Chapter 176: Chapter 176: Experience
Morning crept in through the blinds as a thin wash of silver. For once the suite was still; no phones buzzing, no low voices from the hall, just the faint tick of the old clock on the dresser. Elias had rolled onto his stomach sometime before dawn, hair falling over his eyes, one arm flung across the empty side of the bed. The sheets smelled faintly of soap and Victor and the city’s early winter air.
He barely registered the soft dip of the mattress before a hand slid over his shoulder.
"Up," Victor murmured near his ear, voice low and maddeningly awake. "We’re late."
Elias cracked one eye open and saw burgundy fabric and the glint of a cufflink. "No," he mumbled, dragging the pillow higher over his head. "Not today. I’m staying."
Victor’s thumb traced a slow line between his shoulder blades, a habitual coaxing. "Elias..."
"I’m serious," Elias muttered into the pillow. "Go to your spreadsheets. I’m not moving."
Victor stilled. He had heard that tone before, playful, lazy, even sulky, but not this... thick. The scent rising from the sheets wasn’t just sleep-warmth and soap. Underneath, faint but distinct, was a sweetness that had nothing to do with perfume.
His fingers moved to the back of Elias’s neck automatically, brushing over the mark. The skin there was warmer than usual, the pulse beneath it a slow, unsteady drum. When Victor leaned in, the air tasted different, iris laced with something softer, heavier.
"Elias," he said again, quieter now.
The only answer was a muffled groan and a half-hearted kick of one foot under the covers. "I told you. I’m sleeping. Take Ashwin. Take Robert. Take anyone. Just let me sleep."
Victor’s hand lingered at the nape, thumb drawing a circle the way it always did to ground him. He felt the shiver travel down Elias’s spine even through the blanket. His crimson eyes narrowed a fraction, mind clicking through instinct and memory.
Heat.
Not a full flare yet, but the first slip of it, curling through his mate’s scent like a temptation. It explained the refusal, the heaviness, the way Elias’s skin burned under his touch. Victor could feel the edge of it, an invisible current trying to hook into his own self-control.
Frost still clung to the edges of the windows, the pale light of early winter bleeding through the curtains. Beyond the glass, the manor grounds were muffled under a thin skin of snow, bare branches shivering in a soft wind. Inside, the room was warm, scented of linen, soap, and the faint sweetness rising from Elias’s skin.
Victor stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, thumb tracing another slow circle over the mark at his nape. The pulse beneath it beat faster than sleep, a heat coiling under his fingers that had nothing to do with blankets.
"Stay," he repeated, his voice velvet-low near Elias’s ear. "I’ll cancel this week’s schedule."
A muffled groan from under the pillow. "You’re actually going to let me sleep?"
Victor bent close enough for his hair to brush the crown of Elias’s head. "You’re not staying because you’re lazy," he murmured, the words a thread of warmth against his skin. "You’re staying because something’s changing. I’ll stay with you."
Without lifting his palm from Elias’s neck, he reached for the phone on the nightstand and pressed a single button. "Adam," he said softly when the butler’s voice came through, "inform my secretary that I’ll need the week off. All meetings are postponed or reassigned. Have breakfast brought up, hot, light, and on a rolling tray, and make sure no staff with a second gender comes into the suite until further notice."
"Understood, sir," Adam replied without hesitation. "Shall I clear the wing as well?"
"Yes." Victor’s eyes never left Elias. "No interruptions unless I call."
He set the phone back down, the click sounding small in the quiet room. Outside, a crow called once over the snowy gardens, the sound thin and far away. Inside, Victor lowered himself a little, leaning on one elbow beside Elias, still fully dressed but already anchoring the space with his presence.
"You see?" he murmured, brushing his knuckles once more over the mark. "No spreadsheets. No staff. Just us. Sleep."
Elias shifted under the covers, the smallest, reluctant movement, and muttered something that might have been thanks or might have been a curse. Victor only smiled, crimson eyes deepening as he watched the heat beginning to bloom in his mate’s scent.
Early winter pressed against the windows; inside, Victor settled in for the long week ahead.
—
By mid-afternoon the frost had melted off the windows, leaving streaks of pale light across the bedroom floor. The fire in the grate had burned down to embers, and the room smelled faintly of cinnamon toast and the rich sweetness of chocolate, Victor’s idea of comfort food. Silver trays stood abandoned on the low table: fresh fruit, delicate pastries, and two blocks of Belgian chocolate still wrapped in gold foil.
Elias sat propped up against the headboard, hair a mess, the duvet pulled around his shoulders like a cloak. A tablet lay facedown on his lap, forgotten. He watched Victor idly break another square of chocolate between his fingers and felt his stomach twist.
"I wanted ramen," he muttered at last, voice hoarse from sleep. "Not... whatever this is."
Victor glanced up from the tray, perfectly composed even in shirtsleeves. "That is the best chocolate in Belgium," he said mildly. "You asked for chocolate. I brought chocolate."
Elias pushed the tablet aside and sat forward. "I meant ramen. The instant kind. Cup, plastic fork, powdered broth, MSG. Not the twelve-course tasting menu version."
Victor blinked once, as if translating a foreign language. "You’re asking me for cup noodles."
"Yes." Elias tightened the duvet around his shoulders, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. "You’re going to bring me lobster-flavored something, aren’t you?"
A slow, shameless smile curved Victor’s mouth. "Would you rather miso or tonkotsu?"
Elias groaned, tipping his head back against the headboard. "No. That’s still fancy. I want the cheap stuff. The kind you can buy by the crate. Boil water, add flavor packet, and regret your life choices. That."
Victor set the chocolate down and leaned a little closer, thumb brushing the back of Elias’s hand in that grounding circle. "You realize," he murmured, "I could have the kitchen make you fresh ramen from scratch."
"That’s not the point," Elias said, lips twitching. "It’s about the shame and the salt and the little freeze-dried corn pieces. I’m negotiating for real ramen, Victor. Real, terrible, college-level ramen."
Victor’s crimson eyes glinted, amusement softening the inhuman edge. "Fine," he said at last, his voice like velvet over steel. "Real, terrible, college-level ramen. But only because you’re adorable when you’re bargaining."
Elias smirked and leaned back, tugging the duvet tighter. "Good. Then we have a deal."
Victor rose, already reaching for the phone on the nightstand. "I’ll have Adam raid the pantry. Or a supermarket."
"You’re impossible," Elias said, but his voice was warm. "And don’t forget the cheap chopsticks. It’s part of the experience."
Victor’s smile widened as he dialed, crimson eyes glinting. "Cheap chopsticks. Understood."