In any other day, in any other mood, Liam would’ve had his head on a spike. As medieval as it sounded, it would have been befitting of a kind of amusement to sate the rage that he had harbored in him – and that was just the preferred ending. But he knew skill when he sees it. The fact that the man had managed to do shit right under his wing, right under his goddamn nose, was either stupid or ballsy. Either way admirable and well, worthy of consideration. Though most of all, while he was some kind of double-crossing mole, Ashton was a god defined; a body of mighty art and a brawn too tempting to see rotting; a kind of beauty that was too much of a waste to end in of death – most especially not when Liam had some other plan to the stalwart form that was bare and naked right before his very eyes. To merely see those round slabs of pec muscles slowly roll for even breaths was enough to make him feel a tingle in between his legs. And with the first wince of Ashton breaking through his drug-induced sleep, Liam finally gave out a little smile.