Gabriel's smirk deepened, and without breaking eye contact, he slid his fingers into the waistband of Damian's trousers.
The movement was unhurried and intentional, the kind of pace that tested patience for sport. He eased the fabric over Damian's hips, letting it fall just enough for the air between them to shift, for heat to escape in a slow, intoxicating wave.
And then, without any other pause, he freed him.
Damian exhaled sharply, the sound caught halfway between relief and warning. His head tipped back almost immediately, golden eyes closing as if even one more second of watching would push him past the line he'd sworn not to cross.
Because if he kept looking at Gabriel kneeling there, at the curve of his mouth, at the unrepentant satisfaction in his eyes, he would have Gabriel under him and in the bed before either of them remembered how to stop.
