[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction-Chapter 258: Take responsibility

Chapter 258: Chapter 258: Take responsibility
Elias stepped out of Ego’s office and closed the door behind him with the kind of composure only pettiness could give.
Ashwin glanced up from where he stood sentry by the elevator, arms folded like a statue with too many opinions. "Still alive," he noted.
"Barely," Elias muttered, walking past him with the determined grace of a man already plotting homicide by cufflink. "If I jump, it’ll be from the fifty-eighth. There’s still a chance for structural damage."
Ashwin didn’t follow, but his gaze tracked Elias as he jabbed the elevator button with unnecessary force.
"Where to now?" he asked mildly, as the doors slid open.
"Lower floor," Elias said. "Victor’s office."
Ashwin’s brow lifted. "Should I clear the building?"
"Too late," Elias replied, stepping in. "He’s going to feel it."
The doors shut with a soft chime.
Elias exhaled and leaned against the mirrored wall, arms folded tightly over his stomach. He was four and a half months pregnant and had to deal with Ego on top.
The elevator began its smooth descent, glass panels flicking past level numbers with barely a sound. Level 59. 58. 57.
By the time he reached Victor’s floor, Elias was calmer. Not less angry... just more efficient about it.
He strode into the outer office like a man with a purpose, ignored the startled executive assistant, and opened the door to Victor’s private office without knocking.
Victor looked up from a meeting, paused mid-sentence, and said absolutely nothing for three full seconds.
Elias shut the door behind him, calm and slow.
Victor blinked once. "...You survived."
"Oh," Elias said. "You’re going to wish I didn’t."
Victor didn’t have time to react.
Elias crossed the office in six unbroken steps, each one a declaration of emotional warfare, and then, without ceremony or mercy, he climbed directly into Victor’s lap.
Not onto a chair. Not onto the armrest.
Onto him.
Victor made a low sound in his throat, a blend of surprise and something far more dangerous, but Elias didn’t care.
He curled in like a vindictive cat, arms loosely wrapped around Victor’s neck, one cold hand slipping under his collar with intent. His head rested against Victor’s shoulder, and his scent spiked sharply—pregnant, tired, and deeply unimpressed.
Victor didn’t move for a moment. His hands hovered near Elias’s sides, like he wasn’t sure if this was punishment or plea.
Then Elias muttered, "I need a hug, and I’m not getting up until I feel emotionally validated."
Victor exhaled, slow and careful. "You could have said that before weaponizing my door."
"I did say you were going to feel it," Elias replied, eyes closed now. "Also, I haven’t eaten. So either you hug me or you feed me. Pick one."
A beat passed.
Then Victor shifted, strong arms wrapping fully around Elias’s back, one hand pressing gently over the soft curve of his stomach.
"You should’ve said both," Victor murmured. "I would’ve brought snacks."
"You’re my fiancé," Elias replied, voice muffled against his collarbone. "I shouldn’t have to say it."
Victor leaned back in the chair slightly, adjusting them both with practiced ease. "Was it that bad?"
Elias inhaled. "There was velvet, Victor."
"...Armored velvet?"
"With a built-in emergency transponder."
Victor snorted softly against Elias’s hair. "He’s escalating."
"He called it tasteful."
Victor pressed a kiss to Elias’s temple, low and slow. "You’re glowing."
"I’m hungry. Don’t change the subject."
Victor kissed him again, this time just beside his ear. "Okay. Hugs first. Then food."
Elias didn’t reply, but his grip tightened faintly around Victor’s neck, like a silent
good.
They stayed like that for a minute. Maybe two.
The world could wait.
Eventually, Victor shifted one hand to his desk and pressed the intercom. "Lena, cancel my next hour. And bring up something Elias-safe from the executive kitchen."
"Something good," Elias added without looking up. "None of that calorie-controlled, flavorless bullshit. I want bread. And sugar."
Victor smiled, eyes still closed, chin resting on top of Elias’s head. "He wants bread and vengeance."
"Mostly bread," Elias murmured. "Vengeance is just garnish."
Victor laughed softly and held him tighter. "You’re getting both."
—
Victor didn’t let go.
Elias had come in like a storm front, but now he was warm and solid in his arms, tucked against him with the kind of absolute, furious trust that Victor didn’t take lightly.
He shifted slightly, adjusting the angle of the chair with one hand and keeping the other over Elias’s back, fingers lightly tracing along the base of his spine. The chair groaned a little under the combined weight, but Victor didn’t care. It was his lap, and no one else was getting it.
"This," he murmured, dropping another kiss into Elias’s hair, "is my lap. Permanently. You can’t have emotional breakdowns in anyone else’s arms. It’s a contractual clause now."
Elias didn’t lift his head. "You didn’t even read the prenup."
"I did. I had the lawyers add a lap clause."
"That’s abuse of power."
"That’s love," Victor replied. "Very specific love. With excellent seating."
Elias made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a grumble. "You’re so pleased with yourself."
"I’m holding a gorgeous, vengeful academic who’s pregnant with my child and just survived Ego. I’m very pleased with myself."
Elias tilted his head up just enough to glare. "You delegated me."
Victor kissed his forehead. "I also chose you."
That earned him a pause. Elias’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite forgiveness.
Victor was about to press the advantage, possibly with a bite to the ear or a whispered offer of pastries, when Elias suddenly inhaled sharply and froze.
Victor tensed. "What?"
Elias’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and dragging it down to rest flat against the lower swell of his stomach. "There."
Victor blinked. "There what?"
"There." Elias’s voice dropped into awe and offense at the same time. "Your child just kicked me. From the inside."
Victor’s eyes widened, and then, very slowly, his palm curved around the spot like he could coax another movement.
Nothing.
For a heartbeat, he thought he imagined it.
And then...
A small thump. Subtle. But real.
Victor’s entire world narrowed to the size of his hand.
Elias stared up at him, expression unreadable. "It’s your fault."
Victor didn’t look away. Couldn’t. "I haven’t done anything yet."
"You exist. The kick agrees with me."
Victor smiled. Not his executive smile. Not the polite one he wore for press releases or boardroom assassinations. But the soft, quiet one that cracked the edges of his mask and settled somewhere in his eyes.
"I’ll take the blame," he said, voice low. "For the kick. For the armored velvet. For everything."
Elias huffed. "You should. But you’re going to cuddle me through it."