“Archie,” said Damaris with a drawl, and that was worse because he liked ‘Archie’. He liked the way it sounded in Damaris’s voice, he wanted to hear it again. “The good princeling doesn’t really expect us to join his hunting party.”
“Right, yes,” said Archie, because it was obvious the moment Damaris said it aloud. “Indeed, that makes sense. He just wanted an excuse to speak to us alone and block his brother from speaking with us. Or, with you. And now we have to keep pretending for the next few days.”
“The prince commanded us to take advantage of his hospitality,” said Damaris, with the tone of someone indulgently tolerant of the idea that any human, future king or not, could command him to do anything, and gestured at the beds.
If Archie’s face could have got any hotter, his eyebrows would have been singed off. “You don’t think he – knows?”
“I know not and I care not,” said Damaris, his hands rising to trace the length of Archie’s spine from nape to ass. And then Archie was too distracted to think of the prince after that.
When Archie awoke, he immediately knew he had been asleep for a long time. He felt like a puddle, pooled into the middle of the bed, the dip in the mattress making him list against Damaris. When he tried to roll over, he ached all over, groaned, and quickly gave up. Beside him, Damaris laughed silently, the only giveaway the rise and fall of his chest that Archie was pillowed against. He would have stayed in bed even longer, except he desperately needed to relieve himself. Reluctantly, he pried himself upright, and then promptly staggered as pain lanced through him from sore muscles he didn't even know he had.
Damaris was there suddenly, solid and steady for Archie to collapse against like a fainting maiden. He was in full demon form; Archie's hand landed in the fur-like tuft of hair on hischest, so soft under his hand he couldn’t stop petting it. One clawed hand delicately braced against his back and the other pulled Archie upright until he could see Damaris's face. There was nothing in Archie left to be embarrassed about it, apart from the memory of how he had rubbed his face in that fur or clung to Damaris's antlers.
"This is your fault," Archie grumbled, as Damaris manhandled him to the attached bathing room. There was the coveted magical plumbing system that his parents were installing in their townhouse, and Archie was quickly converted as hot water came directly from the upper tap. The sun was shining – oh gods, it must be mid-afternoon already, how long had he slept? – and there was something terribly exposing about being naked in front of someone else in the light of day. All his faults were on display and he desperately tried not to think about the dried or sticky patches on his skin too much; he could already feel the start of a blush as Damaris's hands cupped the curve of his ass appreciatively.
Except instead of anything more lascivious, Damaris hefted him aloft and deposited him into the bathtub. Archie squeaked, and clung to his shoulders as Damaris maneuvered him under the hot water and joined him in the tub. Even though they'd just had several rounds of debauchery, this somehow felt even more intimate, Damaris rubbing his hands over Archie's body. Between the hot water pounding against his shoulder blades and the rhythmic circular motions of Damaris removing the evidence of the last few days' exertion, Archie found himself relaxing again. He pressed a cheek against Damaris's chest, comfortingly solid, and closed his eyes.
This was something he'd never thought about missing. The sex, the kissing, he'd thought about, had longed for ever since he'd realized he preferred men. But this, he hadn't even known to crave. The gentle scratch of Damaris carding through his wetted hair. A warm body for him to lean against, the comforting weight of an arm pressed against his waist. The slow slide of fingers between his ass cheeks as Damaris cleaned him thoroughly, not enough to be titillating but enough to be a warm fizz in his stomach. A brush against his temple: a kiss.
"You are… crying?" asked Damaris, his voice next to Archie's ear. He sounded perplexed. When Archie opened his eyes, he found his vision blurry. So he was. He hadn't even noticed.
"I'm fine," sniffled Archie, and laughed at how pathetic he sounded. His throat closed as he tried to explain it. Damaris’s face didn’t move like a human’s, but Archie was getting better at reading it and still caught the confusion. He shook his head. "I never thought I could have – this."
“You have had little expectation for yourself,” said Damaris disapprovingly. “A very human trait.” And yet, the arm around his waist tightened, pulling him tight.
