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“ Y our claiming is the only thing everyone talked about today in class,” Yure said when Moargan walked through the door of their houseboat.

“Is it?” It came out casually, though he winked at Aviel when he got out of his jacket and opened the first buttons of his shirt.

From behind his holo computer, Aviel snorted. “As if you don’t know. I wonder how things were for Cyprian. Did you check in with him?”

“I did not. Thought I’d leave him alone with his thoughts for the day. He has so many of them. Besides—” He eyed the table where Yure was already sitting with a pile of credit reports. “I wanted to get this over with before I get to the good part.”

‘Speaking of the good part,” Yure looked up from the list. “I’ve been thinking the whole day about what you said about that light bulb. Did you mean it exploded when he came? Like, when he climaxed?”

“Yeah, baby. Lighting struck when Cyprian jizzed all over Moargan’s face,” Aviel smirked from behind his screen, smoothly evading the book Moargan threw his way. “Hey!” He protested. “I’d be nice to me if I were you. I’m still working on Cyprian’s chip.”

“What are you going to do with that piece of information?” Yure asked, flipping off Aviel’s taunts.

“Right now? Nothing.” Moargan sighed and stretched his hands above his head, the faint echo of a grin still on his face. Fuck, that was one hell of a sweet memory. The way the light had just burst at the perfect moment. “It has been a busy day with too many hours on the field. Practice was fucking brutal today.” He eyed the pile of documents. “And we are still not finished.”

“Technically, we haven’t even started yet.”

Moargan grunted.

“Where’s boytoy now?” Aviel asked.

“You mean, my Royal Consort ?” Moargan gave him a pointed look. “At home.” Drawing peacefully under the watchful eye of his guards.

“Good.” Yure slid the pile his way.

They’d barely started working a few minutes, when Aviel gasped.

“Fuck me. You know what I think?”

Both him and Yure jumped out of their seats and went to stand behind Aviel.

“We’re in?”

“I’d say we are.” Aviel clicked on a few buttons, then started typing fast. “So,” he started, when the screen showed a new projection. “There are a bunch of folders here. Helion planet information, adoption overviews, some folder that just says Nikkie.”

“Who the hell is Nikkie?” Yure asked.

Cyprian’s favourite sister.

“My thoughts exactly,” Aviel turned over his shoulder. “Want me to go here first? ”

“Wait.” It felt strangely intimate to open that folder. “I want to see his information on our planet first. Let me try.”

Aviel got up from his chair and Moargan got settled. His finger lingered on the Nikkie file, illogical jealousy burning in his gut.

Cyprian was his now. His . He didn’t want his Royal Consort to be sad over a foster sister whom he’d never see again. Moargan would look after him now.

He clicked on Nikkie’s folder, then…nothing. It was empty.

“What the hell?” Aviel exclaimed from behind his shoulder. “Click on the other one, Moargan.”

Moargan clicked, one by one, but they were all empty.

“How’s that possible?” Yure asked. “Are you sure you decoded them entirely?”

Aviel pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can always check again.”

“What’s so important about this chip anyway?” Yure asked. “Cyprian has already told you the truth of who he is and why he has come here.”

“Maybe because Theo found that chip under Cyprian’s mattress? You put stuff there you don’t want people to find. ” Aviel snarked. “Not to mention how Moargan had him trembling to get his precious chip back when Theo was caught.” Aviel sounded excited. His blood craved violence as well.

“He’s gentle,” Moargan said. He stopped pacing. “He didn’t want another guy to suffer because of his secrets.”

“Secrets.” Aviel’s eyes twinkled. “That’s exactly the right word. Your Royal Consort has secrets. And we fucking love them.”

“Perhaps it was Theo who lied and erased the documents after all?” Moargan asked instead.

Aviel waved him off. “No offense, but getting access to those folders was hard. I doubt Theo would know how to do that in the two hours he had that chip in his possession. No, you’ve got to face it, Moargan. Cyprian has secrets. And I might just have a theory, so sit down and hear me out.” He grinned when both Yure and Moargan did as he said, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Turning around, Aviel wrapped his hands behind his back. “So, I was raised by my uncle and aunt, came to Helion as a teenager after they passed, and have been Yure’s housemate since.”

Moargan held up his hand. “Why are you telling me this? I already know everything about your background.”

“I'm telling you this because it’s a lie.” Aviel held his gaze, and his golden eyes flashed. “Some parts are true. I did grow up in Omadus, but I wasn’t raised by my uncle and aunt. I grew up in foster care.”

