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Just one more minute, Laurent could indulge for one more minute.
He nestled into Damen’s chest, breathing in deep as Damen’s arms gathered him closer. The likelihood of moments like this where Laurent could let himself enjoy, completely surrender to the warmth and safety, even for a brief second, coming to an end made him tighten his hold around Damen’s waist.
But he let go.
He knew how to let go more than anyone, and not because he was one of those honourable self-sacrificing idiots, although Auguste thought so. Laurent never held onto something because the harder you cling to it, the painful it becomes when it gets ripped off you. And it always tore off a piece of Laurent in the process.
Illness had taken his mother away from him, then his father, even though Laurent never had a strong bond with him but it still hurt. Laurent had yet to find his footing as an orphan, clinging onto his brother but Auguste was also sent away abroad for studies, leaving Laurent alone with his uncle.
Then came Aimeric, the fiery boy who seemed like the solitary place of solace, a brief moment of stability in Laurent’s ever turbulent life, a true friend but ended up being something vicious, poisonous.
It was a pattern, a cruel cycle, in Laurent’s life. Oh, teenage years, how Laurent loathed them.
And Laurent had learned the cheat code to break the pattern; it was rather simple: Don’t get attached. He was winning the fight with life, he could see the victory to be achieved with his immaculate, intricate planning but somehow, he had not seen Damen coming his way.
Damen came into his life like a violent storm, uprooting every belief, thought, rewriting them, reshaping him and then became the calm in his life, the firmness beneath his feet.
But, now, Laurent could see the end; the pungent, dry, old dusty taste of conclusion was already heavy on his tongue, but much to his dismay, Laurent wasn’t nearly prepared to let go.
But he would; in the end, he always did.
Laurent took a gentle hold the arm wrapped around his waist. Lifting it slowly, he tried to slide out from under the deadweight of Damen’s sleeping form, but only to be dragged back to bed.
“Five minutes more,” Damen said, voice husky with sleep. He nuzzled into Laurent’s unruly hair, tightening his hold around Laurent’s waist.
“I don’t have five minutes to spend,” Laurent replied but made no effort to get out of the bed. “I need to go back home, check on Old Nick, feed him before he decides to claw my curtains out of vengeance.”
Laurent gave into the urge to run his fingers through Damen’s dark curls, memorizing the silken feel of them. Just one more minute, he thought.
“Laurent, the sun isn’t up yet. What time is it?” Damen twisted back a little to see the digital clock on the nightstand, eyes bleary.
“5:17”
Damen buried his face into the pillow, a stubborn effort to not to face the day. Groaning in despair, he said, “My god, how do you function? Seriously, we slept for…” Damen trailed off, dozily calculating the time they managed to catch some shut eye, “only four hours! No sane, healthy human can function with only four hours of sleep.”
“Good thing then, I’m a demon spawn,” Laurent replied in a dry tone.
“A demon and his cat named Old Nick, that could make a good comedy. How come no one ever came up with that before?” Damen wondered; thoughts sleep mused as much as his dark curls.
"Why are you complaining? It was you who pleaded for me to stay the night,” Laurent continued, heedless to Damen’s drowsy morning musing.
“No one asked you to be rational in the butt crack of dawn.”
Laurent started fidgeting, trying to loosen Damen’s hold on him but to no avail. Damen scooted down a bit, kicking at the cover, he laid his head right in the middle of Laurent’s chest, one leg thrown over Laurent’s: successfully pinning Laurent down in bed. Eyes closed, he hummed out a big sigh.
Laurent throttled the need to let his fingers play on Damen’s back, drawing meaningless patterns on his shoulders; instead he kept himself motionless. Too much of a good thing is never good. “You do remember what day it is, right?”
“Tuesday?” Damen mumbled, lips ghosting over Laurent’s pale skin.
“We have the final mediation meeting today; can’t be late under any circumstance.” He shoved Damen away and rolled out of bed before he could hold him down again. Naked, Laurent walked out of the room to collect his discarded clothes from last night.
