Victor's hand slipped higher, brushing over the faint curve of Elias's collarbone.
"You're warm," he murmured, thumb grazing over the dip of skin like it meant something more than anatomy, like it was proof that Elias was real, here, still his. "Tense, but warm."
Elias exhaled through his nose, slow and tight, as though releasing that breath would somehow release the tension curling in his gut. He tried, briefly, futilely, to summon the usual sharp edge of sarcasm that had always kept Victor at arm's length, but it faltered beneath the press of heat behind him. "You're in my bed."
"And you didn't throw me out."
Victor's voice was quiet, even, but there was a glint of teeth buried beneath the calm, a satisfaction too refined to be smug.
