly “making a decision and being pushed away are two different things Laurent,”

“So, it’s my fault,” he said

He had no idea why he voiced that out loud. Of course it was his fault. Him and his dramatics and his fucking idiotic drunken dancing with Bastian. He had just been thinking the exact same thing and hearing Damen voice it too just made him feel worse.

“We’ve both made mistakes, I don’t want to pretend this wasn’t a mutual series of fuck ups,” Damen said “and I’m not interested in tit-for-tat or who started what, I hurt you, you hurt me, so where does that leave us?”

Laurent bit down on his lip, frowning as he stared at Damen in all his fucking composure and wanted to throttle him for it. It was intensely irritating that he was always so fucking put together. Unless he was horny or really fucking angry.

At least it meant he wasn’t mad. A day ago Laurent would have leapt at not-mad. But after last night and earlier at the apartment he felt like not-mad was a little bit- chilly.

“I don’t know,”

“What do you want Laurent?” Damen asked “cards on the table, everything else aside, right now, what do you want?”

“You,” he breathed, swallowing over the lump in his throat “I’ve never- I’ve never tried to imagine a future for myself before, I’ve always been… surprised that I have one, really, but I- I think of you and of us- I know- I want us,”

“But?”

“But I don’t want to be forgiven, I don’t want forgiveness, I need you to believe, actually believe, that I didn’t do what Bastian said I did,” he said “because otherwise this isn’t- it’s not going anywhere,”

He had plenty to be forgiven for but cheating on Damen was not one of them. He hadn’t. He wasn’t sure they had even been together at that moment but he hadn’t done it even if they weren’t -technically- together at that point. He needed Damen to believe that. To choose to believe him. No one ever fucking believed him.

Damen sucked in a deep breath and when there were no words immediately forthcoming Laurent wanted to bolt. To run away. The writing felt like it was on the wall and there was a clawing under his skin telling him to get the fuck out of there. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and held his breath, let Damen figure out what he wanted to say.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” he said quietly “it’s my shit, my doubt and it’s not- when you’ve been cheated on before it’s hard not to just-“ he groaned, shaking his head

Laurent knew that. He did. He knew it but it didn’t stop it from hurting.

“Damen unless you believe me we can’t do this, you’ll resent me eventually, you said yourself you’d worry every time we fight and-“

“I know you hate him,” Damen said and his voice was certain at least “I said that out of fear, out of my bullshit, not because of you,”

“I need you to believe me when I say nothing happened,”

“Look there’s something- I mean, what Bastian-“

There was a knock at the door and they stepped back from each other simultaneously as it swung open. Pallas looked all at once fucking furious, eyes flying back and forth between them.

“Damen,” Pallas said “Nik is looking for you,”

Damen nodded, throwing one last lingering look Laurent’s way.

“Later? Please? It’ll be okay we’ll figure it out,”

Laurent could only nod before Damen was marching away.

Laurent wanted to scream. What the fuck was he going to say? Bastian what? Something he what? Laurent could fucking kill Pallas. It wasn’t bad enough that he’d absolutely cockblocked him that one time, now he was- what did he call it? Emotionally blocking him? Heart-block?

What the fuck ever.

Laurent glared, ready to lash out, mouth already parting around something that tasted like venom.

“Don’t fuck with him,” Pallas cut across him “we’ve all seen your photos, I know it’s Damen, I don’t know anyone else with thighs like that,”

Laurent was instantly and blindingly jealous. He was sure there were little bubbles popping in front of his eyes. Possibly his braincells dying as he reverted to some kind of hideous caveman instinct that he had never known he possessed.

Pallas recognised Damen. Did that mean- fuck.

“Yes, of course it’s him,” Laurent said meeting Pallas’s gaze as his chin came up “it was either that or a video of him fucking me but I thought it would be far more work for them to blur his face rather than just his cock,”

Pallas choked on a surprised noise, eyes flaring wide even as he shook his head.

“Down boy,” Pallas said a slow smirk starting on his features “if the plan is to pretend it’s not Damen you might want to curb that or else what was the point of blurring any of him? Besides I recognised his thighs not his cock, I haven’t fucked him,” he said turning back toward the door “but hurt him again and I’ll make sure he fucks his way through the lower continent until he forgets your name,”

Pallas left with a flourish, whirling on his heel, and fucking off like he hadn’t left Laurent fish-mouthing at his retreating form. Before the door could even close Auguste poked his head in.

“I tried to stop him but it’s about to start so we should find our seats,”

Laurent sighed, straightened his hair and pulled himself together as much as he could when he felt like there should be a death march following him. And he wasn’t wrong. The second they walked into the church it felt like all eyes were on him.

It was almost funny. His anxiety had him believing people were staring at him all the time, like they knew his dirty secrets, knew how fucked up or broken he was. But his anxiety, clearly, did not know what the fuck it was talking about because this. This time, they really were all talking about him and it was far fucking worse than anything he’d ever experienced in a social setting.

There was a heavy buzz of noise, the sound of too many people crammed into a space built to echo, where even the draft from the stone seemed to whistle and the snap of cameras felt like it came from everywhere. But Laurent was absolutely positive that it went silent when he walked past, breathing deeply and clenching his hands as Auguste affected his easy swagger beside him like there was nothing amiss.

He could feel the sting of eyes and the graze of gazes against his skin; an itch like midges flitting around him and nipping at him. Laurent had insisted they wait until the last possible moment to walk in and that was -clearly- a mistake. It meant it was nearly go-time so no one could approach him but it also meant everyone was there to stare and whisper.

“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Auguste said as he leant in to him

“That’s because I am going to throw up,” he hissed back, giving his brother a glare.

Auguste just laughed and shook his head “the trick is to pretend there’s nothing wrong, people take their cues from other people, you act like you have something to be ashamed of and they’ll shame you, act like you don’t care and they’ll get bored of caring themselves,”

That was surprisingly observant and incredibly useless to him. Because he did care and he couldn’t help the stiffness of his shoulders or the way his limbs felt shaky.

Laurent huffed, throwing an annoyed glare at a woman he was fairly certain was related to either Aimeric or Nicaise, as she pursed her lips at him as he past. Auguste just snorted, covering it up with a cough as he took hold of Laurent’s arm and dragged him down the aisle toward their seats near the front.

“You were sucking a dick, big deal, it’s not like you -oh I don’t know- killed someone,” Auguste said

Laurent would have hit him if he wasn’t so afraid of causing even more of a scene than his mere presence currently was. But he did turn a waspish expression on his idiot brother and whatever good will Laurent had felt toward Auguste’s amusement at the situation was quickly eroding.

When they got to their seats Aleron was already there, one eye twitching as he turned a carefully placid expression on him that meant absolutely nothing good.

Auguste put himself between them, let Laurent take the aisle seat in case he needed to fucking run away, but Aleron leant around Auguste all the same.

“We will be having words,” He hissed, a low unimpressed tone that Laurent didn’t need.

He rolled his eyes and sank further into his seat, crossing his arm over his chest. Auguste hissed something back at their father but he didn’t listen or care as Auguste’s arm went -carefully casual- across the back of the pew, fingers tap, tap, tapping at Laurent’s shoulder.

Fuck. This probably wasn’t easy for him either. The last thing he needed was intense scrutiny when he looked like death warmed up and his hands were shaking probably worse even than Laurent’s.

“Think of it this way little brother,” Auguste said whispering so quietly Laurent had to strain past the ominous hiss of chatter to hear him “everyone wants him and if they knew who it was, they’d be jealous,”

Everyone did want Damen. Either to be with him or to be him. He was just that kind of person.

“That’s not helping,” he frowned, thinking of all the many people -a good portion of them in that very cathedral with him- who had had Damen like that.

He scowled despite himself.

Auguste grinned “but he’s yours, right? I mean, if they knew, it’s a pretty big neon flashing sign, you know?”

The surge of something ardent and vicious in his chest took him a long moment to decipher and when he did Laurent could only fidget. Possessiveness. Wonderful, it wasn’t just a Pallas thing then. It was hot and preening like a monster in his chest that wanted to rumble with contentment at the idea. Words like mine and always and HA running through his head didn’t help.

“But he’s not,” Laurent frowned “mine, I mean,”

Auguste didn’t respond, only rolled his eyes “sure,” he said giving Laurent a nudge and nodding to the front.

Laurent’s eyes flew up and found Damen instantly, coming in through a heavy looking side door wearing his full suit and looking like a walking fucking glossy-male-model-athlete-wet-dream advert that had stepped straight off the cover of an expensive magazine.

Damen was already looking at him and the second their gazes collided Damen grinned, winking like the idiot he was and Laurent shook his head, biting down on his smile and dropped his chin to his chest.

“If he keeps looking at you like that the next headline will include him,” Auguste said, reading Laurent’s mind.

“I know, what is he doing,” Laurent frowned.

Laurent had told him to basically lie low and avoid him and here he was just- staring. Right at him. Shamelessly. Auguste laughed aloud then, the sound echoing and drawing the three pairs of eyes not already looking at them straight to toward them. Laurent could only scowl, unimpressed.

“Loz you might want to turn that lecture on your face, or throw your last fuck to the wind and start twirling your hair and kicking your feet like a giddy little kid,”

Laurent could only send him a whiplike glare and sniff, turning pointedly away because he was right but that didn’t mean Laurent had to admit it.

And of course, Laurent’s eyes landed on someone else, not far behind Damen in the line of Groom’s men: Bastian. The shock of undiluted rage that stirred in Laurent’s stomach was more of a surprise than it should have been. Rage for the threat, for how unsafe he’d always made Laurent feel, rage for every time Bastian had taken advantage of him. Rage for the times he was too broken to realise that Bastian was abusive. Rage for why he had been that vulnerable in the first place. Rage.