His parting words made Damen aware of the dread he had been carrying for past few weeks.
Laurent came back, clad in the black boxer briefs, rest of the clothes bundled up in his arm. “Wake up, smell the money, Damianos.”
Damen hugged the pillow Laurent had been sleeping on, which was drenched in orange blossom scent of Laurent’s shampoo, close to his chest.
He was never self-conscious about nudity but the reminder of the day certainly called for coverage. Damen sat up gingerly, pulling back the covers up to his waist. “Why are you rushing so much?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because we are responsible adults with… responsibilities,” Laurent replied, somewhat distracted by the view of the city lying at their feet. He had taken liking, from the very first time he was in Damen’s bedroom, to the view the huge floor to ceiling glass window provided.
“Someone clearly needs coffee,” Damen scoffed.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Dropping his bundled-up clothes at the end of the bed, Laurent gave Damen a look heavy with amusement. “This is the part where you get up and start your fancy coffee machine.”
“Why can’t you do that?” Damen asked, corners of this mouths lifting up in a sly smile.
Heat rose on his cheeks, ears, turning them red; Laurent pursed his lips. It’d snow in hell the day he would admit that Damen’s coffee machine a little too fancy for him to figure out. Laurent wouldn’t call it intimidating, he had an MBA, damn it!
Coffee machines weren’t supposed to be difficult to understand. But it was all chrome black, and huge with too many unnecessary buttons; only Damen would have an industrial grade coffee machine in his penthouse. Besides, he didn’t want to be sprayed with hot water, again. So, instead, “I’m busy,” he said.
“Doing what?” Damen countered.
Laurent levelled him with his famous death stare. “Taking a shower.” He turned towards the adjacent bathroom, leaving snickering Damen behind.
At that moment, Laurent was seriously contemplating the health benefits of having tea.
By the time Laurent came out of his impromptu shower, Damen had already started on breakfast, two steaming cups of coffee waiting on the breakfast counter. He made a beeline for the cup, aroma of rich, earthy brew leading him on like one of those cartoon characters. No amount of teasing from Damen could make him seek out solace in tea. The first sip made him wanted to moan in delight, but when his gaze fell onto the other cup, he was rudely ripped out of his coffee induced pleasure haze.
“Is that your coffee?” He asked.
Damen looked back over his shoulder. “Yes, why?”
“Damen,” He said slowly, mouth twisted in repulsion, “It looks like straight up milk, cream and sugar. Is there even a drop of coffee in that cup? Were you planning to put chocolate syrup in this?” His eyes caught on the chocolate syrup bottle beside the cooktops. “It’s six o’clock in the morning, Damianos!”
Damen picked up his cup and cradled it in both of his hands, close to chest, as if protecting his choice of drink from Laurent’s criticism. “It’s a mochaccino,” Damen protested, “I don’t have cocoa powder, so I was trying something new.”
He added a healthy amount of chocolate syrup and took a long sip, all while holding Laurent’s stare defiantly. Damen hummed, “Don’t knock it out before tasting it.”
“I’ll definitely be knocked out if I taste it.” Laurent took a sip of his own coffee, shooting a narrowed eyed look at Damen’s coffee cup.
Damen shook his head; it’s his birthday today, Damen wanted to say, he could have cake for breakfast if he desired. But he turned his attention back on the egg white omelette he was making, holding his mum.
Damen didn’t know how to define what was between Laurent and him. Gods only knew why every time he managed to convince Laurent to spend the night with him, he craved for more. He wanted to sit in his living room floor, leaned against the couch and share Chinese food straight out of the containers with Laurent.
Damen wished for more nights where he and Laurent could talk about weak implementation of trade related international law and somehow end up arguing about the need of white gloves in the old-time cartoons or about the proper technique of holding chopsticks. All the moments shared between them felt so fragile, as if running on borrowed time. And God, Damen wanted more of them. Just more…
“There should be laws against making demented coffee drinks first thing in the morning.” Laurent strutted to the couch, leaving his half-finished coffee behind.
