I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Cherion let out a long, suffering sigh and rolled his shoulders, attempting to evict the knots that had apparently moved in sometime during the afternoon. His formal coat suddenly felt about three sizes too tight after enduring that entire political circus.

Zarius remained at his desk, loosening the high collar of his dark tunic and shoving aside a stack of reports for tomorrow’s problem. The cold, unshakable Duke everyone had seen at court was gone. What remained was just a very tired man who had apparently decided the entire territory was his personal responsibility.

Instead of taking the perfectly good velvet armchair by the fire, Cherion walked straight past it. He rounded the desk, stepped into Zarius’s space, and simply dropped himself onto the Duke’s lap like that was obviously where he belonged.

Zarius didn’t even blink. At this point, Cherion sitting on his lap barely registered as an event. His arm automatically slipped around Cherion’s waist, pulling him closer, while his other hand settled at the small of his back. He rested his chin on Cherion’s shoulder and let out a deep, tired breath against his neck.

They stayed quiet for a while, neither feeling the need to fill the silence. The warmth of the hearth did most of the work, slowly easing away the tension they’d carried back from the palace. Cherion rested his cheek against Zarius’s hair, his fingers absentmindedly brushing over the fabric at his shoulder.

"Rough day?" Cherion asked softly, a faint, teasing thread in his voice.

"You could say that," Zarius answered. "Returning to the palace while I’m still in rut was unpleasant enough. Dealing with a foreign delegation that drops marriage proposals like routine trade agreements is something else entirely."

A quiet laugh slipped from Cherion, his cheek pressed against Zarius’s chest. "I still can’t get over it. When you first said the King had a proposal, I swear my heart stopped for a second. I thought for sure they were going to try and tie you to Princess Iryna."

Zarius pulled back just enough to look at him, his eyes quietly searching Cherion’s face. "I would have refused. No matter what pressure the Crown attempted to apply."

"I know you would have," Cherion said, his expression softening as he reached up to brush a rogue strand of dark hair from Zarius’s forehead. "Which is why I nearly laughed out loud when I realized it was Marielle she wanted. Honestly, seeing Flio lose his mind for a fraction of a second when Marielle brought it up was worth the entire nerve-wracking ride back."

A rare, genuine ghost of a smile touched the corner of Zarius’s lips. "Flio is usually impossible to rattle. If Marielle manages to go through with this, I suspect my aide might actually suffer a complete breakdown before the wedding even happens."

"Speaking of Marielle..." Cherion raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. "She sounded terrifyingly logical back there. I know she acts like she’s doing it entirely for the North and for your leverage, but... do you think she’s actually considering it?"

Zarius went quiet, his hand still rubbing slow circles along Cherion’s back. Whatever amusement had been there faded, leaving behind a quiet concern.

"Marielle has always viewed her life as a shield for this family," Zarius said slowly, his tone heavy with an old, familiar guilt. "She talks about political debts, Solaric alliances, and keeping us safe from the crown because that is how her mind works. She sees everything as numbers, risks, and advantages. But a betrothal isn’t just another strategy, Cherion. It is her life."

"She knows that," Cherion pointed out gently, resting his hand over Zarius’s knuckles where they rested on his waist. "And as terrifying as she is, she isn’t stupid. She wouldn’t even entertain the thought if she didn’t think she could handle Iryna. Besides, did you hear her? She literally said Iryna wouldn’t bore her to death. Coming from Marielle, that’s practically a declaration of deep respect."

Zarius let out a short, quiet breath that was half-sigh, half-chuckle. "I suppose it is."

Cherion shifted on his lap, turning a bit more to face him directly. He rested his forearms on Zarius’s broad shoulders, a mischievousspark lighting up his eyes.

"You know," Cherion began, his lips twitching up at the corners. "I think we really need to go to the Grand Temple."

Zarius looked up, slightly surprised by the sudden pivot. "The temple? You want to accept the High Priest’s invitation?"

"Oh, absolutely," Cherion said with deadpan seriousness, though his eyes were dancing with amusement. "Not for political diplomacy, mind you. We need to go up those big stone steps, find the highest altar they have, and personally ask the gods for a massive blessing. Maybe buy some holy water in bulk."

Zarius raised a dark brow. "Holy water?"

"Yes! Because with the way things are going on, we are going to need actual divine intervention to survive the next few months," Cherion teased, poking Zarius gently in the chest. "First, we still have that annoying bastard who cursed you, then there’s the whole southern mess, the poison incident that’s still bothering me, and now your sister is contemplating marrying a foreign crown princess who looks like she could break a sword with her bare hands. If we don’t pray for some peace and quiet, the universe is just going to keep escalating."

Zarius stared at him for a beat, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh. He lost the battle a second later. A low, warm chuckle rumbled out of him that Cherion couldn’t help but smile, leaning down to press his forehead against Zarius’s.

"If the gods listen to anyone, it would be you, Cherion," Zarius murmured, his hand tightening affectionately around Cherion’s waist, bringing him impossibly closer.

"I’ll make sure to put in a good word for us," Cherion whispered, the playful banter softening into a quiet, comfortable warmth. "Just a simple request: no more sudden marriage proposals, no more cryptic royal meetings, and at least eighteen hours of uninterrupted sleep."

"You certainly don’t ask for much," Zarius replied softly, his thumb tracing a gentle line along Cherion’s jawline before pulling him down into a slow, deep kiss that tasted like quiet relief.

The kiss lasted a little longer, gradually turning deeper and slower. When Zarius finally pulled back, his eyes held a warmth that had nothing to do with the palace or the day’s political headaches.

Without breaking eye contact, Zarius gathered Cherion into his arms, standing up smoothly from his chair while keeping Cherion held tight against his chest. Cherion gasped softly in surprise, wrapping his legs instinctively around the Duke’s waist, his hands clutching Zarius’s broad shoulders.

With one quick sweep, he cleared the blank parchments from the polished surface before setting Cherion down on top of it.

As Cherion settled onto the sturdy desk, their hips pressed together, and the obvious bulge beneath Zarius’s trousers left little doubt about what he wanted.

Cherion let out a shaky laugh, his cheeks turning slightly pink. With them pressed this close, there was very little left to guess about Zarius’s intentions. He shifted slightly, biting his lip as a shiver ran through him.

"Well," Cherion whispered, his voice dropping into a raspy, playful whisper as his hands slid down to grip the front of Zarius’s open shirt. "It seems we both have a bit of a problem."

Zarius rested his forehead against Cherion’s, his breathing heavy and warm against Cherion’s lips. "I wouldn’t call it a problem."

Cherion tilted his head, glancing around the candlelit study before looking back at the closed doors.

"Can we... actually do it here?" Cherion asked, his voice laced with a thrilling mix of hesitation and anticipation. "On your desk?"

Zarius’s hands tightened on Cherion’s waist, pulling him so close there wasn’t a breath of air left between them.

"It is my study," Zarius whispered against his mouth, his hands already sliding down to undo Cherion’s trousers. "I don’t see why not?"

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