Tempered, not even a little bit, by the somewhat shiny skin beneath Bastian’s eye that looked just a little swollen. Almost like he’d been hit. Laurent was of a mind to give him a matching one.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. For Laurent to have found anyone willing to put up with his craziness, to know horrible dark things about him and still want to be around him only to have it snatched away because of Bastian? It wasn’t fair.

Yes, Laurent could admit the dancing thing was completely out of line. He knew it was. But if Bastian wasn’t a complete and total fucking prick then none of the rest would have happened and he and Damen would be okay by now. No headlines, no photos, no doubt in Damen’s eyes. It was funny, really, how their own bullshit -Auguste’s bullshit- didn’t matter as much as Bastian’s lies and wasn’t that telling?

They weren’t okay not because of the stuff they had or hadn’t done in their own relationship but because of Bastian.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

Resolve solidified in his stomach, calming the rage- no. Not calming it, redirecting it. Laurent would do whatever it took to make it right with Damen because he was damned if he was going to let Bastian win. Spite, after all, was the biggest motivator. At least for people like Laurent who, sometimes, lacked motivation. Paschal said it was something of an unhealthy outlook but, one step at a time. Laurent would work on it after the long list of all of his other issues.

Laurent turned his gaze back to Damen instead, let his resolve settle as the proceedings began and Gabi started her slow progression down the aisle in a white blur of tulle and lace.

The wedding went the way most obnoxious expensive weddings went: slowly and with lots of fanfare. There were choir boys singing and an old ancient looking priest officiating speaking in a long dead language. It was all fuss and rising and sitting and pretending to sing when the hymns were brought out and Laurent’s leg fell asleep with numbing pins and needles well before the actual wedding part of the wedding began.

Laurent could not take his eyes off Damen. Even if he wanted to, it was basically impossible. Because Damen kept looking at him. Often. Blatantly. The kind of looks that made Laurent feel like the whole cathedral was empty. Like Damen was seeing nothing and none of it save for him.

Laurent wasn’t just looking either, he was observing, smiling privately at the way Damen’s lips quirked up when Nikandros stumbled over his lines and the way his expression managed to look appropriately polite until he turned to Laurent. When it came to the official vows Damen didn’t look away once. And neither did Laurent. Their eyes were locked the entire time, and when the priest talked about love and finding a soulmate and entwining a life with someone forever Laurent couldn’t breathe again. But it felt good not bad.

Auguste elbowed him none-too-gently “ice,” he said “before you start fucking panting,” he whispered

Laurent turned his eyes down immediately, tamping down on his smile and when he dared another look up Damen was grinning but he had his eyes fixed appropriately on the proceedings. Quite suddenly, none of those other eyes mattered. Not really. They weren’t spotlights anymore, they were dull flickering matches and Damen in comparison was the fucking sun; eclipsing everyone else.

God he fucking loved him.

And just like that all he wanted was to say it. Properly. Not drunk, not angry, not whilst his brother was almost fucking dying; he just wanted to tell him. It felt imperative. Necessary.

~*~

Laurent didn’t get a chance to see or speak to Damen as they were all steered from the church and ushered into a procession of cars to take them to Nikandros’s estate for the wedding reception.

The place looked vastly different from the last time they were here: for the ill-fated Bachelor party. Beside him Auguste was twitchy, perhaps remembering what had happened.

“We can leave,” Laurent offered, linking his arm with Auguste in the throng of people being directed to the hall.

It wasn’t just for Auguste. Laurent was still painfully aware of the whispers and stares and the flash of cameras. Not the press: the official photographers for the wedding and the photographers for the estate.

Auguste drew him in tighter, shaking his head as he plastered on a wide smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“If I avoided everywhere where I’d done something stupid or traumatic I’d probably have to leave the country,”

Laurent squeezed his brother’s arm, patting affectionately “well I’ll go with you, so long as we go somewhere very far away where no one will care about those fucking photos,”

Auguste hummed, side-eying him “and is Damen coming with us?”

Laurent could only manage a withering stare in response because he was too busy biting back his instinctive reaction of if I can convince him to yes.

Which sounded more like: if I convince him I haven’t cheated on him and if we can talk through our shit.

The hall was decorated with more flowers than should have been legal and Laurent spared a thought for anyone with hay-fever or taste and hoped they were coping. He had taste himself, and he was not coping. Gabi’s style was overzealous. It didn’t seem very Nikandros. Though if Laurent had to hazard a guess, he’d say Nikandros had had exactly 0 input.

The reception was just as gaudy and long as the wedding was and by the time they were being ushered to their seats at round decorated tables Laurent was bored, tired of the constant stares and pointed questions thrown his way, and he was anxious to see Damen again.

It was only once they were seated that the party arrived, first the grooms men and bridal party and then Nikandros and Gabi. From there it was even longer, a toast from first Nik and then Gabi, from Damen and then Gabi’s maid of honour, as photographers floated around the room and then finally food.

It was fancy inedible food but it was food nonetheless and whilst he wasn’t hungry, it did give him something else to focus on. Mostly on pushing it around his plate and making it look like he’d eaten. Auguste, he noticed, was doing the same and Aleron watched them both with a vague expression of annoyance on his face.

It was a reminder not to let his father get him alone for a lecture, and to resort to plying him with alcohol so he’d forget to confront him if needs be. If the lecture was a phone call Laurent could at least throw himself down on his bed and attempt to smother himself with a pillow whilst it was happening.

Somewhere between the hors d’oeuvre and salad courses Laurent noticed Bastian leave, heading not toward the bathroom but toward the foyer and he was out of his seat and racing to follow before he could even really think about what he was going to say. His body had known what it wanted to do well before his brain could catch up.

The mansion wasn’t exactly familiar but it was easy enough to follow Bastian’s grating fucking phone voice through the foyer, down the hall, to a small drawing room overlooking the terrace.

Shoving open the door that had literally just closed had Bastian spinning around, phone held up to his ear and his face morphing the second he saw Laurent.

“I’ve got to go, I’ll call you back,” he said before promptly hanging up.

Laurent didn’t step into the room. He didn’t want to give Bastian a chance to have him in such close quarters. He lingered in the doorway, blocking the exit for Bastian but certainly not for himself.

“Nice shiner,” Laurent said

Bastian’s hands immediately went up, eyes going wide, the age-old sign of surrender.

“I had absolutely nothing to do with the photos,” Bastian said

Laurent snorted “of course you didn’t, your dicks not that big,”

Bastian bit the inside of his cheek, eyes flickering like he wanted to snap back but something stopped him. Interesting.

“Nothing to say?” Laurent asked, canting his head and wondering when and how he’d ever thought Bastian was nice let alone the kind of man he wanted to be with.

But then, he hadn’t had he? Bastian had wanted him when Laurent was alone and frightened and broken. Another thing to lay at his Uncle’s feet.

“Look I’m sorry alright?” Bastian said, voice strained like he was physically forcing the words out “I didn’t send the photos, I didn’t hack your phone or Damen’s and I don’t want anything to do with this,”

Laurent laughed, the sound shocked out of him.

“Oh? So now that you don’t want to play that’s it? Game over? I don’t fucking think so,”

Bastian grimaced, reaching up to tug at his collar as his eyes darted to the terrace doors. He wouldn’t seriously run away would he?

“Listen I don’t want trouble with Damen,” Bastian said before cringing “more trouble with Damen,”

Laurent blinked, mouth opening “you really should have thought about that,”

Because Bastian had started this specifically to cause trouble with Damen so what-

Abruptly, the thought occurred.

“What did Damen do?”

Bastian shifted, weight going from foot to foot and he looked like a caged animal. But not like a lion, waiting for the bars to fall, he looked like prey. The ensnared scared look of a rabbit in a trap.

“You really don’t need to reiterate the threat, I heard him loud and clear okay? I promise, I’m done, I’ll never speak to either of you again, I promised and I meant it, alright?”

Threat. What the fuck had Damen said to him?

“Good to know, but Damen isn’t the one you need to be worried about,” Laurent said and he’d never meant anything more.

It was a strange sensation. Laurent had stood in his presence a thousand times and he had never, not once, truly felt like it didn’t matter. Like Bastian was nothing and no one and had no fucking power here. Laurent had either run out of fucks to give or he’d finally grown beyond Bastian. Beyond his uncle. Beyond all of it.

Maybe this was what healing looked like.

“Laurent-“

“Don’t even say my name,” he snapped “so what did Damen say? Threaten to go to the police for assaulting his boyfriend?”

Bastian frowned, recoiling “I didn’t assault you,”

“I was so drunk I could barely stand, I’d just thrown up my body weight in alcohol and can’t remember even getting in the car with you,” Laurent said “you said I gave you head, which I think we can both agree I was in no state to consent to and then you were pretty insistent at my apartment when I told you no, so what would you call it?”

Bastian swallowed “I-“

“Would you have raped me?” Laurent asked

The word landed like a slap and Bastian flinched, mouth falling open as Laurent continued.

“I think you would have, I told you no very fucking clearly, if Damen hadn’t shown up I think you would have done whatever you wanted,”

“Rape?” Bastian exclaimed, the kind of shocked splutter that made Laurent’s lip curl

“It makes me sick, that you can’t even see your actions for what they were, there is something deeply disturbing about that,”

Because Bastian didn’t see it. If Damen hadn’t shown up at Laurent’s and Bastian had done whatever he wanted, the word would never have even crossed Bastian’s mind. Even amongst Laurent’s verbal requests to stop or his lack of coordination Bastian still would not have believed that what he’d done was rape. And that was-

Not even a little bit surprising. Which said everything. They’d been there before hadn’t they? Bastian hadn’t thought it then and in truth, neither had Laurent. He did now. All the times he’d done it because it was easier than fighting. All the times he’d said no and Bastian had done it anyway. He’d always thought of it as pressure, sure, but not- not what it really was.