“There should be laws against coffee snobs being snarky first thing in the morning.”
Laurent shot him a dry look before grabbing his overnight bag from under the couch, taking out fresh shirt and slacks with utmost care.
“Where did that came from?” Damen asked, spatula in one hand, sipping on his coffee flavoured cream, sugar and chocolate syrup as Laurent called it.
“I brought it with me last night.”
“You brought an overnight bag and stashed it under the couch.” Damen shook his head in part amusement, part exasperation, a big smile on his lips. “Pretty sure that I was going to ask you to stay the night, huh?” Smugness lacing every single word.
No, Laurent was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to say no when asked. “This is called being prepared, Damianos. Besides, I don’t do walk of shame with wrinkled, day-old clothes.”
Damen frowned, smile a little dim. “Fresh clothes negate the effect of walk of shame.”
“Exactly my point.”
Damen chuckled that sounded a bit forced and went back to cooking. “You could borrow one of mine. I’m sure there was something-”
“I don’t think Nicaise would appreciate me showing up at his track practice with moo moo dress on, Damen.”
“Ah, the last day of practice before the competition.” A swift jerk of his wrist and the steaming omelette fell onto the plate from the pan.
Damen went on to gather everything they would need for breakfast, unaware of Laurent still reeling from the fact that Damen somehow remembers a passing remark he had made about Nicaise’s track competition.
“As much as I appreciate you standing in the middle of my living room in nothing but a bathrobe,” Damen said, a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile showcasing the dimple on his left cheek, “I don’t think you would like cold eggs or cold coffee.”
Just as Laurent touched the coffee cup, Damen took it out of his grasp, “Go dress and I’ll make you another one.”
By the time Laurent came back dressed, Damen was on his second cup of coffee, and this time it really was coffee, not some wild version of it. “Do you need anything else?” He asked.
“No, that’s more than enough,” Laurent said, eyeing the spread of fresh fruits, eggs and toasts, “Thank you.”
A comfortable silence descended on them as they dug into the food; well, Damen dug into it as if he hadn’t seen food in a long time. But he halted as Laurent asked, “How’s your preparation?”
Damen put his fork down and took a big gulp of his orange juice, stalling.
He and Laurent never talked about work when they were in the apartment together; granted every smile Laurent aimed at Damen caused mini explosions in his heart, passion hazed eyes and kiss swollen lips of Laurent brought a lot of titillating thoughts in Damen’s mind and ‘how was your day, honey?’ conversation starter was none of them. Every time Damen had tried to bring any work-related topic up, Laurent had successfully distracted him away from that. So, Damen took the hint and never brought up work between them. But, now, Laurent was asking and Damen didn’t know how to answer.
What was he supposed say? Oh, preparation is good, Laurent. If everything goes according to plan, Kastor said that we can finally get our hands on 38% shares of your brother's company, your family company.
“Okay, I think,” Damen said.
“You think?” Laurent arched one of his eyebrows, fork twirling, weaving effortlessly between his fingers. “Are you not going to attend the last arbitration meeting? It’s the last chance to make your case and save face.”
It was, indeed, the question of saving face at this point. The law suit against the de Vere’s did neither of the parties concerned any good, except for the in-house legal teams and assigned law firms who were earning like never before. But none of them were ready to back down: Kastor, after the death of their father, decided to keep the suit going as carrying on legacy of their father and de Veres were fighting them to tooth and nails at every turn. Now, the question was more about ego and personal vendetta rather than who infringed whose trademark.
When Damen didn’t answer, Laurent said, “Are you really not going? That’s just stupidity at-“
“Will you be back after today?”
The fork stilled its repetitive weaving motions in Laurent’s hand.
Damen gulped down remaining of his orange juice. “if I ask you to come back tonight or tomorrow to spend the night here, or just to have lunch with me, would you come?” Would you look at me anymore or smile at me like you do in one of those unguarded moments if we get ours win?
