A DUKE'S CRIMSON SCANDAL

Morning light filtered weakly through the heavy curtains, soft and grey after the storm. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the manor quiet except for the distant sounds of servants beginning their day.

Elian woke first.

For a moment he did not move. Lucien’s arm was still wrapped firmly around his waist, heavy and possessive even in sleep. Their legs remained tangled, Lucien’s bare chest pressed against his back, the steady rhythm of the Duke’s breathing warm against the back of his neck. The thin undershirt Elian had kept on did little to dull the heat of that contact.

His heart gave a traitorous flutter.

Carefully, Elian shifted. Lucien murmured something unintelligible and tightened his hold for a second before his grip loosened again. Elian waited, barely breathing, until the arm around him went slack once more.

Slowly, inch by inch, he began to ease himself free.

He slid one leg out from between Lucien’s, then carefully lifted the heavy arm from his waist and placed it on the mattress. Lucien’s brow furrowed in sleep, but he did not wake. Elian held still for several long seconds, listening to the even sound of Lucien’s breathing, before he finally sat up.

The cool morning air touched his skin where Lucien’s warmth had been. He glanced down at the sleeping Duke.

Lucien looked younger like this — the hard lines of his face softened, dark lashes resting against his cheeks, one hand still reaching slightly toward the empty space Elian had left behind. The sight made something twist painfully in Elian’s chest.

He looked away.

Quietly, Elian swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His bare feet made no sound on the floor as he gathered his discarded shirt and pulled it on with careful movements. He did not dare look for his boots; the softest noise might wake the man behind him.

He crossed the room on silent feet and reached for the door handle.

Just as his fingers closed around it, a low, sleep-rough voice spoke from the bed.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

Elian froze.

Behind him, the sheets rustled. When he glanced back, Lucien was propped up on one elbow, green eyes half-lidded but fully awake, watching him with quiet intensity. His dark hair was slightly mussed from sleep, and the bare planes of his chest were still marked with the faint imprint of Elian’s back.

"I..." Elian’s voice came out softer than he intended. "I was going to return to my room, Your Grace. Before the household wakes."

Lucien’s gaze drifted over him slowly — the hastily buttoned shirt, the long curls falling over one shoulder, the careful distance Elian was already trying to put between them.

"Come back to bed," Lucien said, voice still low and rough from sleep. It was not quite an order, but it was not a request either.

Elian’s hand tightened on the door handle.

"It is morning, Your Grace," he replied carefully. "You have duties. And I... I should not still be here."

Lucien sat up fully, the sheets pooling around his waist. For a moment he simply looked at Elian in silence, something complicated and unreadable moving behind his eyes. Then he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair.

"At least stay until I rise," he said more quietly. "I slept. For the first time in weeks... I actually slept."

The admission hung between them, heavier than any command.

Elian hesitated in the doorway, torn between the urge to flee and the quiet, dangerous pull of the man still sitting in the bed they had shared.

Elian stood frozen for several long seconds, Lucien’s quiet admission still hanging in the air between them.

Finally, with a soft exhale, he released the handle and turned back into the room — but he did not return to the bed.

"I really need to bathe, Your Grace," he said carefully, keeping a clear distance. "In my own room."

Lucien watched him from the bed, sheets still pooled low around his waist. His green eyes were darker in the morning light, still heavy with sleep and something sharper.

"Use my washroom," he said. "You’ve used it before. Many times."

Elian’s throat tightened. He remembered — the warm steam, the scent of Lucien’s oils, the way the Duke had once pressed him against the cool tiles. The memory made heat crawl up his neck.

He should refuse.

Instead, after a long hesitation, he gave a small, reluctant nod.

"Very well."

Lucien rose from the bed without another word and walked to the washroom door, opening it for him. Elian stepped inside, acutely aware of the Duke’s presence just behind him. The large marble bath was already half-filled with steaming water — clearly prepared by servants earlier.

"I’ll leave you," Lucien said quietly.

But he did not leave.

Elian waited until the door clicked shut before undressing fully and stepping into the bath. The hot water enveloped him at once, easing the lingering tension in his muscles. He closed his eyes and leaned back, long hair floating around his shoulders, trying to steady his breathing.

He did not hear the door open again.

Only when a soft shift of air brushed his face did his eyes open — just in time to see Lucien squatting beside the bath, fully dressed now in a simple black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, watching him with open intensity.

