Stirs slowly, being drawn back to himself from a great distance. Kisses and alpha-smells, purrs that draw out echoes of the same sound from low in his own throat. He feels warm and good, contentment to such a degree that it makes his skin tingle and prickle, pleasantly, along his scalp, his spine.
He is taking something between his teeth, a bit of sweet licked off of fingertips. Bites down as his eyes flicker open once, and close again as he stretches, arms drawn up over his head, drawing his body to its full length and then shifting up a little to melt back on the presence behind him.
Burr, he thinks. It's so hard to care who it is, though. (Maybe Burr notices the flicked glance to a certain spot at the headboard, a bit of leather looped and tucked against the mattress; a sheathed knife, in case. It isn't a conscious move on Alexander's part and he has no desire or intent to use it. His caution is just written into him on an almost cellular level.)
This is what Burr wants. This is what many alphas want, and Alexander has played out the fantasy before, when he wasn't in heat, of being nourished and protected by the strong alpha mate. Never thought it would be the dark-eyed man that featured in Alexander's nightmares before he knew what past lives were.
It's instinct, he tells himself. Just instinct. It shouldn't unnerve him, that he's never been in quite this state before, the fever-warm heat washing through him, but without urgency, without active need, being in a warm bath and not a boiling pot. Shouldn't be so strange that he likes it.
Eyes stay closed as he lets himself be fed, lets himself wake slowly as the heat also wakes. Little kitten-licks to catch fruit's juices left on Burr's fingers. Tipping his head to the side to draw alpha into his lungs.
no subject
He is taking something between his teeth, a bit of sweet licked off of fingertips. Bites down as his eyes flicker open once, and close again as he stretches, arms drawn up over his head, drawing his body to its full length and then shifting up a little to melt back on the presence behind him.
Burr, he thinks. It's so hard to care who it is, though. (Maybe Burr notices the flicked glance to a certain spot at the headboard, a bit of leather looped and tucked against the mattress; a sheathed knife, in case. It isn't a conscious move on Alexander's part and he has no desire or intent to use it. His caution is just written into him on an almost cellular level.)
This is what Burr wants. This is what many alphas want, and Alexander has played out the fantasy before, when he wasn't in heat, of being nourished and protected by the strong alpha mate. Never thought it would be the dark-eyed man that featured in Alexander's nightmares before he knew what past lives were.
It's instinct, he tells himself. Just instinct. It shouldn't unnerve him, that he's never been in quite this state before, the fever-warm heat washing through him, but without urgency, without active need, being in a warm bath and not a boiling pot. Shouldn't be so strange that he likes it.
Eyes stay closed as he lets himself be fed, lets himself wake slowly as the heat also wakes. Little kitten-licks to catch fruit's juices left on Burr's fingers. Tipping his head to the side to draw alpha into his lungs.