Edward stared. "Swear. It."
Gabriel sighed dramatically, the kind of sigh that belonged in operas or deathbed confessions, as if he were signing away the rights to his soul, dignity, and access to red ink pens.
"Fine," he said. "I swear I'll rest. Eat. Bathe. Not rewrite legislation. Not terrorize the accounting department."
A pause. Then, with the solemnity of a man accepting exile:
"And disappear in silence and sin for the next days of heat."
Edward blinked. Once. Slowly.
"I was going to say 'recover quietly,'" he said, expression unreadable. "But yes, let's call it that."
Gabriel smirked, far too pleased with himself. "Would you prefer I suffer in chastity and linen sheets?" he drawled. "Do you think Damian won't want to see me in heat for the first time?"
Edward stopped halfway to the door. Very still. Very quiet.