Bastian had found him when he was broken and damaged and didn’t know better. He fucking knew better now.

“Nothing happened,” Bastian said

“You’ve changed your tune,”

“Laurent, nothing happened,” Bastian said seriously “you were asking for Damen the whole time, you threw up on the ride home, I just-“

“Just what?” he asked, proud of how calm his voice was

Bastian didn’t answer, expression going pinched as he stared back at Laurent. A deer in headlights.

 “Nothing? No matter, I’ll talk, you just listen and I do mean carefully because I’m only going to say this once,” he said “you will delete any and all photos or videos you have of me,”

“There are none,” Bastian hurried to say “I just said it to frighten you, this- whatever happened with the photos this morning, I swear it has nothing to do with me, I don’t have any,”

And- of course he fucking didn’t. The absolute fucking prick. Just when Laurent thought he couldn’t hate him anymore than he did there was always something else. Lies. All of it lies. So he’d basically done all of this for fucking nothing.

If he wasn’t so profoundly annoyed he might laugh.

Instead he lifted his chin “good because if I get even a sniff of anything of the sort, if you come near me ever again, if you say anything to Damen ever again, if you so much as think my fucking name I will absolutely ruin you, do you understand?”

Bastian shook his head “Laurent-“

“Clearly not,” he laughed “Bastian are you aware of your father’s tax evasion schemes? How about his money laundering? What do you think the press would say if they knew? No one has had to forfeit a title in a very long time, can you imagine the King doing it now? I can, with a little nudge from Damen, they’re very close you know,”

Bastian had gone pale. A satisfying sickly kind of pale that had something in Laurent’s chest roaring in approval.

“How- no, you wouldn’t do that,”

“I very much fucking would,”

“Laurent I-“

“No,” Laurent said holding up his hand “all you need to do is shut your fucking mouth and never even so much as fucking look at me, ever again, are we clear? Because I want absolutely nothing to do with you, you’ll delete my number, delete any old messages, pretend you don’t fucking exist when we’re in the same space, understood?”

Bastian swallowed, jaw clenching as he forced the word out.

“Yes,”

“And if I find out you do have photos or videos or have said anything to Damen to insinuate something happened when it fucking didn’t I will ruin your life, I will ruin your sisters life, and I will make sure your father goes to prison for the rest of his, are we clear?”

“Yes,”

“Good,” Laurent said and took two steps back, backing into the hall “now run along,”

Bastian slid past him, hurrying away and Laurent could only smirk at his retreating back as he slowly followed. How in the world had he ever let him have so much power over him? Well, never again. That was for sure. He felt free almost. Like he’d finally stood up for himself and abruptly, he just didn’t give a shit what Bastian might retaliate with. If he’d retaliate. Something told Laurent he wouldn’t. Bastian was a dick yes, but he was also a coward and now that Laurent had protested, provided some kind of fight for it, Bastian would back down. He wished he’d known to do that sooner.

He was watching Bastian’s form hurry back into the hall when Damen appeared, almost running straight into Bastian who backed up so quickly and so comically Laurent could only snort and freeze.

Would Damen judge him for being alone with Bastian? Would he think-

Damen’s eyes went straight to him, smile curving his pretty mouth up as Bastian all but stumbled back into the reception, letting the door swing closed behind him. Until it was just the two of them staring at each other in Nikandros’ gleaming foyer.

“Well he looked like he was going to shit himself, what did you do?” Damen asked, sauntering closer.

Oh. Laurent grinned back at him, shrugging one shoulder idly as though his heart wasn’t hammering in his chest and his stomach wasn’t swooping.

“Just a little threat to expose some tax evasion and fraud, you know,” he said flicking his fingers in a way he hoped made him seem casual about it all.

Damen laughed, eyebrows raised “that’ll do it,” he agreed

Laurent bit his lip, the smile sliding from his face as the tension rose up around them, a static kind of expectation that made Laurent fidget. Damen palmed the back of his neck, eyes shifting away from Laurent and the silence between them was loaded and thick.

“I-“

“Can-“

They smiled and Laurent shook his head, encouraging Damen to speak.

“Can we talk?” Damen asked, the hesitation plain in his voice.

Laurent swallowed, aware this was it really. Wasn’t it?

“Maybe not here?” he offered, gesturing around and how very open it was.

Anyone could come out of the reception. Anyone could stumble upon them and Laurent had a horrible sinking feeling that this could be emotional. One way or the other.

“There’s my room?”

And of course Damen was staying here. Nikandros was his best friend. Damen probably had a semi-permanent room here the way he had done at Arles when they were young. As if he’d ever actually used it. Too busy with Auguste most of the time. The memory didn’t sting the way he’d thought it would.

Laurent nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet as Damen led him up the stairs. The same stairs Laurent had taken the night of the bachelor party. He hoped like hell his whole world wasn’t about to collapse all over again. But if this conversation didn’t go well Laurent had no doubt it would crush him.

His heart was pounding like he’d been running as Damen closed his bedroom door behind them and Laurent was confronted by a gleaming cream and gold suite. There was an irritatingly loud clock ticking from the vintage mantel piece over an unlit wood fire and it made the silence thicker than it ought to have been. Weighty. Fucking choking.

He wandered into the room, wringing his hands together until he forced them down by his sides, took a stealing breath and span to look at Damen.

Damen was biting his lip, watching him with none of the cool he’d had down in the foyer.

“So this is awkward,” Damen said

Laurent breathed out a laugh and took a seat on the edge of the bed “I’ll start then?”

Damen nodded, taking a seat beside him and it was a good sign that he sat close, no space between them, their shoulders brushing, their thighs pressed together. It was grounding.

He released a long exhale, had to psychically flatten his own hands against his thighs to stop from wringing them and forced himself to look at Damen.

“I found out some stuff about Bastian’s dad, tax evasion, fraud, all that fun stuff, and I threatened to ruin his life if he ever came near either of us again,”

Damen’s expression was amused, light dancing in his eyes as he nodded his head “you’re hot when you’re scary,”

Laurent snorted, felt his cheeks heating up at Damen’s easy admission.

“He doesn’t have any photos of me, he just about shit himself when he thought I was going to accuse him,”

“Ah, yes, he definitely looked that way when I maybe threw him against a wall earlier,” Damen shrugged “his voice cracked, it was hilarious you would have liked it,”

He would have liked it. Loved it even. Though Laurent’s laughter might have ruined the moment. And his arousal over Damen’s protectiveness would definitely have made things awkward.

Again.

“So I think, what I really need to know,” Laurent began, swallowing thickly over the lump forming in his throat at the ticking countdown clock that was echoing in his brain.

Because this was it. And everything he wanted was either about to be snatched away or just in reach and the possibility of losing it again when he’d foolishly let himself hope would be unbearable.

“Do you believe what he told you?”

“No,” Damen said “like I said before, the doubt, that’s on me, that’s my shit and I’m sorry for that but things were so shit between us I just- believed the worst for a moment because,” he shrugged, shaking his head

Laurent knew what he meant. What Damen was thinking about. Scars like that, having trust broken so fundamentally by people you cared about, it wasn’t an easy thing to get over and Kastor really had done a number on Damen when he slept with Jokaste.

“More than that though,” Damen said, angling himself closer “I was wrong to react the way I did because if it had happened then that wouldn’t have been okay,”

Laurent frowned, opening his mouth to retort because fucking obviously it wouldn’t have been okay. But Damen held his hand up, meeting Laurent’s gaze.

“Laurent you were so fucking drunk and he really wasn’t, there is no world where anything happened between you where it would be consensual and I’m so fucking sorry that I didn’t react the way I should have,”

Laurent only realised his mouth was open when he snapped it shut, swallowing over the words clogging in his throat that wanted to refute it. A broken part of him spewing someone else’s words. But he held it back.

“You reacted the way anyone would have Damen, please don’t apologise, it was-“

“I believe you,” Damen said “and I’m sorry, take those words please, because I really fucking mean them and I need you to understand it,”

Laurent reached for his hand, squeezing his fingers, gratified when Damen turned his palm over and laced his through Laurent’s.

“I do, and- thank you, for saying it, but I’m sorry too Damen, I’m so fucking sorry and I need you to hear that,”

Damen reached up, brushing his thumb along Laurent’s cheek bone, a soft sweet caress that had Laurent’s eyes fluttering closed for a beat.

“I know it baby, you don’t need to say it again,” Damen said before taking a deep breath.

When Laurent’s eyes opened Damen was wearing his serious face. Almost stern, except for the softness of his gaze and the worry etched onto his brow.

“What?”

“There’s something else I want to talk about but I don’t know how to bring it up,”

Oh fuck. What? What could possibly make Damen look at him like that?

“Just say it,”

“What you told me about your uncle,” Damen said

Laurent stiffened, hand clenching in Damen’s as his heart kicked up at the unexpected turn. He should have expected it. On some level he had. But not right now. He had thought he had more time. That this wasn’t a pressing priority between them. He should have known it would have been on Damen’s mind. He knew too much about Auguste for it not to be he supposed.

“Oh,” he said turning his gaze away hurriedly as something like shame scratched at his insides.

A visceral slimy kind of slither that clogged the back of his throat and churned in his stomach and he wished he could take back the horrible things he’d said.

