Chapter 584 Morning after

Dean had no intention of leaving the bed.

The decision came sometime between waking, stretching one leg beneath the sheets, and immediately regretting the attempt.

He remained on his stomach instead, one arm folded beneath the pillow and his face turned toward Arion’s side of the bed. Pale-blond hair had spread across the dark pillowcase and over one cheek, while the blanket rested low across his hips, keeping the warmth trapped around him.

Morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains in long golden bands, catching against the carved furniture and the half-packed boxes still lined along one wall.

Across the room, Arion was already dressed.

Dean found that offensive.

His husband stood beside the small table near the windows, pouring coffee with one hand. An ivory shirt fitted loosely across his shoulders, the sleeves folded neatly to his forearms, and warm brown trousers sat low at his waist beneath a narrow leather belt. His dark hair was still slightly damp from the shower, pushed back from his forehead but already falling loose near his temples.

He looked rested.

Dean considered throwing a pillow at him, but he remembered that throwing anything required lifting his arm.

"You look entirely too functional."

Arion glanced over his shoulder.

"I slept."

"So did I."

Arion set the coffee pot down carefully.

"Eventually."

Dean pressed his face deeper into the pillow.

"I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

Arion picked up the coffee and a tall glass of water, then crossed the room. His footsteps were quiet across the carpet, and Dean watched him approach through half-lidded eyes.

There was satisfaction in his expression.

Arion placed both drinks on the bedside table before sitting on the mattress. The bed dipped beneath his weight, shifting Dean slightly toward him.

"Drink."

"I’m comfortable."

"You’re dehydrated."

"I’m horizontal. That feels medically beneficial."

Arion reached out and brushed several strands of hair away from Dean’s face. His knuckles moved slowly along Dean’s temple before his palm settled against his cheek.

Dean leaned into the touch before remembering he was supposed to be annoyed.

"I’m also not getting out of this bed."

"I hadn’t asked you to."

"You were thinking about it."

"You have meetings."

"They no longer exist."

Arion’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

Dean shifted his hips beneath the blanket and immediately regretted it.

His expression tightened.

Arion noticed.

"Sore?"

Dean stared at him.

"I can still feel you."

Arion went completely still.

For once, his composure failed so thoroughly that color rose faintly along his cheekbones before he could hide it.

Dean smiled into the pillow.

"There."

Arion exhaled through his nose.

"You deserved that."

"I brought coffee."

"That prevents me from being crueler."

Arion reached for the water first.

Dean pushed himself carefully onto one elbow, but even that movement made the muscles along his lower back protest. Arion’s free hand immediately came beneath his forearm, steadying him without making a fuss.

Dean accepted the glass and drank slowly.

Arion watched him.

Dean lowered it.

"You’re proud of yourself."

"I’m checking whether you’re all right."

"Those things are not mutually exclusive."

A restrained smile appeared.

Dean handed the glass back.

Arion set it aside and leaned closer, his palm sliding down Dean’s back over the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. The pressure was gentle, moving in slow circles along the muscles above Dean’s hips until some of the tension began to ease.

Dean let out a quiet breath.

"Better?" Arion asked.

"A little."

His hand continued moving.

Dean closed his eyes.

The bedroom still smelled faintly of them, though morning air had begun replacing most of it through the cracked balcony door. Vetiver remained strongest in the sheets and against Arion’s skin, mixing with Dean’s own sweetened pre-heat scent.

His heat had not arrived fully. But his body had already become increasingly aware of everything Arion did.

Dean turned his head slightly.

"You nearly folded me in half."

Arion’s hand paused.

"That was not criticism," Dean added.

"I understood."

"You should still feel guilty."

Arion resumed the massage.

"I brought coffee."

Dean considered that.

"Acceptable beginning."

Arion handed him the cup.

Dean pushed himself higher, gathered the pillow beneath his chest, and took the first sip.

It improved everything.

Outside the bedroom, the palace had already awakened.

Footsteps moved occasionally through the private corridor. Somewhere beyond the sitting room, someone rolled a cart across the floor before a door closed quietly behind it.

The transition had turned their home into a constant migration.

Half-packed crates waited near the dressing room doors. Several shelves were already empty. Arion’s formal archives had been moved to the main palace the previous week, and Dean’s office would follow after Sebastian and Nero’s wedding.

Dean looked toward the boxes.

"If someone asks me about moving today, I’m firing them."

"You cannot fire half the household because you’re sore."

"I can try."

"You also have Minerva at two."

Dean looked at him over the coffee cup.

"No."

"She sent the appointment herself."

"Then she can come here."

Arion’s expression shifted.

Dean caught it.

"She can sit in that chair and explain imperial patronage transfers while I remain exactly where I am."

"She may actually accept that."

Dean frowned.

"That is unfortunate."

Arion bent and brushed his mouth against Dean’s temple.

"I’ll move the meeting."

"Good."

"And cancel the other one."

Dean looked pleased.

"See? You understand marriage."

Arion’s hand returned to Dean’s waist beneath the blanket, resting there rather than moving.

For several quiet minutes, the room became still.

Dean drank his coffee.

Arion stayed beside him.

No council members waited at the door.

No ministry needed a signature.

Nothing shifted through the infected link.

The barrier between Theo and the ancient being remained intact

For once, the morning belonged entirely to them.

Dean stared down at the coffee.

"We really are doing this."

Arion knew exactly what he meant.

"Trying for another child."

Dean nodded.

The bluntness that came with his approaching heat had not disappeared overnight, but something softer sat beneath it now.

They had planned.

Delayed.

Forgotten.

Remembered.

Gotten cleared by Seven.

And now they had actually begun trying.

Dean looked toward him.

"I still want one."

Arion’s gaze stayed on his face.

"I know."

"Even if everything hurts today."

A quiet laugh left Arion.

"That seems like an important clarification."

Dean shifted just enough to bump his shoulder against Arion’s thigh.

"I’m serious."

Arion bent over him, one hand braced beside Dean’s head.

"So am I."

Their kiss was gentle this time. Warmth, the faint taste of coffee, and Arion’s thumb brushing Dean’s jaw before he pulled away.

A small sound came from the open connecting doorway.

Both of them looked over.

Theo stood there in dark-blue pajamas, hair flattened wildly along one side, the wooden black dragon tucked beneath his arm.

His golden eyes moved from Dean lying across the bed to Arion sitting beside him.

"Papa?"

Dean rested his cheek back against the pillow.

"Morning."

Theo approached slowly and stopped beside Arion.

"Are you sick?"

Dean looked at his husband.

Arion lowered his head.

His shoulders moved once.

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"You laugh, and I will make you regret surviving this morning."

Arion pressed his lips together.

Theo looked between them.

"Why is Papa in bed?"

"Papa is tired," Dean said.

"Why?"

Dean stared at Arion again.

Arion stood immediately, the ivory shirt pulling neatly across his back as he bent and lifted Theo beneath the arms, settling him against one hip before the interrogation could continue.

"I think breakfast is ready."

Theo accepted the distraction instantly.

"Can Dragon come?"

"Dragon can come."

Arion carried him toward the doorway.

Dean watched them leave.

"You’re a coward."

Arion glanced back over his shoulder, Theo in one arm and the wooden dragon hanging awkwardly between them.

His smile was entirely unrepentant.

Dean sank deeper beneath the blanket.

He was staying exactly where he was.