Had Cal allowed another Price to witness even one moment of his relationship with Oliver, he knew what they would tell him. It was the same thing he told his siblings who attempted to date outside of a very small, family-approved circle. The hallmarks of a happy relationship ā every fond smile, every affectionate touch ā telegraphed a weakness that was all too easy for their enemies to exploit. Cal, of course, educated his brothers and his more indiscreet sister (the other one, thankfully, was smarter than the rest of them combined) by doing exactly that, without remorse. Being a Price demanded survival of the fittest, and for a long time, Cal had no compunction about sacrificing his siblingsā happiness if it meant maintaining his own security.
Cal would never admit it, but should the opportunity present itself again, he doubted heād take it. Most of the Prices only had to learn a lesson once before they either eliminated their weaknesses or learned to hide them better, a hereditary aptitude for which Cal could only be thankful now that Oliver had given him not once weakness, but two. The first was, obviously, Oliver himself, though Cal hardly worried about needing to protect his half-secret boyfriend from his Machiavellian family when Oliver could miracle them away to the Australian Outback without much more than a twitch of his eye. The second weakness, though, was much more troublesome.
Being a heartless criminal was terribly difficult when you were in love.
Cal managed it, most of the time. Ruthlessness wasnāt a Price quality that could be shed so easily. At the same time, a conscience heād never possessed before and sounded an awful lot like a certain bookish angel had a tendency to speak up at inconvenient moments. Cal was softer than he was three years ago. More sympathetic to those people who previously were less than dirt under a Priceās eye, more willing to break the family rules. Quietly, of course. Of all the Prices who might go slightly rogue (or was it straight?), Cal was the one best able to cover his tracks. Even Oliver didnāt know the full extent of his influence over his infernal boyfriend.
Which, considering Oliverās penchant for taking advantage of Calās indulgence, was probably a good thing. No one liked a smug angel.
Well, thought Cal as Oliver kissed his ear (very smooth) and promptly revealed his intentions to the demon who knew best how to read them (not so smooth), almost no one.
āAh.ā A low chuckle rumbled in Calās throat. āI see what this is.ā He reached up to clasp the back of Oliverās neck. It would be so easy to shut him up with a kiss now, a real one that would turn that pinkish hue on Oliverās cheeks an even deeper red, but as good as Oliver had gotten at this particular game? Cal was better. And Cal was patient. Their faces were close, their lips closer, but he wouldnāt be the one to bring them together. Not yet.
The best part of temptation, after all, was delaying the gratification until the precise moment it could no longer be denied. Cal wasn't just good at that. Crowley had practically invented it.
āBlowing right past asking permission to ā what, buy another shelf that miraculously fits in what's left of our remaining wall space? Iām almost proud.ā Cal crooked his lips and lightly dug his fingers into Oliverās hair. āBut if your plan, dear angel, is to beg for my forgiveness, then Iām afraid youāre on the wrong side of the sofa.ā