Kings of the Underworld
The city stretched out before them, a glittering expanse of lights and shadows. From the balcony of their penthouse, Harry could see everything—the streets where he once fought to survive, the empire they had built, the kingdom they ruled together.
The war was over. For now.
But the peace was always temporary.
Tom stood beside him, fingers lazily tracing patterns along Harry’s wrist. "You’ve been quiet tonight," he murmured.
Harry tilted his head, eyes still fixed on the skyline. "Thinking."
Tom hummed, stepping closer, his breath warm against Harry’s neck. "Should I be concerned?"
A smirk ghosted over Harry’s lips. "Depends. If I decided to stage a coup, would you stop me?"
Tom chuckled, low and dark. "Darling, if you wanted my throne, I’d let you sit on my lap and rule from there."
Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away.
Tom’s hands slid around his waist, pulling him back against his chest. "You think I don’t notice when you get restless?"
Harry sighed, leaning into him. "It’s too quiet."
"The calm before the next storm," Tom murmured. "Let’s enjoy it while it lasts."
Harry turned in his arms, gaze sharp. "And if the storm comes for us?"
Tom’s smirk was all teeth. "Then we remind them why they should be afraid of us."
Harry held his gaze, something electric crackling between them. "You make it sound romantic."
Tom’s fingers tangled in his hair, tilting his head back. "Isn’t it?"
Harry exhaled, a slow, satisfied smile curling his lips. "In a twisted sort of way."
Tom kissed him then, deep and claiming, a promise sealed between them.
Let the world come for them. Let the war return.
They were untouchable.
They were kings.
And together, they were unstoppable.