CHAPTER 82: CHAPTER 82: HOLY RACCOON IN LOVE

Elias, with the solemn determination of a man preparing to wage war against his own joints, pushed the blanket down and attempted to sit up.

It was a mistake.

A terrible, legendary mistake.

Every muscle below his ribs screamed in protest, and his spine gave a theatrical twinge like it was personally offended by the concept of movement. He made it halfway, barely, before collapsing back with a hiss through gritted teeth, chest rising and falling like he’d just fought off a small army.

Victor, unhelpfully, looked delighted.

"Oh, that was glorious," he said, chin resting on one hand as he watched from the edge of the bed like a patron at the opera. "Do it again."

Elias didn’t dignify that with a response. Mostly because he couldn’t breathe.

"I hate you," he wheezed instead, arms flopping uselessly to his sides.

"I’m flattered," Victor murmured, utterly pleased. "But don’t strain yourself. You’ll be healed by evening."

Elias cracked one eye open. "Evening?"

Victor nodded, brushing a curl from Elias’s forehead like he had any right. "I stitched your ether lines back together last night. That’s why you’re so tired. Your body’s repairing itself as we speak."

"You mean you broke me, and now you’re gloating about the repair job? Victor, how many times did you knot me?" Elias asked while throwing his right hand over his eyes.

Victor’s lips curved into a slow, decadent smile, the kind that suggested he was counting in his head and enjoying it far too much.

"Three," he said, without shame. "Possibly four. You stopped making coherent sounds after the second. I took that as encouragement."

Elias made a noise like a strangled groan and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. "I hate you," he repeated, voice muffled now by fabric and residual indignity.

Victor’s tone went faux-sympathetic, a mockery of tenderness. "Hate is such a strong word. I prefer irrevocably entangled by cosmic design, but I suppose ’hate’ is easier to spell."

Elias didn’t answer, mostly because he was too busy focusing on not dying. His legs felt like overcooked pasta, his back was waging open rebellion, and there was something uncomfortably slick between his thighs that he didn’t want to think about too hard.

Victor, of course, had no such restraint.

"Now, we’re officially in a relationship," he declared, with the smug finality of a man who’d already filed the paperwork in his head.

"We are not," Elias shot back, faster than he meant to. His voice cracked at the end, which only made things worse.

Victor leaned in closer, breath brushing just behind Elias’s ear, warm and deliberate. "Why not?"

"We had sex once, Victor. That doesn’t make us anything. It could’ve been a one-night stand." Elias clenched the blanket tighter around himself, as if that would restore some boundary, some line between them that Victor hadn’t already crossed and dismantled, with alarming precision.

Victor hummed, thoughtful and entirely too close. "What if I mark you?"

Elias froze.

It wasn’t just the words, it was the way Victor said them. Low and unhurried, with a kind of possessive reverence that curled around Elias’s spine and dragged heat where there should’ve been indignation. His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again.

There was no escaping this man.

Not physically, not when Elias’s body was still recovering from the glorious ruin Victor had left him in. And not emotionally, either. Not when that smug bastard had the gall to be good in bed. Too good. And worse... compatible. Like every kiss had been mapped in advance. Every press of skin against skin, every curl of fingers at his nape, every soft murmur during...

"I hate you," Elias muttered again, but this time it lacked conviction.

Victor’s smile deepened. "But not the way I kissed you."

Elias sighed, flopping back against the pillows like a man who’d given up on logic, sanity, and possibly gravity. "Fuck."

"That’s what we did," Victor said helpfully. "And very well, I might add."

"I hate you so much," Elias muttered, reaching blindly toward Victor’s face and shoving at it without looking.

That turned out to be a mistake.

His palm landed squarely on Victor’s cheek, and instead of retreating like a normal person, Victor leaned into the touch with unholy delight. Worse, Elias could feel the bastard smirking against his skin.

Then came the lick.

"God damn it, Victor!" Elias jolted, half sitting up, betrayal written across his entire face.

Victor, utterly unrepentant, cocked his head. "If you really want to... sure, I can damn someone. Name your target."

"I swear to every divine register, if you don’t stop acting like a feral raccoon with a crush..."

"I swear to every divine register, if you don’t stop acting like a feral raccoon with a crush..."

Victor cut him off by scooping him into his arms.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t human, the way he did it, slow and careful, yes, but still entirely seamless, like Elias weighed nothing, like the effort it cost him was less than a breath. Elias tensed instinctively, a half-hearted protest curling in his throat, but it died the second Victor settled them both back against the pillows, Elias now cradled securely in his lap, long legs draped over his own.

The scent of imperial irises filled the rich air. Victor inhaled once, eyes hooded, smugness sharpening. "Ah," he said, "so you’re not mad anymore."

"Fuck off," Elias muttered, but it came out far too softly. He felt... warm. Unfortunately. Like his body hadn’t quite caught up to his brain, or like it had already betrayed him hours ago and was now doubling down.

Victor, of course, smelled it too. Of course he noticed. When Elias was mad, really mad, his scent changed entirely, all sharp temple incense and ritual smoke, like wrath disguised in holiness. But now?

Now it was the same heady iris bloom Victor had first fallen into, the kind that curled low and drugged beneath the skin, like it belonged to silk sheets, candlelight, and the slow closing of a bedroom door.

"I might consider toning it down," Victor said at last, voice pitched deceptively light, as if he hadn’t just completely undone Elias’s equilibrium. "If you say yes."

Elias blinked up at him. "Yes to what?"

Victor looked down at him, and for the first time, the smile faded into something less smug, less cutting. Still playful, but now edged with that strange kind of sincerity Victor only ever showed when he thought Elias wasn’t looking.

"To us," he said. "Yes, to this being a relationship. Not just sex. Not just some divine fever dream. Us."

Elias stared at him for a long moment. Then he groaned, loud and long, burying his face in Victor’s shirt like it might absorb the absurdity of his life.

But he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t argue.

He breathed in, exhaled, and despite himself, smiled.

"Fine," Elias said, voice muffled against fabric. "Yes."

Victor’s body went still, attentive, like he’d just caught the sound of something rare and delicate breaking open.

"Yes, as in yes, we’re in a love relationship," he said immediately, because of course he would. "I’m not taking any chances. Clarify it."

Elias made another noise into his shirt. "Gods, you’re exhausting."

Victor didn’t move.

"...Yes," Elias muttered finally. "Yes, that kind of relationship."

The bastard had the nerve to fucking purr.

"Good," Victor said, nuzzling into Elias’s hair like he hadn’t just spent twenty minutes being an unholy menace. "Then I claim this day in the name of us. Just you, me, and whatever position you can actually sit in without making that noise again."

Elias groaned. "Victor."

"Yes, beloved?"

"I will stab you with a fork."

Victor grinned. "As long as you feed me with it first."