The room filled with an uncomfortable silence.

“I moved to Helion after I’d seen it in a picture. The urge to be here was so strong that it became all-consuming. I had to be here. So, I did the unthinkable. I robbed a store, stole the safe and the bank chip. The next day I arrived on Helion. Much like Cyprian, I falsified my name. I was only a teenager, but I managed to find a cleaning job in one of the laboratories. One day Zimeon paid a visit to the facility, and that’s how we met. As your father’s right hand and co-director of the Dariux project, he recognized me as one of them immediately. As one of you .”

“That’s when we met,” Moargan murmured. He remembered how Zimeon had placed Aviel together to be Yure’s, Moargan’s best friend and new roommate. “You were so timid. So different from now. I’d forgotten.”

“I had to, thank you very much,” Aviel snorted. “But think about it. Here comes Cyprian. He’s from off-planet and in search of his biological parents. He has yellow eyes.”

Moargan licked his dry lips. “Do you think he is Dariux?”

“People can have yellow eyes and not be Dariux,” Yure said.

“Sure,” Aviel shrugged. “I’m not saying he is. ”

“He doesn’t have night vision and doesn’t seem to crave violence,” Moargan hummed, remembering that first night.

“I didn’t either, at first. I don’t know, Moargan. I’m just saying, this could be a theory. You should go and see your father and Zimeon. Perhaps they can tell you more.”

“That’s what I told him, but he’s stubborn,” Yure threw in.

“How were they sure you were Dariux? Back then?”

“In the laboratory, I stumbled across a patient who lost it on me. He was a lot stronger than I was, and I panicked. And my eyes…”

Aviel’s gaze lit up and a crooked smile spread on his face. “Half an hour later, I sat in Zimeon’s hovercar on my way to your father. And the rest is history.”

They sat in silence as they all recalled the past.

“So, we don’t know if Cyprian is Dariux, but we will let him meet your father,” Yure decided. “That doesn’t explain the importance—or the lack of importance—of this empty chip.”

“Give me some more time to play with it,” Aviel eyed the chip thoughtfully. “See what I can find.”

“We should keep an eye on Theo as well,” Yure added. “If he lied to us about having removed the documents, we need to know. When does he go to Helianth?”

“Soon,” Moargan said. “Hopefully this weekend.” His multi-slate dinged with a message. “What the fuck?”

“What’s going on?” Yure asked.

“He left the house about an hour ago.” Moargan looked up, amethyst eyes flashing with annoyance. “He's lingering in a dodgy neighborhood in the capital. He insisted that he didn't need a ride. Those fools let him.”

“I take it we’re talking of your prisoner, uhm… Royal Consort ?” Aviel smirked.

Moargan flipped him off. “Vandor and his guys have been following him. They should have fucking stopped him from going. Yure! Let’s go.”

They left the houseboat and hopped onto the wharf to where the hovercar already stood, parked. Aviel jumped behind the wheel, eyes flashing with excitement.

“Moargan, relax.” Yure looked up from his multi-slate, voice filled with his usual patience. “Vandor knows what he’s doing. They’re heading back as we speak.”

Moargan kicked the dashboard in frustration. “What the fuck’s he doing there? How the hell could he have gotten out?” He grumbled.

“You mean the mansion in which you have him locked up?”

“I haven’t locked him up. He’s free to move around.” Moargan looked outside at darkening, emptying streets. People had been following the Imperial’s instructions.

Aviel snorted. “Which is why we’re driving around like madmen.”

“I mean that he’s free to move around within distance.”

“I get it. Woof.”

Moargan bristled, ignoring Aviel’s delighted chortle. The guy was a master at provoking him. Always had been. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“They’ve just returned home,” Yure read from his muti-slate. He clasped a comforting hand on Moargan’s shoulder. “You can stop worrying now. Aviel, drive him home first.”

His friend was right. And it made his chest growl with annoyance at his own emotions. What the fuck was happening to him? This whole search for Cyprian, him overreacting like this. It was a goddamn nuisance, that’s what it was.

T he house was empty aside from its usual presence—three Luminary guards hung about in the kitchen, and two lingered in the gardens.

Ignoring Vandor and Yure entering the house behind him, Moargan headed straight for the guestroom.

Cyprian hadn’t switched on the lights, leaving the room to be bathed in candlelight. Soft music played from his multi-slate, a melancholic melody that made Moargan halt on the threshold. A strange tightening tugged at his chest.

