You were still catching your breath when he moved.

The sheets were hot, your skin still tingling, and you were halfway sure your legs wouldn’t work for another five minutes—but Keigo pushed himself upright with that slow, lazy strength he had when he was completely satisfied.

And then he did that.

Head tilted back, throat exposed, chest rising and falling, muscles tight and glowing from the warmth of your shared mess. His hair was mussed—your fault—and there was a faint pink across his neck where your mouth had been. Multiple hickeys and bite marks on him.

No wings now, but the pose was the exact same kind of devastating.

You stared.

He knew you were staring.

Because he smirked.

Not his usual cocky hero grin—this one was softer, deeper, almost proud of the fact that you were practically drooling over him.

“Love,” he murmured, voice still rough from what you’d been doing minutes before. “You’re lookin’ at me like you want round two.”

You pulled the blanket over your face.

“Stop posing like an anime cover boy,” you muttered, voice muffled. “I’m trying to recover.”

He laughed—low, warm, absolutely smug—and gently tugged the blanket down so he could see your face.

“Can’t help it,” he said, leaning closer, eyes half-lidded. “You make me feel good. Makes me wanna show off.”

You hit his chest weakly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you,” he whispered, brushing a stray hair from your cheek, “are adorable when you pretend you didn’t just ruin me.”

Your face heated.

He kissed the corner of your jaw, slow and soft this time.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling you into his arms so your head rested against the same chest you’d been staring at. “And if you need a second to recover,” he added, kissing your cheek gently, “I’ve got you. No rush.”

And just before you drifted into that post-heat haze, you heard him murmur:

“…But seriously, babe. If you look at me like that again, round two is happening whether your legs work or not.”