No matter how good of a poker face Laurent had, Damen had come to learn that his eyes spoke volumes when Laurent’s lips remain still, so Damen held his stare, denying himself the chance to miss any miniscule shift in Laurent’s eyes.
Laurent speared a piece of strawberry and said, “Well, it depends.”
“On what?”
Laurent looked up, eyes so blue, it made Damen’s breath hitch. “On what you want from me…” His voice was soft, like he was divulging a secret so well kept that a higher pitch might send the words back to its hiding.
Oh, there was so much he wanted but Damen didn’t know what to say, what would be the right answer here. He could feel a painful lump forming at the back of his throat. It was the moment which could break the tender, shy connection that was building between them and turn it into brittle glass. Just one wrong step and Damen could lose everything he ever dreamed to have. So, he chose to be himself and answer without any guile, “I just want you, Laurent, nothing more.”
Laurent took a big bite of his toast, not meeting Damen’s eyes but Damen could clearly see a fierce blush creeping down from his cheeks to his neck, disappearing into his navy-blue dress shirt.
Laurent’s refusal to answer and his sudden haste to finish the foods in his plate made Damen’s heart clench tightly. “I can drop the case.”
“What?” Laurent spluttered, the pink glow fading from his face, leaving it hauntingly pale and his eyes vacant all of a sudden.
“I can withdraw our complaints, I mean, granted the judge gives his assent to it since the whole ordeal is… what I’m saying is all of this can be over and-”
“And what?” Laurent clenched his jaw, the bashful innocence in his eyes were engulfed by blue fire of self-righteousness. He carefully put down his fork; his shoulders were set straight in a rigid line. “I must say, Damen, this was such an ill-advised ploy. Really, I expected better from you; but then again, foresight was never your strong suit from what I gathered.”
“What are you-”
“I can understand the temptation to drag out the law suit for generations, then accept my brother’s mediation proposal after he came into power; drag it out some more then drop it out of nowhere just to harass Auguste all while our company’s shares continues to take hits from all this drama and to top it off, you were fucking Auguste de Vere’s brother who is incidentally the COO of the company... Oh, what a power rush it must’ve been, huh? But Damen,” He said, shaking his head in utter disappointment, voice so bitter and cold, it made Damen’s chest tighten, “this silly middle school playground manoeuvre is simply amateur, so… substandard,” Laurent spat out the words.
“Laurent, that’s not what I meant when I said-”
Laurent shot a shrill look at Damen but his tone was conversational, as if discussing weather, “tell me lover, this whole ruse of ‘bumping into’ me in the court house all those months ago and seeking me out the week after, was all those necessary? I can lay down three ploys right now that would’ve gotten you exactly here sans all the ‘oh, I’m going to act like I don’t know anything while I fuck you-”
“Laurent, stop.” Damen gritted out, appetite vanishing into thin air.
He sighed, interlacing his fingers together, Laurent propped his elbows on the edge of the table and said softly, “Your father is ashamed of you, Damen. I bet Kastor could come up with a better plan and I’m sure he would’ve been a better fuck.” Laurent gave out a humourless chuckle, “Jokaste can vouch for that, I guess. Did she not dump you at your own engagement party?”
“Stop!” Damen banged his fist on the table, toppling his coffee cup, spilling the cooling remains all over the floor.
“Aww, did I hit a sore spot?”
For a second the only sounds that existed were the soft drips of the spilled coffee onto the marble floor and Damen’s harsh breathing.
Damen pushed his chair away with a screech, started pacing. “I know what you’re doing,” he mumbled.
“Oh,” a mock surprise painting Laurent’s face, “do enlighten me on my own actions.”