“I didn’t mean it the way it came out-“ he breathed, swallowing and breathing deep “I wanted to shock you and I really thought you knew and I’m sorry-“

“Laurent, please don’t apologise, not about this, never about this, you hear me?”

Laurent nodded, blinking stupidly at Damen and the way he was staring at him. There was no disgust in his face. Nothing but warmth and sincerity as Damen took a deep breath.

“I want you to know that I meant it when I said I’m glad he’s dead, and that I’m so fucking sorry you went through it, and I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but you can, you can always tell me anything and I’ll be right here, nothing changes and I never want you to feel like I wouldn’t be there for you, for anything, but especially this,”

Laurent’s heart was beating so hard it was fighting the shame for most distracting aspect of his body. He could only stare at him, trying to gauge it, trying to crack Damen’s expression open with just his gaze to find the revulsion underneath. It had to be there somewhere, it didn’t make sense for it not to be.

“So you don’t think I’m… disgusting or broken or-“

Damen’s expression twisted but it still didn’t look like what he expected. He looked livid.

“I think he was disgusting and broken but there isn’t a single part of you that is,” Damen said, voice firm and as unyielding as his gaze “you did nothing wrong,”

And the worst part, the very worst part, was that Laurent couldn’t read a single hesitation or lie in his words or in his face.

And it did make sense, didn’t it? Damen was Damen. He’d seen all the worst parts of Auguste too, had crawled through all that blood with him to come out the other side and still cared about him. It absolutely did make sense that Damen wasn’t disgusted by him. Laurent’s anxiety didn’t retreat, it didn’t surrender, but he clawed it back forcibly enough to breathe a sigh of relief. To choose to believe him.

“Thank you,” Laurent breathed out, relief making him feel light headed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No. Never. Not even a little bit.

“Listen, I don’t want to talk about it, about him, because I don’t need to,” Laurent said “not really, maybe that will change one day but for now I don’t want it to have a place here, with us, you know what he did to me, and I know, and you’re still here and that is all I want,” he swallowed gauging Damen’s reaction “it happened and I can’t change it but I don’t want it to have to be this big defining thing all the time, not anymore, so I know I can talk to you, but please don’t take it personally when I say I don’t want to, it’s not about talking to you it’s because I’m okay right now and if I ever change my mind I’ll let you know,”

And it was the truth. Mostly. He was working on not letting it define him or his actions, or his relationships but he knew by now that path to healing wasn’t linear and there would be times when it got the better of him. But he didn’t want it to intrude unless it absolutely had to. And right now there was no chance in fucking hell it was intruding here.

“That’s all I want,” Damen said “just know that I’m here and nothing will change,”

“I do know,”

Because Damen had never treated Auguste differently. Like he was disgusting, or worse: with unbearable kids gloves, like Auguste needed to be coddled. Damen was still a dick to him when he wanted to be, he was just aware of the things that Auguste might be acting out against and protected him because of it when he needed to. There was no pity. Only empathy and people had no idea how difficult it was to get right.

It was a fine line he supposed. But Laurent couldn’t bear the pity or the way people looked at him when they knew. Granted very fucking few people did know but it was always like seeing Laurent came with a wince. A reminder. For them both. Damen didn’t make him feel like that.

And that was- that was worth more than Laurent could ever tell him. He didn’t want to put his scars under a microscope. It was enough to know that Damen knew they were there and why they were there and it didn’t define him or them. That he cared enough, understood enough, to not let it linger in every space or every breath between them. He could be conscious without being overbearing. Knowing without disgust or judgement or change.

It felt like taking something back that Laurent hadn’t even known he had been going without. It was more than Laurent had ever thought he would have. More than he ever thought he’d deserve.

And maybe some part of him still felt a little like maybe he didn’t deserve Damen. Or to be happy. But for the first time, in a very long time, the happy voice in his head was all too eager to tell that little anxious voice to fuck off.

It wasn’t about deserving. And even if it was, maybe he was more than okay with earning it. Proving to himself and to Damen that this was what he wanted. What he needed. What he didn’t want to go without.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Damen said

“I trust you,” Laurent agreed “and- fuck Damen, I really fucking love you, do you know that?”

Damen’s smile was bright, tinged with an uncharacteristic shyness around his eyes that made Laurent want to drop to his knees. Physically, emotionally, metaphorically- all of it.

“Good because it would have been awkward otherwise,” Damen said as he leant closer “because I love you so fucking much and it really would have sucked if you didn’t feel the same,”

Laurent laughed. Couldn’t even help himself, he laughed as he leant in, cupping his hands at Damen’s jaw and pressing his smile to Damen’s mouth in a kiss more breath than anything else. 

When Damen drew back his smile had Laurent’s breath catching in his throat and the incredibly poorly timed sting of tears in his eyes. He tipped his chin down, leaning into Damen’s neck until he could dispel the telling glassiness. Damen didn’t comment, but his arm came around him, fingers soft through his hair and his mouth a press against the crown of his head.

“And Auguste?” Damen asked, breathing the words into Laurent’s hair “Bastien wasn’t the only issue and if it’s going to be something you resent me for then-“

Damen didn’t finish, he didn’t need to. Laurent had said it himself had he not? Resentment wasn’t something they could afford between them. It was like keeping score and Laurent might not know what a healthy relationship was beyond everything he had with Damen, he was new to this, but he did know that much. Keeping score was just a way to divide what’s supposed to be a team. If they were both keeping track individually, they might as well quit whilst they’re ahead.

Laurent breathed out in a rush as he pulled away from Damen’s neck, and let himself think about it. Really think about it. It didn’t take long for an uncomfortable truth to slither into the gaps in his thoughts. Once there they could not be shaken free.

“I would have slept with you even if you had slept with Auguste, if I’d known about it, if you’d been together or if it had been more,” he pursed his lips, not sure what it said about him “I wanted you too badly,”

Damen, of course, looked smug as fuck at the admission but quickly rearranged his expression when Laurent glared at him. He shifted on an amused breath, turning into him.

“For a long time the way I felt about your brother was confusing, and before that it was just like an extension of myself, it was complicated and maybe it still is, but the way I care about him has never been like this and there isn’t a world where I didn’t fall for you anyway, even if it had been like that with him before,”

Laurent really, really, didn’t want to inspect the way he reacted to that because it said absolutely nothing good about himself. Or Damen probably. But it did feel inevitable, huge and irrevocable and maybe it was. He didn’t know how he felt about fate or destiny or any of those stupid soft notions that had been prised from his unwilling arms when he was little more than a child, but this- it was as close as he would ever get to feeling like poets weren’t just spouting nonsense and wishful thinking.

“I think if I’d found out differently, or like separately from everything else it would have been different,”

It was, unfortunately, probably the fact he’d found out so many harsh truths all at the same time. On top of watching Auguste nearly fucking die. He wasn’t naïve enough to think it would have gone well because he was, after all, the perpetual younger brother. The spare. But maybe his view of Auguste had changed. Or maybe his view of himself had. Both, maybe. He didn’t know. But it would have been different to hear it without already being at the end of his emotional tether.

“How’s he doing?” Damen asked

Laurent raised a sceptical eyebrow “you haven’t spoken to him?”

Damen snorted “oh no we’ve spoken, but he said he wouldn’t talk to me about it until you and I had sorted our shit out, I think he was taking way too much pleasure in making me sweat,”

Or more likely Auguste was relishing his ability to distract Damen from fussing about it to make Auguste’s life quieter. Laurent wasn’t going to tell him that though.

“He’s going to rehab, he’s all booked in for tomorrow, I called myself to make sure,”

He was going with him too, making sure Auguste actually fucking made it through the doors.

Damen breathed out, pressing his eyes closed “good- that’s… fuck thank god,”

“You think it’ll work this time?”

“I think we’ll be there for him either way, but I hope so,”

We. Together. Individually. They would be there for Auguste and they’d face it all together.

“No more secrets, I don’t mean I need to know if he tells you about some gross sex he had with a woman but if he’s in trouble-“

“I will, of course I will, it’s different now,”

Damen said it with so much feeling it was annoyingly impossible to doubt him. At least Laurent knew he’d kicked up such an almighty fuss that Damen was in absolutely no hurry to see how a repeat would go.

Silver lining? Thin but he’d take it.

“Can we be okay now please?” Laurent asked

Damen kissed him, thorough and slow and Laurent wasn’t sure if he was leaning back or if Damen was lowering him but he was flat on his back with Damen hovering over him before he knew it.

“We should get back,” He breathed against Damen’s mouth, hands still roaming, their mouths still meeting.

“Yeah, wedding, things to do,” Damen said, feeding Laurent the words on the tip of his tongue.

“Any second now,” Laurent gasped as Damen drew his thigh up and turned into him, tangling them further.

“Uh-huh,” Damen agreed, even as Laurent tugged his shirt from the waistband of his trousers so he could flatten his palms against the ridges of Damen’s abdomen.

He felt Damen shudder as Laurent’s fingers fit against his ribs, palms sweeping up as much as he could until Damen gave up. He was quick to rise to his knees, impatient but careful as undid the buttons and Laurent watched like it was his own personal strip tease.

Damen’s body was unreal and it was no less of a shock now than it had been that first time. And certainly no less of a turn on. If anything, impossibly, Laurent just wanted him more.

