[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 83: Lucas’s First Step

He wanted to kiss Trevor.

Not to prove anything. Not to reclaim sothing taken. But because, in this room filled with warm light and soft hums and the sharp contrast of past and present colliding—he could.

He leaned forward slowly, watching for even the smallest flicker of hesitation.

Instead, he leaned in as well, just enough to et him halfway, his left hand curling tightly around the edge of the desk—not to hold Lucas, but to hold himself in place. He wouldn’t ruin this by rushing. Lucas was making the first move, and he’d honor that.

So he stayed still.

Let him choose.

Lucas closed the last inch between them, pressing his lips to Trevor’s—slow, so painfully slow, like he was still half-afraid the mont would vanish if he breathed too hard.

Trevor’s fingers curled tighter around the edge of the desk, knuckles white, the wood groaning under the pressure of restraint.

And then, he kissed back, carefully, with devastating patience that matched Lucas’s pace. His tongue traced the curve of Lucas’s lower lip, a question asked in silence, coaxing him closer, deeper.

Lucas exhaled a soft moan, the sound half surprise, half need, and parted his lips allowing him in.

Trevor didn’t hesitate. His hand clenched harder against the desk, grounding himself as his tongue traced the inside of Lucas’s mouth, slow and reverent, like a man tasting water after years of drought—like every part of him had been parched, and only now rembered what it ant to feel full.

They didn’t pull away imdiately.

Even after the kiss began to fade, their lips lingered—still touching, still breathing the sa air, as if breaking that fragile line between them too quickly would unravel everything they’d just dared to feel.

Lucas was the first to move, just barely, drawing back enough to look up.

His cheeks were flushed, lips kiss-bitten, and chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths like he’d just rembered how to want sothing and been allowed to have it.

Trevor’s eyes were still half-lidded, gaze trained on him with a softness that cut deeper than heat. His hand finally let go of the desk, slow, like the tension had only now begun to bleed out of him.

Lucas’s voice finally broke the quiet, rough and breathless at the edges. "That was..." He trailed off, too many thoughts colliding to settle on just one.

Trevor’s smile was faint, more felt than seen. "Yeah."

Lucas swallowed, his gaze flicking down to the tablet still lit between them before rising again. "You’re not going to make a joke?"

"If I do," Trevor said, tilting his head slightly, voice still low, steady—but there was sothing behind it now, sothing raw and open. "Will you kiss to shut up?"

Lucas didn’t look away. His lips curled into sothing between amusent and affection, dry but far too real to be sharp.

"Greedy," he murmured.

Trevor’s smile widened, slow and unrepentant. "Only when it cos to you."

Lucas blinked, and for just a second, the warmth behind his ribs flared hot enough to burn. But he didn’t say anything—didn’t need to.

He turned back to the tablet instead, tapping the screen with a little more force than necessary, like pretending to focus might settle the way his pulse was still misbehaving.

"You’re not going to let get any work done, are you?"

Trevor leaned in just enough to murmur, "Not if you keep looking at like that."

Lucas snorted, half-laughing now. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet," Trevor said, eyes gleaming, "you kissed anyway."

Before Lucas could conjure another biting reply—or maybe another kiss, if he was being honest with himself—Trevor’s phone buzzed against the edge of the desk.

Once. Twice. Then it rang, sharp and distinct, cutting through the warmth that had settled between them like the sound didn’t quite belong in the room they’d created.

Trevor glanced down at the screen, and whatever light had been in his eyes just monts ago dimd, shuttered fast and clean like soone had pulled a curtain over him.

"I need to take this," he said, quieter now. "I’ll be right outside."

Lucas didn’t protest, though his gaze lingered.

Trevor stepped into the corridor and let the door shut gently behind him before answering. "Dax."

A familiar, rich voice answered imdiately, warm with amusent and just the right edge of arrogance.

"Well, well," King Evrin Dax drawled. "You don’t answer for three days, and then I find out you’ve married soone? I must say, Fitzgeralt, you’ve been busy."

Trevor didn’t rise to the bait. "I didn’t realize you tracked estate records like an old court gossip."

Dax laughed. "I don’t. But I do track allies with sudden political leverage, and husbands who used to be untouchable."

There was a beat of silence. Trevor’s fingers curled loosely at his side, but he kept his voice calm. "Lucas isn’t a piece on a board."

"No," Dax said, amused. "He’s a duchess now. You always did like complicated n."

Trevor exhaled slowly through his nose. "He chose , Dax. Not the other way around."

Another pause, this one quieter.

"I see," Dax murmured. "That explains why you didn’t wait. You’ve always been cautious, Trevor—until now."

"I’m not cautious with what’s mine," Trevor said flatly. "And I’m not going to apologize for moving faster than your analysts could catch."

Dax humd, not quite disapproving. "So that’s it, then? The boy’s yours and I can’t do anything about it?"

"Yes."

"Does he know who you were supposed to marry before?"

Trevor’s voice dropped lower. "Irrelevant."

"Mm." Dax’s tone shifted—lighter, but still unreadable. "Then I suppose congratulations are in order."

There was a pause. Trevor didn’t fill it.

Dax, of course, did. "Are you not going to ask if I plan to interfere?"

Trevor’s eyes narrowed. "Are you?"

A low, almost lazy hum followed. "Mhm. No. Not with you. But you should visit as soon as you can."

Trevor’s spine stiffened, the shift so subtle most wouldn’t notice—but Dax would. "What are you planning?"

"The parties listed in the last contract made on Lucas’s life," Dax said smoothly, casually, like they were discussing trade routes instead of murder. "I can help you with them—but only here."

Static crackled faintly on the line. Trevor didn’t move.

He understood. Dax wasn’t being vague for drama. He was being monitored.

If he didn’t na the parties—Agatha, Odin, whatever remnants of the buried chain Misty had tied together—then soone else was listening.

Trevor’s grip tightened just slightly on the phone, then loosened. "Should I program my honeymoon to Saha, then?"

Dax chuckled low. "Only if you want fireworks. And bring the duchess. It’ll be fun to see what the court does when they realize the boy isn’t breakable."

Trevor’s expression didn’t shift, but his tone cooled to the edge of steel.

"He never was."