Damian chuckled, the sound low and far too pleased. "Peace, he says, while eyeing me like that."
"I'm eyeing you like a man who values spinal integrity," Gabriel replied dryly, though his hand had drifted, betrayingly, to rest against Damian's thigh, right where the towel dipped too low for diplomatic approval.
"Mm." Damian shifted just enough for the movement to be suggestive, not scandalous. Arik let out a soft coo in protest, and Damian instinctively adjusted him, pressing a soothing kiss to his tiny forehead.
"You were saying?" he murmured against the child's hair.
Gabriel didn't answer right away. His gaze had softened the way it always did when he looked at their son.
"I was saying," he murmured at last, "that you're dangerous. And if I weren't still healing, I'd drag you into that bed and remind you why you married a strategist."
Damian hummed, unrepentant and content, like a man who knew exactly how dangerous he was and had every intention of weaponizing it.