He was aware, by Damen’s raised pointed look, that he was probably supposed to be undressing too but he didn’t. He was preoccupied, too busy licking his lips and willing his abruptly overheated body to calm the fuck down. He wanted too much at once. He wanted to sit up and chase every inch of exposed skin Damen unveiled for him, he wanted to attach his mouth to Damen’s nipples and listen for the expected huff it would get. He wanted to start on Damen’s belt, get his hands around the familiar shape of him. He wanted to take his own clothes off, reach down to alleviate the building need between his legs where his cock was hardening just at the promise of pleasure settling over him. He wanted too much. So instead he did nothing but watch, swallowing thickly, aware his eyes were getting heavy and his breath was picking up but he doubted anyone would blame him. Not so long ago he thought he’d never get this again.

Damen discarded of his shirt and the stupid waistcoat, throwing everything with little care before reaching for Laurent’s thighs. He spread them open, settling down in the space between them and kissing Laurent with a dizzying intent. Laurent’s hands wandered, across the wide expanse of Damen’s shoulders, into the dips of the clavicle, along the impressive muscles in his back.

He was groaning into Damen’s kiss, hooking a leg over his hip and urging Damen closer. Even as he refused to stop kissing him. Touching him. 

When he needed to breathe he tipped his head back, blinking in a daze as Damen turned attention to his neck, his own wide hands caressing, palming him, groping wherever he could reach. He needed more.

“Damen please,”

Damen’s groan was loud and he was sitting up in a blink and reaching for Laurent’s belt. He met his eyes, not asking for permission, more watching the desire in Laurent’s expression as he ripped it open and tore Laurent’s trousers and underwear off in one go, not caring when they got tangled with his shoes and he all but threw them across the room when he finally got them off.

Laurent was aware that they must look ridiculous, Damen naked from the waist up and Laurent from the waist down, but he didn’t even care. He couldn’t care because before he could comment Laurent found himself flipped over, yanked to the edge of the bed and Damen was on his knees behind him, his large palms spreading him wide as a deep appreciative moan rumbled from his throat.

The warmth of Damen’s breath was a tickle, a provocative tease that had Laurent whimpering, his face heating as Damen continued to devour him with nothing but his gaze. With an impatient whine Laurent buried his face in the crook of his arm, flexing his hips back.

“Please,” Plaintive, entirely too raw.

Damen groaned, cursed, and then the hot lap of his tongue was right where Laurent wanted him, as thorough with his mouth as he had been with his eyes.

When Damen added his finger Laurent couldn’t muffle the noises any longer and he cursed, slamming his hand down on the bed just to bunch the bedding in his fist as he writhed around Damen’s tongue and the press of his thick finger.

“More,”

Damen leant back, spitting onto his fingers and then he was there again, filling Laurent with two fingers, spreading them and pressing down as he ran his thumb along his perineum, dual maddening strokes.

“Fuck Damen, please,”

Damen licked around his fingers, not pausing his ministrations.

“I need to be inside you,” he said, voice sex rough and warming.

Laurent nodded, ready to beg if he had to but Damen was already withdrawing, his hand coming down once, hard on his cheek as Laurent was encouraged further up the bed.

He went eagerly, his impatience at removing his clothes a complete hindrance as he got tangled in both his jacket and his stupid shirt until finally, finally, he was naked and spreading his legs wide. Damen had shed his clothes much quicker, had gone rummaging in his dresser for lube and was already stroking himself when Laurent made grabby hands at him.

Damen’s chuckle was light, his eyes contrastingly dark as he dragged Laurent closer by his ankles.

“Impatient,” Damen said as he leant down over him

“Very,” Laurent affirmed, immediately hooking his legs around Damen when he settled.

 The kiss was filthy, more breath and tongue than anything else as Laurent tilted his hips up against the bump of Damen’s cock right where he wanted him. So close and so far all at the same time.

Damen teased, sliding his cock against Laurent’s needy hole in maddening passes until Laurent was digging his nails in and exhaling his name and finally -finally- he relented. The first breach had him hissing, mouth falling open when Damen didn’t pause. It was one long slow slide inward and Laurent felt every impressive inch of him, splitting him open, a hint of pain, a growing pressure, an undeniable pleasure.

Damen stilled when he was deep inside him, hands sliding down and reaching beneath him to squeeze him as he ground down and Laurent’s head shot back into the pillows, groaning, eyes locked on Damen’s face.

Because that- right there. Damen fucking into him bare, with no hesitation, was all he needed to know Damen really did believe him. That it was okay. They were more than okay. Because Damen splitting him open and settling inside him felt like a homecoming and Laurent could only pant out his revelation and flex his hips.

Damen’s groan was at his ear, a resonating rumble “always so tight baby,”

Part of him expected slow and careful, something soft and sweet. The only soft thing about Damen in reality was the look in his eyes as he stared down at him. The only sweet thing the taste of his tongue. It wasn’t slow, he wasn’t careful. Laurent fucking loved it. He’d missed this.

It was hard and deep. Thorough. The kind of taking apart that had him chasing air, thighs clenching around Damen’s skin, unable to control the noises spilling out of him on the end of a breath every time Damen fucked into him.

Laurent was digging his nails in, anchoring himself to Damen’s back, closing his eyes in the warm humid space of Damen’s neck and sinking his teeth in to match. Damen’s answering groan was a warning and Laurent found himself flipped over, being pulled up on his knees as Damen plastered himself to Laurent’s back, pushing back inside in one easy thrust, his hand on Laurent’s stomach, keeping him close and reminding him how fucking full he was.

And he was full. He always felt split open on Damen, plugged deep, like he could feel him in his stomach or in the back of his throat. In the beating of his heart as Damen fucked him in short sharp drags designed to have Laurent shaking.

“Right there,”

Laurent moaned as he reached out, hands slamming against the headboard and letting his head hang, eyes torn between squeezing closed against the pleasure ripping through him or watching his cock bounce between his legs, watch Damen’s fingers digging into his hips.

When Damen’s hand reached for him Laurent bit his lip, fingers scrabbling for a purchase that wouldn’t come as Damen’s thick fingers matched the strokes inside him and Laurent could do nothing accept moan for it, pressing into Damen’s hand and back on his cock, his rhythm faltering when, abruptly, his orgasm hit him.

He gasped, taken by surprise as he writhed in Damen’s hold, Damen’s arm going around his waist and tugging him back, fucking him through it, relentless and powerful and too much and not enough as the pleasure rippled out of him.

Laurent couldn’t catch a breath, caught in the riptide, nothing but a wanton mass of limbs and pooling warmth as Damen buried his face in Laurent’s neck, his tongue a hot swipe against his skin.

“So hot when you come on my cock like that,”

Laurent wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him to never stop, to demand more or to stay right there forever, caught in a current that was more flowing than ebbing.

His thigh started shaking, a tremor he couldn’t ignore as he gasped, reaching down to clench his own fingers in as he breathed through the onslaught, whole body going tight and loose on rhythmic pulses as Damen slammed into him over and over, heedless of the high whine coming from Laurent’s throat.

Between his legs his cock was still twitching, still hard, would laugh if he could get a breath, and when his insides started telling him he was racing upwards he could scarcely believe it. There was nothing for him to do except close his eyes and tip his head back, biting at his lip as his body coiled tighter and tighter, clenching around Damen’s girth.

“That’s it sweetheart, give it to me,” Damen demanded against his ear.

His breath was warm, dizzying, a damp pant against his skin as Damen’s hand tightened around Laurent’s cock, thumb drawing maddening circles beneath the head and it was too much. It was far too much, too sensitive, too needy, too everything and it didn’t take long until it exploded out of him. Unspooled, unravelled, the only thing keeping him up was Damen as his cock pulsed weakly, spilling into Damen’s hand whatever else he had left to give.

He was instantly boneless, muscles too busy contracting, still shaking, there was nothing for him to do except let it happen as Damen fucked in deep, holding himself there and gasping Laurent’s name as he came inside him.

Laurent came down in stutters, in between languid kisses and caressing hands, eyes pressed closed as Damen lay him back down, pressed together like a second skin heedless of the mess between them.

“We should shower,” Damen said against his mouth

It was enough for Laurent to crack an eye open “yes I’ll go back in there with wet hair, that won’t look suspicious at all,”

Which meant- well. It posed its own problem of course. But Laurent liked it and he knew from the pleased rumble Damen gave him in response that Damen was more than happy with that.

“Caveman,” Laurent accused, without any bite.

Damen snorted frowned at him stern and pouting “mine,” he huffed

Laurent couldn’t help the laugh that came out of him, filled with relief and the kind of joy he’d long thought lost on him. Or to him.

Damen kissed him, a smiling thing more breath than kiss before he was jumping up, annoying energy and all and slapping Laurent’s ass as he passed him. Laurent hummed into the contact and rolled onto his back, following the view as Damen disappeared into the bathroom.

He half expected to hear the shower start, obviousness be damned, but Damen came back with a damp towel instead and wiped Laurent down. From the glisten of water at his own neck he’d already had his turn.

“It’ll do,” Damen shrugged, entirely unbothered.

He dumped the towel on the floor and stood at the foot of the bed, all miles of muscle and gleaming skin looking like some kind of fucking photoshopped adonis, dark eyes roaming freely over Laurent’s sprawled form as his tongue swiped at that pouting bottom lip Laurent wanted to sink his teeth into.

Laurent groaned at the telltale flutter in his stomach and swung an arm over his face.

“Stop that,”

Damen snorted, tugging on his ankle to yank him down the bed again. He went with a yelp, annoyed at his body for still being interested when he felt like his battery should be completely out of charge.

“You’re naked in my bed, what do you expect?” Damen said, bending over him to press a kiss to Laurent’s stomach.

Laurent batted his head away “we have to go,” he groused but there was no bite to it.

He didn’t want to. At all. But they had to.

