You thought the teasing was over. After that tense little moment with him, you were sure he’d moved on. He wasn’t openly cold anymore, and he had even kissed your forehead later that day like always — gentle, composed, golden.

But that night, something felt… off.

You were curled in his arms, head resting on his chest as he traced slow, absentminded circles along your back. His breathing was steady, heartbeat calm — but his voice?

Low. Dangerous. Velvet wrapped around a blade.

“I was thinking,” he murmured, “about that moment. With Aldebaran.”

“Hm?” you hummed, already half-asleep. “Still hung up on that?”

He chuckled. Soft. But not quite amused. “You asked him to lift you. Wanted to know how it felt to be held by someone that strong.”

You blinked, lifting your head. “…Wait, is this still about that?”

His eyes opened, and they caught the moonlight like polished gold.

“I can hold you however you want,” he said quietly. “Fly you higher than the Taurus Temple could ever dream. Lift you in my arms until you forget gravity.”

You stared, surprised at the sharp edge in his tone.

Then he leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear. “But I don’t plan on sharing you again. Not like that. Not even for fun.”

“…Sisifo.”

“No,” he whispered, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw, where your pulse fluttered. “You don’t get to ask another Saint to throw you again. That honor belongs to me now.”

You didn’t know if you were blushing from embarrassment, flattery, or the heat that suddenly flooded your chest. You started to answer, but he slid a hand under your thigh and easily shifted you onto his lap — proving, in one smooth motion, that he absolutely could lift you like it was nothing.