Milo lay there, panting, utterly wrecked. His body still trembled from the violent climax, the sticky warmth of his own release clinging to his pajamas. He was a hot, shivering mess, his mind a chaotic whirl of shock, humiliation, and a lingering phantom of pleasure. His eyes were wide, fixed on the terrifying, beautiful sight of Elias, still asleep, still perfectly oblivious, his own hardened member pulsing visibly in the dim light. The inferno had consumed Milo, leaving him a smoldering, confused, and utterly shocked mess. This was a nightmare. And he was already looking forward to the next one.
Then, a subtle shift.
Elias's heavy eyelids fluttered. A soft groan rumbled in his chest, a sound that wasn't pain, but rather the deep, slow sigh of someone emerging from profound sleep. Milo froze, every cell in his body screaming. He couldn't move, couldn't even pretend to be asleep. He was caught. Caught red-handed, drenched in the evidence of his own overwhelming reaction.
Slowly, deliberately, Elias's dark grass-green eyes opened. They were cloudy at first, unfocused, but then they sharpened with startling speed, the piercing intensity returning to their depths. He blinked once, slowly, taking in the soft light of the room, the pattern on the ceiling. His wolf-like ears twitched, sifting through the ambient sounds.
His gaze then slowly, almost lazily, dropped. It scanned over his own bare chest, then down his torso, lingering for a moment on the full, undeniable evidence of his own arousal. Milo's breath hitched again, expecting alarm, confusion, or perhaps instant fury. But there was none of that. Elias simply stared at himself, his expression unreadable, a flicker of something almost akin to detached observation in his eyes.
Then, his gaze slid sideways. And met Milo's.
Milo's heart stopped.
All the air left his lungs.
Elias's eyes, those impossibly deep green orbs, were wide and sharp now, focused entirely on Milo's face. There was no confusion, no recognition of the blatant intimacy they had just shared. Instead, there was a familiar, chilling coldness.
Elias's eyes flickered from Milo's wide, terrified gaze, down to Milo's still-damp, pajama-clad crotch, and then back up to his face. A spark of something—disdain? disgust?—ignited in their depths. Elias's mouth, usually set in a hard line, curled subtly at one corner, the expression almost imperceptible, but unmistakably one of utter contempt.
He said nothing. He didn't need to. The silence was deafening, filled with Elias's cold, assessing gaze. Milo felt every inch of his shame, his embarrassment, his raw, recent climax, laid bare under that piercing stare. He was caught, exposed, and judged. The fact that Elias himself was still fully aroused, a magnificent, hard display, only deepened Milo's mortification.
Elias slowly, gracefully, pushed himself up onto his elbows. The movement was fluid despite his earlier stiffness, a silent testament to his inherent power. He looked down at Milo, who was still rigid and trembling, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Elias reached down and pulled the duvet up, carefully covering his own exposed arousal. Not with haste, not with shame, but with a deliberate, almost dismissive gesture that conveyed:
This is my business, not yours, human. And frankly, your presence is an inconvenience.
Milo could only stare, his mind reeling. The inferno had finally burned out, leaving only ash and the chilling, undeniable contempt in Elias's dark green eyes. The silence stretched, a palpable thing between them in the comfortable, yet suddenly suffocating, bedroom in Westkilo, Calin City. Elias, now fully awake and acutely aware of his surroundings, simply watched Milo, his expression utterly cold, waiting.