Damen heaved a put upon sigh and stepped back from him, giving him a quick once over “fine, I’ll save it for later,” he promised

Laurent had to force himself out of bed, annoyed at the protest in his muscles and how shaky he still felt. His hair was beyond saving. His shirt was a creased mess. He basically smelt like Damen and sex and he was still fucking flushed no matter how he fanned at himself.

Damen didn’t fare much better though he at least wasn’t pink all the way down his neck. The absolute bastard. He looked roguish and unkempt but in a stylish way. Laurent was pretty sure he just looked like he’d been fucked senseless.

Which. Okay, point. But it still wasn’t fair.

After exchanging kisses and promises and making plans for later to sneak away to Damen’s townhouse, they finally managed to part. Laurent went first, trying to slip into the hall again and be as invisible as possible. The hall was fairly lively, the Mignardise course looking to have been served and people were milling about, up and talking at other tables and a loud chatter filled the room that made it easy to get back to his table mostly unnoticed.

Laurent tried his best not to fidget with his hair or his collar as he slid back into his seat beside Auguste, avidly avoiding his brother’s enquiring gaze. He reached for his glass of wine, hand still shaking oddly, entire body still fucking shaking and the ache between his legs more than present. What was he thinking? That Damen could rail him to within an inch of his life and he could just go back into a room full of people and not act like he’d just been thoroughly fucked?

Yes. Wonderful. Great plan. As if everyone in the room hadn’t seen quite enough of him already which- huh. He’d forgotten about that. He wrinkled his nose, taking a deeper pull of his wine to cover the reminder. It was a good vintage at least. He’d bet it was from Damen’s estate down south: a wedding present from Theomedes most likely. 

His face was flaming, his skin emanating with heat and he just fucking knew he was blushing even before Auguste leant toward him. He definitely smelt like sex. And Damen. Which usually was a very nice thing. Next to a knowing Auguste? Not so much as it happened.

“Your hair is screaming I just took a tumble, by the way, if you were wondering,” Auguste said brandishing a macaron at Laurent with a wide smirk on his face “and oh look, Damen is back and has a glow about him, what a coincidence,”

“Would you shut up,” he snapped but it was entirely without bite because he was smiling.

Fucks sake.

Auguste snorted “so, are you good?”

Laurent dropped his chin to his chest. Was he good? Had he ever been better despite everything else?

“Extremely,” he said

And it may be true and Auguste may be crowing with laughter but Laurent couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when he snuck a peak at the top table and caught sight of Damen, loose, relaxed, and ribbing an unimpressed looking Nikandros with a bright smile on his face.

Laurent had done that. They’d done that.

Feeling his eyes Damen turned his head, winking like he didn’t give two shits that half the hall had taken note of his reappearance and was watching him. Laurent bit his cheek to stop his smile and levelled a not undeserved kick to Auguste under the table.

“Don’t stare,”

Auguste huffed, shrugging idly as he sat back in his seat “people will just assume he’s doing it to wind me up, I reckon they’re taking bets about how long before we argue,”

“Which is not happening,” Laurent stressed

There must have been something in his expression because Auguste’s expression shifted, from shit eating and amused to soft and careful as he reached for Laurent’s hand on the table top.

“It’s not,” he said quietly “I can’t promise we’ll never argue but it’s not- it won’t be like that, not now, I won’t do that to you,”

Laurent clenched his fingers around Auguste’s, dismayed by the pressure in his eyes and the thickness of his throat. He had to swallow three times before he could get any words out but Auguste didn’t let his hand go.

“Thank you,”

Auguste leant closer, pressing a quick kiss to his temple “are you two good now? really?” he asked, barely a whisper

Laurent nodded, squeezing his fingers again “we are,”

Any further sentiment was cut short by another annoying round of speeches before the double doors behind the high table were thrown open and they were all ushered out into the bar area and the terrace where they spent entirely too long milling about with wine and cocktails as the sun sank below the horizon and the hall was transformed.

A Lavish DJ booth was set up in sparkling gold, the tables were cleared and moved further toward the walls to allow for the huge dancefloor, the decorations were changed and Gabi came back to the reception in a tight short white dress instead of the tulle meringue she had been wearing all day.

The party seemed to start the second the doors were opened again and they all filtered back into the hall to watch Nikandros and Gabi take their first dance. Laurent didn’t pay much attention, he settled for sitting at a table near the back, away from prying eyes and watching Auguste flirt with a waitress to get her to bring him more of the dessert from earlier.

Which she did. Laurent may have stolen a bite or three. Or half of it but so what, he’d missed it the first time. Laurent couldn’t stop looking at the time, waiting for midnight when Damen said he’d be able to get away based on his projection of when Nikandros would be drunk enough not to notice. It wasn’t even nine yet and Laurent was bored out of his mind. Auguste had started looking antsy too and their father had taken to pretending neither of them existed except in cutting glances every now and then when he waltzed over to see if they were behaving.

When Auguste beside him perked up, eyes on something behind Laurent he turned, biting his lip to quell the instant smile and settling into disapproval as Damen took the empty seat beside him. He shifted the seat closer, a subtle tilt as he sank down and lounged, throwing a causal almost indifferent arm across the back of Laurent’s chair.

Indifferent but for the way his fingers grazed the back of Laurent’s neck as he did so and tapped purposefully on his arm before they flitted away.

“Damianos,” Auguste said tilting his wine glass at him

Damen rolled his eyes “Augustine,”

“Still as unfunny as the first time you said it,”

“Still as pissy about it as the first time I said it,”

Laurent smiled despite himself, watching them both narrow their eyes in mock annoyance before Auguste relented and leant closer, into Laurent’s space to allow Damen to hear him when he dropped his voice.

“Just so you know,” Auguste said “if you hurt him I’ll kill you and you know I’m good for it,”

Laurent choked on a noise, eyes wide as Auguste smirked, eyes on Damen.

Damen didn’t miss a beat, scoffed “no you’re not, who’d help you hide the body?”

Laurent felt his eyes roll heavenward in a plea for god to give him strength as Auguste burst out laughing and Damen followed suit and for a second it was like seeing them at sixteen all over again. Young and smiling and understanding.

“But you don’t need to worry, if I ever hurt him, I’ll give you a free pass,” Damen said “seriously Auguste, I-“

Auguste shook his head, expression softening “I know, I know,” he said, voice soothing “we’re good right? This is good? We’re all doing okay,”

Damen’s smile was gentle, the incline of his head more to hide the flicker at his throat than any deference to the statement.

“Yes, we’re all going to be okay,” Damen said meaningfully

Auguste nodded, solemn and reached for Laurent, gripping his wrist. It was a sweet expression on his face, something almost relaxed as Laurent met his eyes and it had been a long while since he’d met Auguste’s gaze and felt like they were on the same page.

And this time, they were. Laurent had, in the past, been several chapters behind. Sometimes in an entirely different book but it wasn’t like that now and Auguste’s expression told him he knew it too.

“So,” Auguste said, sitting back and Laurent knew before he even opened his mouth that the moment was over and he was about to be a twat “did you forget what the word discrete means? I mean I know you struggle sometimes but I’m assuming even you know this isn’t particularly quiet,”

“Oh I’m sorry, have I or have I not, saved you and your incredibly indiscrete arse from total social ruin a hundred times before now?”

Auguste groaned, flashing Damen a withering glance “don’t start this again, what am I supposed to do? Wait around for you to need me to save your life and then jump in like a hero?” Auguste snorted “hard pass, heroics are overrated,”

“True, you are more of a point and laugh type of person,”

“Don’t be ridiculous I won’t point, I’ll film it,” Auguste said jabbing Laurent in his side “honestly it’s like your boyfriend doesn’t know me at all,”

 Laurent’s heart gave a little hiccup at the word, snapping his head up to the rest of the table to see if anyone had heard, if anyone was listening. He turned immediately to Damen, apology on his tongue and chastisement for Auguste at the ready but Damen was laughing, head thrown back as if pained.

“God you’re so annoying,” Damen said but he was smiling and so was Auguste and no one was kicking up a fuss.

Damen hadn’t even blinked at the prospect of anyone hearing. It was something they hadn’t discussed but Laurent figured it was in the not right now stage because of the stupid fucking photos. But it made something warm bubble in Laurent’s chest and in his stomach and the errant thought I could get used to this fogged up his mind.

“Anyway, entertaining as you are,” Damen said to Auguste before turning his gaze on Laurent “how’d you feel about dancing?”

Laurent’s eyebrows went up as he choked on a noise “you can’t be serious,” he said  

Damen wanted to dance? Now? With him? That seemed like the exact opposite of discretion. It was all but a flashing neon sign that said yes, it’s Damen in the photos and the whispers would be loud. The staring would be so much worse. Did Damen know nothing? You can’t feed the rumour mill; they’ll pick the bones dry.

Damen shrugged “deadly,”

“Damen they’d know it would be-“

“Does it matter?”

The question drew Laurent up short. Because. Well. Did it matter?

His instinct, the answer sitting on his tongue and waiting in his chest, said yes. Of course it fucking mattered. It always mattered. Laurent hated to feel exposed. He hated the gazes and the razor sharp tongues and people knowing anything about his sex life. Except. People were already staring and they were all talking about his sex life and he’d done that to himself.

It was uncomfortable, yes, but the realisation came upon him like a breath of fresh air: he wasn’t ashamed. The ever present and acidic shame that had dogged him since he was a teenager wasn’t sitting like a heavy weight on his chest. The shame and the guilt and the mere notion of his own pleasure or sex didn’t feel so much like a Sisyphean task of constant hiding and constant worry.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He did, it was still uncomfortable to be perceived that way, but somewhere along the line he’d forgotten that he needed to apologise for it. And the apology was certainly absent from his chest now. Probably because he wasn’t sorry. Not even a little bit and he wasn’t ashamed of Damen. And if people knew it was Damen in those photos? Well. There was -maybe- a small part of him that quite liked the idea.

