CHAPTER 234: CHAPTER 234: BEGINNING OF THE VACATION

The jet was sleek, silver, and far too mortal for Victor’s taste.

He owned half the sky if he wanted it and could have crossed oceans in less than a heartbeat, and yet, here they were, strapped into a private aircraft like ordinary men with luggage, a flight crew, and an absurdly polite stewardess who had no idea she was serving coffee to a god.

Elias leaned back against the plush leather seat, arms crossed, expression unimpressed. "You’re telling me," he said slowly, "that we’re taking an eight-hour flight... because you suddenly believe in the romance of air travel?"

Victor’s mouth curved faintly, that familiar blend of patience and quiet provocation. "I believe," he said, "in atmosphere."

"Atmosphere," Elias repeated flatly. "You could literally manipulate the stratosphere."

"I could," Victor agreed. "But that wouldn’t be nearly as safe."

Elias gave him a look that could have stripped paint. "Safe from what? You’re a god. You could snap your fingers and appear on the other side of the planet."

Victor adjusted the cuff of his jacket with the sort of grace that always meant he was about to say something infuriatingly reasonable. "Teleportation destabilizes ether channels in living bodies," he said mildly. "Especially delicate ones."

Elias’s brow furrowed. "Delicate ones?"

Victor’s crimson eyes lifted to meet his, steady and impossibly calm. "You’re carrying life, Elias. I’m not risking you, or them, for the sake of convenience."

For a moment, Elias forgot how to breathe. The hum of the cabin seemed to fade, leaving only the rhythmic pulse of the engines and Victor’s words still echoing somewhere in the space between his ribs.

He blinked once, then twice, as if to steady himself. "You make it sound like I’m made of glass."

Victor’s tone softened just enough to betray the faintest crack in his armor. "You are not made of glass," he said. "Light. And light shouldn’t fracture when it doesn’t have to."

Elias looked away, pretending to study the window, though the view was nothing but soft blue fading into cloud. "You could’ve just said you wanted to sit next to me for eight hours," he muttered.

Victor’s mouth curved into something that almost resembled a smile. "That too."

The plane lifted higher, smooth and unhurried, engines purring beneath their feet. Below them, the city fell away, the metallic grid shrinking to threads of light as the clouds opened, soft and blinding.

For a while, they sat in silence. Elias worked through flight data on his tablet, though his attention drifted often to Victor’s hand resting loosely on the armrest beside his, to the subtle shimmer beneath his skin when the light hit just right, and to the faint warmth that seemed to hum in the air whenever he was near.

Victor, on the other hand, didn’t bother pretending to read or work. He simply watched him. The scientist’s focus, the way his brow furrowed when he was deep in thought, the small things, the things gods were never supposed to notice.

After a few minutes, Elias spoke without looking up. "Poseidon won’t like seeing you. You don’t look particularly friendly."

"I’m counting on that," Victor said calmly.

Elias’s lips twitched. "You enjoy conflict too much."

"Conflict," Victor said lightly, "is simply conversation with higher stakes."

Elias sighed. "And I’m supposed to be the one with issues."

"You have many," Victor said, and Elias shot him a glare that was immediately met with quiet amusement.

Victor chuckled under his breath, a low, contented sound more suited to a creature basking in sunlight than the Executioner of gods. "Don’t look at me like that," he said, unrepentant. "I’m on vacation."

Elias looked up from his tablet, deadpan. "You keep saying that like repetition is going to make it true."

"It’s already true," Victor said, stretching his long legs with a languid ease that would’ve made most mortals instinctively move out of the way. "The work is merely adjacent to it."

Elias raised an eyebrow. "Adjacent."

"Close enough to feel productive," Victor said. "Far enough to justify you wearing that shirt."

Elias blinked. "What’s wrong with my shirt?"

"Nothing," Victor said, his tone unreasonably fond. "That’s the problem. You’re distracting."

Elias exhaled through his nose, not quite hiding the twitch of his mouth. "I’m starting to think you brought me along as entertainment."

"Obviously," Victor said, with the audacity of someone who had long since stopped pretending otherwise. "If I wanted diplomacy, I’d have brought Ashwin."

"He would’ve stabbed you before takeoff."

Victor tilted his head, pretending to consider. "True. But he wouldn’t have smiled afterward."

Elias shook his head, muttering, "You are the worst vacation companion."

"And yet," Victor murmured, leaning slightly closer, "you were the one proposing this honeymoon as to help the Creator have time for his romance with Connor."

"Why do you sound both smug and resentful?"

Victor appeared to be positively entertained by the question, the kind of lazy, satisfied amusement that made Elias suspicious right away.

"I’m not resentful," Victor said, stretching again like a cat that had found the perfect patch of sunlight. "I’m magnanimous. I gave Uno the chance to fix the disaster he calls a relationship. I even agreed to handle Poseidon myself so he could focus on love."

Elias tilted his head. "So... you’re sulking because someone else gets a romantic crisis before you do?"

Victor’s crimson eyes cut toward him, equal parts warning and mirth. "I don’t sulk."

"You’re sulking," Elias said flatly.

Victor’s mouth twitched. "I’m... preemptively displeased."

"Ah," Elias murmured, leaning back. "That sounds healthier."

"It is," Victor said without irony. "I plan to maintain this level of maturity for at least the next six hours."

Elias gave up trying to reason with a god and looked out the window, only to realize that he, the pregnant omega, should be the one hormonal and irritable.

Victor noticed the exact moment that thought crossed his mind. He didn’t need to read Elias’s mind to know; it was written all over his face, in the small furrow of his brow and the faint exhale through his nose.

"Don’t," Victor said lazily, without even opening his eyes.

"Don’t what?" Elias asked, feigning innocence.

"Don’t start comparing temperaments," Victor murmured, voice warm with amusement. "You’re thinking it. I can feel it radiating off you like static."

Elias snorted. "I’m the pregnant one. I’m allowed to be irritable. You’re the immortal one. You’re supposed to be serene."

Victor cracked one eye open, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. "Serene?" he repeated, like it was a foreign word he wasn’t entirely sure how to pronounce. "You fell in love with the executioner of gods, Elias. Serenity was never part of the package."

Elias turned from the window, giving him a tired but affectionate look. "You’re acting like a man who’s never lost an argument in his life."

"That’s because I haven’t," Victor said, straight-faced.

Elias leaned back against the seat with a slow sigh, pressing his hand absently to his abdomen. "Unbelievable. My child’s first experience of the outside world is going to be this level of smugness."

Victor grinned, wicked and far too pleased with himself. "You say that like it’s not hereditary."

Elias blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

Victor gestured vaguely, as if the logic were self-evident. "You’ve infected me with your sarcasm, I’ll have you know. It’s contagious. Our child doesn’t stand a chance."

Elias rubbed at his temple. "That’s not how genetics works."

"With us, it is," Victor said softly, and there was something almost reverent in the way he said us. And that made Elias speechless.