Over the next several days, Liam discovered something deeply satisfying.
Arik could, in fact, find time for him.
Not unlimited time. Nuria still demanded most of Arik's waking hours, and the Core continued settling deeper into his ether with every passing day. But breakfast no longer disappeared beneath reports. When Arik crossed behind Liam's chair, a hand inevitably settled on his shoulder or brushed through his hair. Kisses stopped being abbreviated acknowledgments delivered on the way to another meeting.
And at night, Arik came back to him.
Repeatedly.
Was Liam repenting for provoking a suppressed rut during a national-security meeting?
No.
Was he even mildly regretful that the consequences had extended through several nights afterward?
Not remotely.
His body had opinions about the matter every morning, but that was a separate issue.
Mezos questioned his judgment anyway.
"You sent him photographs during a border meeting."
