"Good boy," Burr says, as that small pink tongue darts out, chasing juice and leaving behind a trail of warmth. Alexander is so much more accommodating upon waking, further into his heat. Stretches against Burr, purrs. Content, even on noticing Burr, his surroundings. Nothing of the anxiety of before, as he melts under the ministrations.

What had changed? Further into his heat? Or had Burr done something to make him feel safe, wanted? Was it a trick of the ring, or of everything that came before--orgasms drawn out under a skilled tongue? He is breathing in Burr's scent, that much as clear, and though his eyes dart once to that stip of leather--likely concealing a weapon--he makes no move for it, seems to forget it once his eyes leave it, relaxing once more. That he should need it at all is troubling, but Burr is not naive enough to be surprised. Many whores keep weapons at hand, for unruly or drunk customers. But someone hurting Alexander--pushing him down before he is ready, or despite his struggles--

He doesn't realize it before it happens--a rush of protection and safe spilling out of his scent glands, and his noises grow deeper, more rumbly, so they might be felt more through his chest. Tangles their legs together, as he continues to bestow small pieces of food. How wonderful Alexander's lips look, curling around a bite of strawberry, suckling at Burr's fingers.

He can feel himself grow warm, forces it down.

"You're so pretty," Burr says, and runs a thumb under his eyelids. "How did you ever get to be so pretty?"