For the first time in his life he didn’t much care about hiding. In truth he wanted to scream it. He wanted everyone to know that Damen was his and he was Damen’s and that he was happy. He wanted them to be jealous, to know they couldn’t have Damen and they couldn’t touch Laurent and he didn’t care for the consequences. It didn’t feel like a storm he had to weather, it felt like rain in the middle of summer: made to revel in.

Laurent swallowed “are you sure?”

Because it wasn’t just about Laurent. Damen wasn’t a massive fan of having himself in the press either. And there would be stories. Blog posts. Tweets. Jokes. Lots of them, from everywhere, and there would be a constant scrutiny on them from then on; they’d be inspected and picked apart always. Speculation, photos of them whenever they were together in public, there would be no more hiding. Once the veil was pulled down there would be no putting it back in place. If they did this there was no going back.

“Laurent,” Damen said seriously, shifting to face him properly “this is the easiest decision I’ve ever made, I’m not ashamed of you, I want them to know, this isn’t me doing you a favour, this is me telling you I want this,” he said “that I’m proud of this,”

Laurent bit his lip resolve crumbling, reason crumbling “they’ll ask you a thousand questions about those photos, you can’t avoid the press like I can, you have responsibilities and you can’t-“

Damen smirked, leant in closer “good,” he said holding Laurent’s gaze “they can ask and I’ll very much enjoy it, so if you want this, then let’s do it, if not that’s fine too,”

Laurent snorted, as if there was even a chance he wasn’t going to do it.

Auguste beside him, when he chanced a glance, was smiling and tossed him a wink.

“If you don’t do it, maybe I will,” he prodded, canting his head “actually that would be hilarious, throw them all right off, Damen we could definitely-“

And that was enough to have Laurent up and out of his seat “not a chance,” he said, practically sticking his tongue out at him.

Damen slipped his hand into Laurent’s, fingers linking together as he led him to the dance floor, leaving a grinning Auguste behind. Everyone was staring and he knew it. There were so many eyes on them. All eyes. Even Nikandros and Gabi faltered and Laurent was aware of his skin itching with it, a buzz in his head that sounded like static as Damen pulled him close on the floor and smirked down at him.

“Personally, this is one headline I can’t wait for,”

Laurent snorted a laugh and let himself sway closer, all but pressing himself against Damen, gripping his hand hard and focusing on him and nothing else. Because everyone else didn’t really fucking matter. There was, he supposed, a first time for everything.

“I’ll remind you that you said that when you’re not getting a minute’s peace and my final exams come around and I’m threatening to throttle you because they won’t leave me alone to study in the library,”

“That’s okay I’ll fly you to Ios and you can study in our library, it’s very extensive,”

And of course it was. Just like his father’s collections. Unfortunately, Laurent wasn’t sure he’d get any actual studying done with Damen there.

“You’d have to bribe me into studying in that case,” Laurent said

Damen’s smirk grew “oh don’t worry I have ideas for an extensive reward system,” he said leaning down to breathe against Laurent’s ear “and an equally extensive punishment system if you get off track,”

Laurent swallowed, heat rushing him and he whipped a glare at Damen.

“If you make me hard publicly, I will end you,”

Damen laughed, throwing his head back even as they swayed and Laurent couldn’t help his own smile, had to lean forward to bury it in Damen’s chest. Damen’s arm slipped further around his waist and Laurent was aware that Damen was pressing his own smile into the top of his head and they were no longer dancing. Or even moving. Damen was just holding him, his hand like a brand at the small of Laurent’s back and he thrilled to it.

Laurent pulled back enough to look up at him and meet his gaze, the surge in his chest overwhelming in the best possible way.

“I love you,” he said

Damen’s expression softened, his thumb coming up to swipe affectionately at Laurent’s jaw.

“I love you too,”

It was Laurent who moved. He made the conscious decision, driven by feeling yes, but he didn’t want the questions. He didn’t want the speculation. He wanted to make it perfectly, plainly, clear. To everyone. But mostly to Damen.

This was it for him. Laurent didn’t want to go back.

Damen didn’t hesitate. He met Laurent’s mouth easily, as though they’d discussed this, as though they were in private, as though it was the easiest thing in the world. Maybe it was.

~*~

Epilogue

Ios, 4 months later

It had been a whirlwind few months but Laurent wouldn’t change a moment of it. Well, some moments where the media got a little too close for comfort and followed him to and from classes several times, or camped outside his apartment building. It was intensely annoying, dating Damen publicly meant that Laurent, by proxy, was interesting to them. They were interesting. Apparently.

Laurent would be lying if he said a small secret part of him didn’t thrill to it. Not all the time, there were nonsense articles sometimes, about Damen leaving a club beside someone and they insinuated they were leaving together and that Laurent was heartbroken at home. Or that Laurent was using Damen in a feud with his brother. Or that Aleron and Theomedes had arranged it for them or whatever other bullshit they decided to spew.

But Damen’s team were good and the counteracted it all fairly quickly and very loudly.

One of their newest ventures, following the leak in the press that Auguste had spent time at the Foothills Priory rehab clinic, came after Auguste released a statement talking about his struggles with addiction.

So now he and Damen -and Laurent publicly if not so much in reality- were starting a new charity venture together aimed at teens struggling with their own addictions. It was going well so far and Laurent was just glad to see them getting along. It had been a while since they’d had a fight in the media anyway.

Though not in private, they sniped like siblings and made up just as quickly. It would be annoying if not for the way it seemed to relax Auguste somehow. Like some semblance of normal he could count on with Damen despite his relationship with Laurent.

It was good. Life was good. Laurent had his -1^st class- degree now and there was nothing before him but time and whatever he wanted to do with it. Which usually meant something was going to go wrong but he refused to think about it too much. If it happened it would happen, Laurent was going to enjoy every last second before then. If that time ever came. Which didn’t seem possible at that moment.

The breeze was a welcome balm on Laurent’s skin as he swiped at the sweat beading on his forehead for perhaps the 100^th time. The sun was high overhead, not a single cloud in sight, and if Laurent looked up, toward the horizon, the sky kissed the ocean in an almost perfect gradient of blue on blue. He could hear gulls, the whisper of the garden, and the distinct sound of Damen blending some no doubt delicious drink for them.

Laurent wasn’t usually one for the heat, he burned easy, he got stuffy and annoyed and he didn’t much like sweating if it didn’t involve sex. But he loved Ios. He hadn’t spent much time there when he was younger but he’d spent the past two months travelling between Damen’s family estate in Ios, the islands across the harbour, and Damen’s summer home out in the countryside.

It was a beautiful manor, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea and had the most beautiful gardens.

Laurent was in love. With the place. With the city not too far away. With the man juggling glasses, a jug of some fruity looking drink, and a plate of mini cakes, coming to sit beside him.

Of all the problems he had envisioned when he agreed to leave Marlas with Damen for the summer not being able to do his jeans up without a physical fight was not one of them. Not that Damen seemed to mind, if he didn’t have his hands on Laurent then Laurent could safely assume his hands were full. 

Damen deposited everything on the table, stole a kiss, and sat back on his lounger, entirely naked. It was incredibly distracting but getting Damen to put clothes on was an uphill battle that Laurent truly had no real heart for. Besides, it would only make Damen whine about the heat and before he knew it Laurent would also be naked and they’d be getting even sweatier.

And he was exhausted and permanently walking like he’d been horse riding every day for long hours. Which wasn’t so wildly far from the truth, he supposed. If anyone were to ask.

Damen was relaxed, happily sipping his cocktail and stuffing food into his mouth that made Laurent grimace.

“How can you eat so much?” he lamented

Damen’s body fat ratio was genuinely startling. And fucking annoying.

“You could too if you worked out with me,” Damen grinned

Laurent made a noise of mock outrage “you’re supposed to love me, hikes and competitive rock climbing are not I-love-you activities, they are forms of torture, so instead you ply me with food and just let me do nothing all day, you’re a bad influence,”

Damen rolled his eyes, sucking on his thumb and Laurent really wasn’t sure if he was trying to be seductive or not. Probably not but Laurent considered himself thoroughly seduced anyway.

“Not true, you’re getting decent cardio so don’t worry,”

Yes, decent cardio. Three times a day at least. Though yesterday had been three cardio workouts before he even made it out of bed so maybe Damen was right.

Laurent huffed. They’d been having the same mock argument for the last two weeks and Laurent always followed it up by eating whatever Damen had made and then climbing in his lap anyway. He didn’t really care; it was nice to have an appetite because there had been long stretches of his life where he hadn’t had one at all.

There was probably something in there about control. He’d ask Paschal next week on their weekly video calls. For the last month or so Laurent’s calls had been lighter than normal and he’d spent the majority of his time gently needling for information about Auguste’s sessions with Paschal.

Auguste had told Paschal everything. Well, not everything. He’d said something about beating the shit out of their uncle and him subsequently running off to the other side of the world but it was close enough. Sort of.

Auguste said he was doing okay and that therapy was helping but he just wanted to make sure. Not that Paschal ever said anything but Laurent knew Paschal well enough to know from his smile when he mentioned Auguste that Auguste really was doing okay right now and that was good enough for him.

He’d never be perfectly fine. Neither of them would. But Laurent counted success in the measure of good days vs bad and the ratio was extraordinarily high for him right now.

