The ring caught the glow from the screen, the emerald dark and steady. Viper noticed. He didn’t comment on it.
Now wasn’t the time to lock Titus down. Now was the time to show him—quietly, steadily—how much they already belonged together.
If anyone had asked, Viper would have said that being with someone had never been in the cards for him. He liked his life solitary. Self-contained. Clean.
But that certainty had unraveled somewhere along the way—with Titus. A man he’d barely tolerated at first. A man he’d wanted to punch more than once. A man who’d turned out to be something else entirely.
Something necessary.
Titus arched one brow at him, questioning.
Viper smirked and shifted his gaze back to the screen.
They watched in companionable silence as the first scene unfolded—violence dressed up as intimacy, intimacy sharpened into threat.
Titus made a quiet sound of amusement at a line of dialogue. Viper felt it more than heard it.
This was better than talking.
For now.
There’d been no question he would come back to Titus’s place tonight.
Viper had known it the moment they’d left the estate—known it in the way Titus hadn’t asked, hadn’t hedged, hadn’t made it a thing. Just assumed. Expected. And Viper liked that more than he was willing to unpack.
The movie played on, half-forgotten. Dialogue washed over him in low bursts, gunfire and banter blending into background noise. The room stayed dim except for the television’s glow, shadows sliding across walls that felt lived in—warm, private, real.
Viper glanced over.
Titus had drifted off.
Not fully asleep—just tipped over the edge. Head angled back against the cushion, lashes dark against his cheekbones, mouth parted slightly as he breathed. One arm lay loose across his middle, fingers slack, the ring catching faint light from the screen.
Something in Viper’s chest eased.
He reached for the remote, muted the sound, then shut the screen off entirely. The sudden quiet felt intimate, deliberate. He shifted forward and crouched in front of Titus, forearms resting on his thighs, close enough to feel his warmth.
Viper set a hand on Titus’s arm. Solid. Warm. Grounding.
“Titus,” he murmured.
Titus stirred.
His eyes opened slowly—and the look that surfaced wasn’t groggy or confused. It was dark, heavy-lidded, all heat and awareness. Like he’d woken already knowing exactly where he was.
For a split second, Viper forgot how to breathe.
“Hey,” Titus said, voice low, roughened by sleep. His gaze dipped—to Viper’s mouth, his throat—then lifted again, a slow, knowing curve at the corner of his lips.
“You fell asleep,” Viper said, because saying anything else felt dangerous.
Titus hummed and leaned forward instead of answering.
The kiss was unhurried. Soft at first. Then deeper—intent settling in, familiar and new all at once. Titus’s hand slid into Viper’s shirt, fingers spreading, anchoring him there.
Viper stood without thinking, drawing Titus up with him. They moved together down the hall, unspoken agreement carrying them forward—bare feet on cool wood, hands finding purchase, mouths never quite separating.
The bedroom light stayed off.