Elian jerked upright, water splashing. "Your Grace—!"

"Shh." Lucien’s voice was low, almost gentle. He rested one forearm on the edge of the tub, leaning closer. "I only want to remind you."

"Remind me of what?" Elian’s voice came out tighter than he intended.

Lucien’s fingers trailed lightly along the rim of the bath, then dipped into the water, brushing Elian’s knee beneath the surface.

"Of what we used to do in this washroom," he murmured. "How you used to lean back just like this... how you used to let me touch you while the steam rose around us."

Elian’s breath hitched. "I don’t remember—"

"Your body does."

Before Elian could protest further, Lucien’s hand slid fully into the water. Warm fingers closed carefully around him beneath the surface, stroking with slow, deliberate pressure.

Elian gasped, hands flying to grip the edges of the tub. "Your Grace—stop—"

Lucien did not stop. He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of Elian’s ear as his hand continued its steady, knowing rhythm.

"You used to make the softest sounds right here," he whispered against Elian’s ear, then pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below it. "When I touched you like this."

Elian’s head tipped back against the rim of the bath despite himself, a broken breath escaping him. The hot water and Lucien’s skilled hand made it impossible to think clearly. He tried to push Lucien’s wrist away, but the movement was weak, more a token resistance than a real one.

"I said... only sleep..." Elian managed, voice trembling.

"I know." Lucien kissed the side of his neck, slow and lingering, never rising to his mouth. His hand tightened just enough to draw another unwilling sound from Elian’s throat. "But you are already hard for me. Your body remembers even if you refuse to."

He stroked him more purposefully now, thumb sweeping over the sensitive head in the way that had always made Elian shudder. His mouth continued its path along Elian’s neck and the curve of his ear, kissing, tasting, murmuring soft, filthy reminders of past mornings in this same room.

Elian’s hips shifted helplessly in the water. His fingers clenched the marble edge until his knuckles whitened. Every protest that rose in his throat dissolved into quiet, shaky breaths.

"Your Grace... please..."

Whether he was begging him to stop or continue, even Elian no longer knew.

Lucien’s lips brushed the hinge of his jaw, still carefully avoiding his mouth.

"Let me remind you," he whispered against wet skin. "Just this. Nothing more."

Lucien’s hand never slowed.

The water around them grew warmer with every stroke, the soft, wet sound of his movements filling the steamy air. Elian’s head fell back against the rim of the bath, long curls floating around his shoulders as his breathing turned sharp and uneven.

"Your Grace—ah—"

Lucien’s lips remained at his neck, open and warm, kissing the rapid pulse there while his gloved hand worked him with devastating precision. He knew exactly how tight to hold him, exactly when to twist his wrist, exactly how to drag his thumb over the sensitive head until Elian’s hips jerked involuntarily in the water.

"That’s it," Lucien murmured against his ear, voice rough with restrained hunger. "You always came so beautifully for me here. Let me feel it again."

Elian’s fingers scrambled for purchase on the slick marble. His thighs tensed, water sloshing over the edge of the tub as his body arched despite every attempt to stay still. The protest that rose in his throat broke into a soft, helpless moan.

"I... I can’t—"

"Yes, you can." Lucien’s free hand slid behind Elian’s neck, holding him steady as he stroked faster, firmer, never once moving toward his mouth. He kissed the curve of Elian’s jaw, the side of his throat, the sensitive spot just beneath his ear, breathing praise and memory against wet skin.

"Come for me, Elian."

The command, spoken so softly, shattered the last of Elian’s resistance.

His back arched hard against the tub. A broken, high sound tore from his throat as pleasure crashed through him in sharp, overwhelming waves. His body trembled violently in Lucien’s hold, hips stuttering as he spilled into the hot water, the climax drawn out by Lucien’s relentless, knowing hand.

Lucien did not stop until the last shudder left him.

Only then did his strokes slow, gentling into something almost soothing. He pressed one final open-mouthed kiss to the side of Elian’s neck and rested his forehead against Elian’s temple, breathing hard.

Elian lay limp against the marble, chest heaving, eyes half-lidded and dazed. Water lapped gently around him. The air was thick with steam and the quiet aftermath of what had just happened.

Lucien’s voice came low and rough against his ear.

"Your body still belongs to me... even if your mind refuses to remember."

Elian closed his eyes, too wrecked to answer.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

The bathwater slowly began to cool, but the tension between them remained scorching.