He helped himself to a mini lemon cake and flipped Damen the finger when he grinned at him.

“When I go back to Marlas to do my Masters I’m going to have to take the stairs Damen, it’s all your fault,” he said just to watch Damen huff

Which he did, sending him a smile even as he did so.

“How’s the apartment hunt going?” Damen asked instead

Laurent groaned, a real one this time “terribly, Ancel isn’t sure what he’s doing yet but he’s being evasive and he’s at a fucking vineyard in the arsehole of nowhere with Berenger right now so he’s difficult to get hold of,”

Damen hummed, staring at him thoughtfully “so I was thinking,”

“Dangerous pastime,”

Damen nodded “very, but I have a pretty big house,”

Laurent swallowed, heart already starting to pound “a lot of rooms,”

“A lot of rooms,” Damen agreed staring at him and Laurent was sure he’d stopped breathing “feel free to say no, it’s just a thought, but how would you feel about moving in? I know you don’t have any solid plans yet so I just thought- well I’d like it,”

Move in. With Damen.

“Like temporarily?” he asked but he already knew the answer, he just wanted to see Damen rolls his eyes.

“No, like forever,” he said “you can have your own room if-“

“What is this? pride and prejudice? No way if I’m moving in I want to be in your bed or what’s the point,”

Damen laughed “I just meant so you can have your space, I know what you’re like,”

“Yes well all of my books can live in there,”

“Of course, you can do what you want to the place, if you’re moving in it’s not just a room, they’ll all be yours so, you know,” Damen flicked is fingers out “go wild,”

Laurent leapt out of his seat, throwing himself into Damen’s lap and planting a kiss on his smiling mouth “yes,”

“Yeah?”

Laurent nodded, cupping his jaw and leant in to kiss him properly “of course, I was hoping you’d ask,”

Damen’s smile was more blinding than the reflection of the sun on the ocean just over his shoulder and Laurent was helpless against the pull toward him.

Laurent could lose hours kissing him, had lost them in fact. Just kissing too. No pressure to take it further, just the simple pleasure of the feel of Damen’s mouth on his, sharing smiles, and breath, and taste. He didn’t think he’d much cared for kissing. Before Damen.

But then, he supposed one way or the other quite a few things had been different before Damen. Like Auguste.

Shit.

Laurent pulled away, grinning when Damen pouted and reached up for his mouth again.

“I have a phone date with Auguste,” Laurent said, awkwardly shimmying off Damen’s lap

“Does Auguste know that?”

No but that wasn’t the point. And Laurent absolutely wasn’t testing him. That’s not what it was. Damen had called it a surprise inspection last week and Laurent had sulked for three whole hours until Damen made him laugh and he couldn’t physically sulk about it anymore.

But it wasn’t his fault, Auguste was doing well and Laurent wouldn’t let him back slide. Not this time. It was better than hounding him every other day like he had before the summer trip to Ios. Laurent was fairly certain Auguste had point blank told Damen to get Laurent the fuck out of Marlas. Something about hovering and rules or whatever.

Fuck him. It was working.

Laurent gave Damen the finger again, grinning at his answering laugh as he went back through to one of the many drawing rooms. It was his favourite one, all greys and calming greens that looked out over the gardens.

From his perch on the window bay seat he could see the statue of Damen’s mother out there, surrounded by flowers, in pride of place at the centre like a goddess. He supposed, to Damen who had never met her, she had the same weight of myth for him.

Auguste didn’t answer the first time. Nor the second. And on the third try Laurent was getting anxious until fucking finally, the prick answered.

When he did his face was a smiling blur, showing glimpses of several recognisable people as he moved, and the background noise was loud for the few moments it took him to slip into his familiar bedroom. Auguste had been doing so well lately. Rehab had gone well, and therapy was going well, and he was going to his meetings and Laurent was only a little worried about an apparent get together, rather than freaking out or imagining the worst-case scenarios.

“Who’s there?”

“Just some friends,” Auguste said moving to shut his bedroom door

Laurent grinned “and since when do you hang out with Nikandros?”

Auguste rolled his eyes “Jord and Orlant are here too, and Pallas and Lazar,”

“Lazar?”

Lazar was his friend, why the fuck was he at Auguste’s little get together?

“Yeah, Jord is adopting him and Lazar came with Pallas who invited Nik,” Auguste waved his hand as though it in anyway explained it.

“Right,” Laurent said around a grin and Auguste scowled as Laurent added “I thought we were jealous of Nikandros,”

“Not anymore,” Auguste said sticking his tongue out “besides he doesn’t monopolise Damen anymore, you do,” he said “I’m also not 17 anymore,”

Auguste was staring very pointedly into the screen, half glaring as though that was going to somehow make Laurent shut up from a couple hundred miles away. So just because he could Laurent snorted.

“Well he has the personality of a wet mop and he hates me because he’s literally married to the sister of the man who tried to assault me,”

Auguste didn’t flinch but his jaw ticked the same way Damen’s did whenever Bastian came up between them all. It was infrequent. He’d gone on some long foreign excursion as an ambassador for a charity he definitely didn’t give a shit about. He was doing it for his social media and some clout with the press. Obviously. But at least he was gone and would be for months more. On the other side of the world still felt too close.

“Yeah we’ve talked about that, he doesn’t like Bastian either,”

Laurent shrugged because really Nikandros was guilty by association with Gabi who shared more DNA with Bastian than anyone else on the planet.

“I still don’t like him,” he sniffed

“Well this is your fault really, I’ve lost you and Damen and he’s lost Damen to you so-“

Auguste looked far too fucking pleased with himself so Laurent narrowed his eyes.

“Just remember he’s married,”

The absolute splutter that came out of Auguste made it extremely difficult to keep his laugh in check so he didn’t even try. Auguste’s entire expression was comically, ostensibly, dramatically repulsed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Auguste demanded

Laurent just laughed “how’s that sexuality crisis going?”

The last Auguste had said he’d told Jord nothing could happen between them, but Auguste was still trying to figure it out. He hadn’t graduated to any hands-on figuring out yet because he didn’t do that sober and Laurent knew it, he wasn’t sure Auguste would ever really be ready for that, even if he did decide he liked men. Still, it was his god given younger brother right to tease him. It would serve Auguste right for the many, many, many, jokes he’d levelled at Laurent over the last few months.

“I’m hanging up because you’re a dick,”

“No wait I have news,”

Auguste rolled his eyes and stared into the camera, unimpressed and bored “are you pregnant?”

“Yes it’s why my jeans no longer fit me,” he deadpanned right back

Auguste pulled a face so Laurent counted it as a win.

“Damen asked me to move in with him,”

Laurent had no idea why he was nervous as he watched Auguste’s reaction carefully. The most annoying thing about it was that there wasn’t one. Auguste just nodded. Like he’d expected it.

“That’s great, nice house you’ve landed in,”

“How do you know I said yes? I might have been asking for advice,”

“Shut up you were redecorating in your head the first time you went over,”

Laurent hid his face and Auguste’s laugh was refreshing. So different.

“Besides I figured it was either that or he was going to propose and we’d have to do this shit all over again next year,”

The casual way Auguste said it made Laurent’s breath hitch. Like it was a real possibility. Almost like he expected it. For real. Despite himself Laurent felt a smile curling at his mouth as warmth erupted in his stomach.

“You thought Damen might propose?” he asked, voice much quieter than he had intended.

Soft. Urgh, Auguste’s answering shit eating grin had him immediately regretting it.

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s basically when not if, right?” Auguste said

When not if.

Laurent bit down on his bottom lip and refused to acknowledge the way Auguste was sniggering as he watched Laurent squirm.

When not if.

“I hope so,” he breathed

Auguste sobered immediately; expression almost as soft as Laurent’s voice.

“Loz you could just ask him you know? If that’s what you want then do it,”

Laurent blinked, eyebrows shooting up. Was Auguste seriously encouraging him to fucking propose? Sometimes Laurent was almost certain he was living in a parallel universe and this was certainly one of those times.

More than that, he could just ask. Nothing was stopping him. Well, nothing except the anxious stupid voice in his head that whispered to him at the most inconvenient of times.

“What if he said no?”

Auguste’s eye roll was immediate and dramatic and so unhelpful Laurent would have hit him were they sitting side by side.

“Fuck all the way off, if you think he’d say no then you haven’t been paying attention,”

Before Laurent could respond there was a loud crash as Auguste’s bedroom door was thrown open behind him. Auguste flinched, and turned so Laurent was severed from his view of Nikandros by Auguste’s movement.

“If you don’t come back out here I’m going to kill someone,” Nikandros groused

Auguste groaned and held the phone up properly again.

“I’ve got to go, but think about what I said and congratulations on your house, tell Damen I said hey,”

The call was cut before Laurent could do more than blink and the second he did he slid down in his seat, head against the window and tried his best not to think about what Auguste had said. It was unhelpful. It was stupid. It was too soon.

And yet.

Fucks sake.

He wandered back out to the balcony where Damen was still soaking up the sun, he was on a call now, sounding all serious as he talked about setting up a meeting with the board to get approval and blah blah blah. He was still naked, lounging in the sun, idly stirring his drink with a straw as he fired off facts and figures like they were written down in front of him. Entirely serious. Business mode.

And still naked.

Laurent watched for a few moments, leaning in the doorway as a breeze tumbled in off the ocean and gulls called somewhere high overhead. It was peaceful and perfect and when Damen noticed him he tipped his head up, smile taking his features from serious to soft in a blink and Laurent felt his own expression answering, all smiles and tangled gazes and an undeniable feeling in his chest that ached in the best way.

Yeah, Auguste was right.

When not if.