After cleaning up, the idea of clothes felt so restrictive against his skin and yet the idea of staying naked was too exposing so Archie finally settled on a robe. Plush and soft against his skin, yet enough of a blanket for him to pull around himself. Damaris had no such compunction and was happily naked, his muscles flexing and his member soft against his thigh. Archie blushed again, and averted his eyes. Was nowhere safe for his delicate temperament at the moment? He caught sight ofthe scratches across Damaris’s shoulders, long and a-many, and was startled out of his festering embarrassment. “Did I do that?”
“Hm?” Damaris peered at himself. “Yes, rather a vicious little kitten.”
“Oh gods, I’m so sorry,” said Archie, aghast.
Damaris raised an eyebrow at him and silently caught one of Archie’s wrists, pulling up the sleeve of the robe to reveal mottled bruises. He suddenly had a vivid memory of Damaris throwing him face down onto the bed, catching both of his wrists in one of his hands to keep him stretched out and in place for Damaris’s pleasure, and swallowed.
Then Damaris flipped up the edge of the robe and turned Archie enough to see his back in the mirror. A mottled red hand print spread possessively against the whole of his asscheek, from when Archie had been keening to crest for the fifth, or perhaps it was the sixth, time and Damaris had smacked his hand against him to force him over the edge.
“Yes, well–” said Archie weakly, but Damaris cut him off. “And this, too.”
He slid a hand up the inside of Archie’s thigh. Archie’s cock tried to make an indication of interest, but could only twitch slightly in exhaustion, and when Damaris pressed down, it was one of those unknown areas of pain, and Archie cried out. A bite mark, he realized with slight astonishment, and not just one but a whole trail of them from knee to crotch. He couldn’t even remember when that had happened, and then distantly remembered Damaris’s fingers thrusting inside him after he had already come, writhing with the overstimulation.
“I look like I’ve been mauled, you brute,” said Archie, smoothing the robe back down. He could see the deep red of his ears in the mirror. He reached over to the other bed and tugged the rumpled covers straight. Seeing the stains every time he turned his head was making him lightheaded.
“And enjoyed yourself greatly,” asked Damaris, manhandling Archie so they were sprawled on the clean bed, Archie folded against his chest.
“Yes,” muttered Archie reluctantly. He was being ridiculous, he allowed himself to think. He’d been keeping it suppressed for so long, it was just difficult to allow himself to be happy.
A knock sounded on the door, startling Archie enough that he made a most undignified noise they both pretended they hadn’t heard. He glanced around, panicked. They couldn’t be seen in this state, not even if it was just the servants, this was indecent.
“Stay,” rumbled Damaris, unwrapping himself from around Archie, pressing him down onto the bed with one hand on his shoulder. He fished around for another robe and shrank his Damian form into it as Archie lay down, his heartbeat thumping in his ears.
Damaris pulled the blanket up over Archie’s head and for some reason it made him feel better just knowing that no one could see him. It was a flimsy shield, because he could still hear Damaris opening the door and speaking to whoever was outside, but merely not having to make eye contact or deal with themunclenched the fist around his stomach a little. He waited, ears straining to no avail.
After the door shut, Archie didn’t hear the sound of any footsteps entering, so he wriggled free and sat up. Damaris with a tray in each hand, balanced unnaturally well as he slid them onto the table.
“The prince expressed his concern we had not joined them to sup last night,” said Damaris with some amusement as the hastily-tied belt came undone and the robe fluttered open. Archie admired the bare view underneath before a realization struck him. He’d never actually seen Damaris wear real clothes before. The demon didn’t usually need it, he merely dissipated the shadows that formed his clothing.
“You didn’t–” Archie made some gesture he hoped conveyed the right thing.
"It seems that was the final feed I required to establish my materialized form." Damaris looked particularly pleased. He stroked a hand down his bare chest, muscled and tanned even though he'd never seen a real summer's day yet. "A strong showing of magic. I'd anticipated it would take longer."
