Ángel looked into his face. Their gazes locked for a still, breathless moment. But as always, Oberon’s face told Ángel nothing. So he closed his eyes and felt his magic, breathed Oberon’s scent, palmed one curving bicep, cupped his face, ran a thumb over his lips. Ángel felt Oberon’s love and desire, thrumming like a musical note through his skin. Felt, too, his hesitation.

Love, and desire, and fear. Because for Oberon, this moment was irrevocable. He was changing, the magic in his skin was tuning itself to Ángel’s, so that he could never communicate this way with any other. Ángel was, unintentionally, marking him, making him his own, in a way that could never be undone. And Oberon loved him, loved the change.

But with his eyes closed, Ángel could smell and feel Oberon’s fear so clearly, he could almost put it into words: This has never happened before. This is something new, in all the universe. Would Ángel always love him? Did Ángel understand that this change was permanent, that Oberon would belong to him forever?

“Yes,” Ángel whispered, pressing his hands to Oberon’s skin, hoping he could feel him as well as hear him. “I will. I do.”

He felt Oberon’s joy, then, and his awe, and a little warm wash of something that tingled and tickled: Oberon thought he was cute.

Ángel laughed. “Are you going to fuck me, or just admire me?”

“Both,” said Oberon, and did.

They got back in the shower to rinse off, and as they were toweling themselves dry Oberon opened the bathroom door and sang out in his own language. In a moment, Mendel came in without knocking. Ángel made a stifled yelp of protest and covered his groin with the towel, glaring as Mendel handed the naked Oberon some clean clothes. The second envoy leaned against the sink while Oberon began to dress.

“Are you just going to stand there?” demanded Ángel.

Mendel gazed at him. “Yes?”

Oberon nudged Mendel. “Go see if there’s any food.”

“There isn’t,” said Mendel forlornly. “The food they brought all has meat.” He looked at Ángel. “They won’t let me leave.” As he spoke, Mendel unselfconsciously reached out to stroke Oberon’s shoulder and neck. “And they’re afraid of me, so no one ever comes here. And since I did the NPR interview without their permission, they took my phone away. It’s very boring, and I’m hungry.”

Ángel took a deep breath. He was going to have to get used to Mendel touching Oberon. He was going to have to explain appropriate boundaries.

But first, he was going to have to take care of these fae.

“Go away,” he said, gently, to Mendel. “Because I don’t want you here while I’m getting dressed. But then, if you like, I’ll call my friend and she’ll bring us some food. Do you want to meet my friend Marissa?”