Cyprian stood in front of the canvas Moargan had gotten him, facing a large sheet of paper. He was drawing a house, the contrast between black, white, and grey giving the building more depth than it undoubtedly had in real life.

“Where were you?” Moargan’s voice sounded unnaturally grave and he swallowed, watching as Cyprian’s shoulders tensed.

“Here,” his aeon lied and continued bruising his pencil over the dark lines of the roof.

“For how long?”

The pencil paused mid-air. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.” Moargan crossed his arms in front of his chest. “It fucking matters.”

This time Cyprian turned over his shoulder, his yellow eyes finding his. “Why?”

“Why,” Moargan huffed. “Because I don’t want you visiting unsafe neighborhoods, that’s why.”

“The guards told you,” Cyprian sighed.

Moargan stepped inside the room. “Of course they fucking did. Have you not seen my father’s statement? There’s a madman running around.”

“I did see your father’s statement. Heard how he named me as your…claim.” The word came out in a whisper, and Cyprian dipped his chin in defeat.

Moargan’s chest tightened. He wanted to ask why Cyprian seemed sad but hesitated. This, in its entirety, was unchartered territory. “So, what were you doing there?” He asked instead.

Looking at the way Cyprian stood facing his canvas, shoulders tense, wearing a pair of silk pants and a tight-fitted shirt that Moargan had purchased for him, he didn’t look like someone who had just traveled to one of the most dangerous neighborhoods of Zephyr. He shrugged. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

“I’d like to know anyway.”

Cyprian huffed, bringing the pencil up once more. “You know why I went there.” They both watched how the garden on paper was taking shape.

“Finding your family.”

“Yes.”

“And…did you?”

Cyprian swallowed. He slowly shook his head no.

“What did you find?”

“Poverty. Distant faces.” Cyprian shrugged and let out a small laugh. “Nothing I haven’t grown up with.”

He turned around, facing him, and Moargan couldn’t help but roam his eyes over Cyprian’s lean chest, narrow hips, and long limbs. He looked every bit the artist he was, an absent look in those glittering eyes as if he’d rather fantasize about his next drawing than talk to Moargan.

Moargan frowned. “What happened to your face?” In less than three steps he’d crossed the room and reached for Cyprian’s cheek. “Your eyes….” Cupping Cyprian’s face in both hands, Moargan didn’t miss how the clammy skin blushed even further. “Tell me who made you cry.”

Cyprian shook his head, inhaling shakily. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s them, right? Those people you went to visit?” Moargan barked. “I’ll send the Luminary in. How dare they?—”

“Moargan, stop.” Cyprian shook himself free, annoyed. “Stop treating me like a fragile child.”

He bristled. “What the?—”

Cyprian pressed a hand against his chest. “You ask me questions, but you already know the answers.”

Moargan pressed his mouth shut. Cyprian seemed okay. Then why had he cried? Someone had hurt what was his. It didn’t matter what his Royal Consort said. The guilty one would be punished.

“You asked me why I came to Helion, and I answered you. I’ve come here to find my biological family. To study art. To be left alone.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t come here to cry.”

“Didn’t I?” Cyprian stood his ground, pencil in the air, a golden glow in his wet, yellow eyes. He looked fierce and oh, so beautiful. “I came to find my roots. That’s all.” Those final words left his mouth in a faint whisper, but Moargan heard. He heard the fear of being caught once more in heartbreak.

Grabbing a fistful of Cyprian’s hair, he tilted his head back, admiring the long, slender curve of his neck. “And you will find them. But you won’t be left alone. You are mine now.” Before Cyprian could protest, he ran his tongue across the delicate flesh, lips closing in on his favorite spot. Cyprian moaned when Moargan nipped on the skin, kissing the burn he’d created. He gasped when Moargan circled an arm around his waist and pulled him flush against his chest.

Moargan walked them back toward his room. “I am not a nice guy, lover, though I will allow you to search. For now. But I won’t have you strolling around on your own. Not with this killer on the loose.”

They reached the bed and Moargan pushed him backward, smirking at the surprised yelp his little aeon let out.

“No! You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Cyprian looked up, eyes blazing.

“Yes, I do. I am the Imperial Prince, and you are my Royal Consort. You belong to me now.” Moargan grabbed hold of Cyprian’s pants, yanking them off. Then he spread his thighs. “Just like this. Fuck, little aeon . Your dick is perfection.” He grabbed a pillow and pushed it under Cyprian’s round ass cheeks, lifting him up. “Look at that view. Good light, it’s perfect.”

