Arik pulled back just enough to meet Liam's eyes. The playful tension had shifted into something quieter, the air between them thickening with the mingled sweetness of saint's breath and warm stone.
"I do love you," Arik said.
No teasing. No imperial weight behind it. Just the words offered the way he always offered them in moments like this—as though they were the only certainty he had ever needed.
Liam's throat tightened.
"I know."
Arik kissed his forehead.
Then his nose.
Then the corner of his mouth, lingering there until Liam turned his face to catch the next kiss properly. The hand beneath Liam's shirt moved again, palm gliding upward with deliberate slowness, as if mapping the rise and fall of each breath.
Liam let his legs fall open.
Arik settled between them, his weight balanced on his forearms. The thick muscle of his thighs pressed against the backs of Liam's, spreading him wider through the thin fabric of the borrowed shirt.