Damen stopped pacing. Taking in Laurent’s easy sprawl on the chair, he noticed the rigid, cold and the blue of his eyes, always on guard. But Damen had also seen naked admiration in those eyes; he had seen those eyes gloss over with barely held back emotions watching Marley and Me, Damen had loved every scarce appearance of vulnerability in those blues, the mischievous glint that comes with carefree laughter and Damen wasn’t ready to lose all that. So, he said, “That’s you being scared shitless and running for the hills.”
Laurent tilted his head a little and arched one eyebrow up, a sardonic half smile on his lips, “Really now?”
Damen gingerly stepped over the small puddle of coffee and came back to his seat but instead of sitting down, he leaned on the table, gripping the edge tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “Stop running.”
“I’m sitting right here.”
“I’m as much in the dark about the future as you are-”
“I can see the future quite clearly, Damen. And I can see myself getting up and walking away in…” Laurent consulted his bare wrist, a parody of checking time, “2 minutes.”
“When I said that I was thinking of dropping the case, I didn’t mean… there is no malicious intentions. I want-” Damen sighed, “when I said that I want you, I meant it. Laurent, I mean it,” Damen pleaded.
Laurent’s gaze was steady, his posture perfect as ever but Damen could see the storm brewing in his eyes. He wanted to reach out, card his fingers through Laurent’s overgrown hair. Damen longed to lightly caress his lips and eyebrows, making the tightness around his mouth and eyes disappear.
“So, let me get this straight.” Laurent leaned back in his chair, “Your simple solution to keep me in your bed is just to drop the whole law suit at the last moment.” Lips twisted into an imitation of smile, Laurent said, “Damn, what a good fuck I am!”
Damen had enough. “So, the shared dinners meant nothing? All the late-night conversations we had in bed means nothing?”
“Small talks supposed to have meaning?” Laurent jerked his shoulders in a aww, shucks manner.
Throat tight with unleashed emotions, Damen started question his motivations. Why was he holding on so tight? Laurent was ready to be free. Hell, he was halfway out of whatever they had and Damen was still rooted in the same place, holding onto the feeling that if Damen let go now, he might never get back something like this again; something that felt so good, so right.
But Damen was tired to have all his cards close to his chest; it’s neither fun nor advantageous in this situation. He had been letting Laurent drive this up until now and Laurent was taking them somewhere Damen could not see himself clearly. He could not see Laurent right beside him. It was, in no way, acceptable.
Damen dragged his chair right beside Laurent’s, turned the chair facing him and straddled it, hugging the back of the chair; eyes never leaving Laurent’s stiff posture.
“Thanks for the lovely breakfast.” Laurent pushed the plate of half eaten food away. “I’ll take my leave now.”
“Look at me, please.” Voice soft, Damen made conscious effort to let go of the death grip he had on the chair. Having Laurent’s attention on him, Damen said, “I need you to listen to me. Then, you can go and I will not call you back.”
Laurent shifted around to face Damen, one elbow rested on the edge of the table, wrist downturned in an elegant arch. He leaned in, lowered his voice to a conspiratory whisper, “Or I can just walk out right now.”
Ignoring the jab and prepared for all the mockery that would be coming his way, Damen started, aware of the effect his word could have, “I want you.”
Laurent stilled in his seat, and Damen continued, “I want all of you, no matter how much a dick you are being right now. I want to spend my days looking forward to see you and spend my nights laughing with you until we’re both clutching our stomachs in pain; want to spend my nights arguing with each other like it’s our job. I want your smiles, your worries, your happiness and pain as long as you’re willing to share them with me.
“I want to be the calm in the hurricane; your resting place before you jump into the battle again the next morning.” Eyeing Laurent’s fingers tightly wrapped around his knees, Damen, with utter conviction, said, “You’re a protector through and through; I know that you will take care of my heart, of me, with your own life. I simply want the chance to do the same for you.”
Startled blue eyes swam with countless emotions. “Such faith,” Laurent scoffed, but there was no ridicule, only hints of bitterness and… incredulity.
Damen smiled a little, uncertainty making it fragile. “I have some regrets in my life but I couldn’t make you one of them. If you decide to give us a chance, I promise to stand right beside you and weather every storm together.”