“I won’t go around the streets with guards following my every step,” Cyprian snarled, though he let himself be manhandled. “I won’t—” His words turned into a breathless whine when Moargan’s hands hauled him in even closer, nuzzling the delicate skin of his crease. He let out a satisfied hum.

“Yes, you will,” he breathed against Cyprian’s quivering flesh. “There’s so much else you’ll let me do too. Like this.” Moargan’s fingers dug into the flesh of Cyprians’ cheeks, spreading them wide. “Look at your pretty hole. Hi, beautiful, did you miss me?” He probed his tongue past the clenching muscles. “Yeah, you look like you did. Hmm, I’m going to make you feel so good. Show you who you belong to,” he mused against scorching, delicate skin. Like petals of a flower, Cyprian’s muscles started to relax, and his hole slowly unclenched and opened. Inhaling deeply, Moargan traced the tip of his tongue over the rim, lapping and sucking as he entered Cyprian’s hole.

“That’s not what I meant,” Cyprian sighed, traces of his indignancy lingering. “I just don’t want them to follow me everywhere.”

Moargan pulled back a little to admire his work. Cyprian’s hole fluttered and loosened up enough to dip in a finger or two. He got to it, dribbling spit on the wet crease, then leaned in to watch his fingers enter from up close. “You won’t let me take control and protect you?”

“That’s n-not what I meant,” Cyprian managed. His hips gyrated sloppily, but when he slid a hand down to his own groin, Moargan slapped it away on a tssk.

“This is mine.” Grabbing hold of Cyprian’s cock, he stroked him slowly. “And I haven’t yet decided if you deserve to come at all.”

Cyprian replied with a sob, hips rocking back and forth into Moargan’s grip.

Leaning down, Moargan opened his bedside drawer, grabbing the bottle of lube. “I want you to ride me, aeon . Let me prepare you nicely.”

Cyprian’s heart rate picked up at that promise, making Moargan smirk. “You’d better get used to this, lover. We’re bound together now, you and me. And I will fuck you whenever I want. Where I want.” He put a generous amount of lube on his throbbing cock. His briefs and pants hung loosely over his ass with only the waistband on the front tucked back and pulled under his balls.

Cyprian’s yellow glare seared into his movements, his nose flaring.

“Come here.” Seated on his knees, Moargan pulled Cyprian’s chest against his own and lowered his ass onto his cock.

Cyprian hissed when Moargan’s cockhead pierced through his clenching passage. “That’s it. Take all of me.” When Cyprian hesitated, Moargan slapped his ass. “Fuck, that feels good.” He slapped him on the other cheek and pulled him down at the same time, fully sheathing himself inside with a satisfied purr. “Show me what you got, little aeon . Ride my cock.”

Cyprian started moving, hips grinding as he curled his arms around Moargan’s neck, pressing their chests together. “It still feels weird,” he pouted, though he tilted his head back, mouth gone slack, panting while he found his rhythm. It was a rhythm that reverberated in Moargan’s own heart.

Throwing up his own hips, he met Cyprian’s thrusts, his gifted senses overloaded. Cyprian’s scent and sweat mingled with arousal and that heartbeat that threatened to tick out of his chest. Cyprian’s yellow eyes were hooded, their intent gaze burning into his as they got lost in their rhythm of thrusts and moans, of heat and hunger. Racing for the finish, Moargan’s arms tightened around Cyprian’s when he felt his balls draw up, toes curling from the intensity of his nearing orgasm.

“Fuck my fist,” he whispered.

Cyprian whined, hips thrusting faster and faster, and then he let out a howl. Come spilled out, dripping over Moargan’s fingers as his entire body seemed to shake with his release. Looking down, Moargan watched Cyprian’s orgasm, and it was enough for his own climax. He emptied himself with a grunt in Cyprian’s tight ass, lingering in the afterglow of pleasure until Cyprian wiggled his ass in discomfort. Helping him up, Moargan rolled them onto his side. He reached out to grab a towel from the floor to clean both of them up.

Cyprian lay, eyes shut, a small smile on his lips and Moargan couldn’t help but wonder what he thought. Was he here, with him? Or was he back on his canvas, in that house?

There were so many questions he wanted to ask him. What did he truly think of the claiming? Had it secretly warmed his heart, like it had warmed Moargan’s?

“Luminary will guard you everywhere you go. It’s for your safety.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Not a baby.” But his, nevertheless.