Laurent parted his lips but before any word could be set free, Damen interrupted, “Don’t make any decision right now. Let’s see how today goes; crunch out the numbers, explore every possibility, make escape plan for every situation; as I’ve came to learn you to do. Then let me know; I’ll be here.” Damen let loose one of his signature smirks, praying to every God to not to get his heart broken, again.
Avoiding Laurent’s inquisitive eyes roaming over Damen, taking in every bit of reaction, emotions playing over his face, Damen pushed away from the chair and started cleaning the mess on the floor.
Laurent made a noise at the back of his throat but Damen refused to look at him. He was feeling very naked all of a sudden. Emptying his heart out to Laurent left him light headed, his skin felt sensitive; he was a little too aware of his own beating heart.
Laurent pushed his chair away with an impatient scraping noise and went into the bed room; most probably to use the restroom. Damen started to collect the half-eaten breakfast and clean the table.
By the time Laurent came back, Damen had already loaded the dishwasher. Laurent cleared his throat. Damen spun around. “Hey. Leaving?”
“Yes.” But Laurent made no move towards the door.
Damen let his eyes feast on his lover, giving into the desire. He took in Laurent’s pointed proud chin, his plump pink lips, straight nose, prominent, regal cheekbones and those arresting blue eyes. Damen could never describe the exact colour of Laurent’s eyes. In the weak light of dawn, they looked dark bluish grey; in a sunny day when the light hits his eyes just right, those eyes looked almost translucent silver. When he laughed, Damen could swear that his eyes glittered like a pair of topaz.
Damen hoped to have enough time with him to find the exact words to define his eyes, to discover every hue shift. But he had promised Laurent that he would not call Laurent back this time if Laurent hear him out. Laurent had done his part, now it’s Damen’s turn.
“Do you want me to get you a car?”
“I think I can manage to get an uber.”
Damen nodded and mumbled awkwardly, “Right, technology.”
A weary smile slipped free before Laurent could reign it in. “A wonderful thing, is it not?”
“Um… yeah,” Damen leaned back against the marble counter top and cleared his throat as if to shake away some awkwardness making his limbs heavy, “we’ve… come a long way.” He interlaced his fingers, twisting them. Not knowing just what to do with his hands, he crossed his arms and tucked his hands under the armpits.
Laurent rolled his lips in to restrain his amusement but the mischievous glint in his eyes was a dead giveaway.
“What?” Damen asked.
Laurent only shook his head, his smile only growing bigger. Damen didn’t know what to make of Laurent’s sudden change in the mood but the fog of awkwardness and hesitation was dissipating fast and Damen would take smiling Laurent over grim, cold Laurent any day.
Laurent hoisted the small duffle bag over his shoulder with an easy effortless elegance. “Wear the burgundy suit. I’d like a good view today while my team butchers yours.”
Damen had no reason why he was smiling but he was sure that his smile was cocky as hell. “Is that so?”
Laurent rolled his eyes; traces of a shy smile made the faint pink blush on his face more prominent. He simply swaggered out of the penthouse with no backward glance, leaving Damen rooted in the kitchen with a big, stupid grin on his face.
Damen dazedly walked into his bedroom, the smile slowly dimming, a million different emotions fighting for dominance, still trying to make sense of the whole morning. It was a mini morning tornedo, as his mother used to call it, leaving you and everything in a chaotic mess, in the middle of an ocean with no land in sight.
Damen replayed the moment before Laurent left over and over in his head. Laurent had smiled. There was no trace of the cold, calculating Laurent who had made an appearance at the breakfast table. He had teased Damen and had blushed.
Laurent had flirted. Blatantly, so.
No one flirts if they want to break things off permanently, right?
Perhaps he got what Damen was trying to say. Perhaps he was going to give them a real chance. Maybe he would not hate Damen after today.
Maybe.
Damen walked into his closet, chuckling softly as he recalled Laurent’s parting words. Burgundy suit it was.
He pulled out the suit, frowned at the bulged breast pocket. He always checked his clothes before sending in for cleaning. He pulled out a small, dark wooden box and a hastily torn piece of paper, folded and stuck to the box with a bit of sellotape.
The small box felt somewhat delicate in Damen’s large hands. He gingerly opened the box, unlatching the magnetic strip. Two identical wooden cufflinks sat snugly in the box lined with black silky material.
Damen carefully pulled one of the cufflinks out to study the detailed carving of a lion’s side profile with voluminous, stylized mane. Despite the small size, the maker had managed to pour in loads of details into the carving without making it too crowded. The wood was in the colour of dark chocolate with swirls of lighter brown running through it, highlighting the eye and the curls of the mane. The cufflinks were not wasn’t gaudy or flashy, rather they screamed class and sophistication.
They were quite beautiful.
Damen carefully ripped the paper away, unfolded it and stared at the message written in a fancy, loopy handwriting-
Bought it just because. Had no intention of giving it to you. But why waste the money.
Happy birthday.
It was Laurent’s writing, no doubt. Damen did not know any other person who wrote with such dramatic flares and swoops and who was capable of depicting such irrelevance and carelessness only through written words.
But Damen knew better. His lips lifted in a silly grin at the show of forced indifference. Damen could imagine Laurent thrusting the box at his chest and delivering the same words with a matter of fact voice, complete straight face and fleeting eye contacts.
The act of giving the gift in secret, trying to make it less significant and the thoughtful, perfect gift itself: They captured the essence of who Laurent really was. They were so Laurent that it left Damen with a tight throat and a big fucking smile on his face.
Yeah. He wasn’t letting Laurent DeVere run away easily.
****
Damen was five minutes late to their mediation meeting.
Kastor checked his wrist watch again, as if looking at the watch ten times in two minutes would make the time go any faster or make Damianos appear out of thin air and drop him on the empty chair beside Kastor.
Laurent shared an amused look with Auguste.
He was about to make a quip about high anxiety causing early wrinkles, but Damen rushed in.
“Car trouble,” He murmured to Kastor, dropping in his seat.
The mediator walked in and settled in for what Laurent had predicted to be one of the longest sessions so far. He wasn’t going down without a bloody vicious fight; de Vere’s had Laurent to straighten out the details of negotiation. Laurent was good at his job.
While both the parties were busy getting the papers ready for the final leg of the battle, Laurent could feel eyes on him: impatient, unapologetic, calling for him to look back.
Laurent looked up across the table and held the beautiful brown eyes he knew quite intimately. Damen had worn the burgundy suit with a crisp white shirt, no tie. The dark curls laying over his forehead in a careless riot, deep brown eyes, the dimple in his left cheek, those wide shoulders framed in the burgundy suit…
He was a vision.
Laurent could feel his cheeks heating up. Damen pointedly cleared his throat and pulled at the cuffs of his white shirt. Interlacing his fingers together, he rested his elbows onto the glass table and placed his chin on the laced fingers, eyes never leaving Laurent’s.
The lion cufflinks were proudly on display on Damen’s wrists. The dark colour of the wooden cufflinks against the stark white of the shirt was… interesting. Laurent did not expect it to look quite so beautiful when he bought it. Or maybe it was the wide, unabashed smile Damen was wearing, regardless of the audience, made it look so striking.
The mediator chimed in, breaking the moment, “Shall we get started?”
Laurent’s eyes snapped up to Damen’s; his smile was still in place. Damen’s steady gaze sent a wave of comfort, whispered promises: it will be okay.
Laurent’s lips lifted up in a small answering smile; his heart light, shoulders loose.
Yes, it would be okay. Laurent could spend couple more minutes with him or maybe years… after he protected their empire. But he would make it up to Damen. He could not possibly think that the cufflinks alone were the birthday gift Laurent were planning to give him.