"You're such a little thief," Felix says from the doorway, but his voice is warm honey over broken glass. "That's the third shirt this week."
"You smell good," I tell him, not bothering to look up from my work. The nest needs another layer here, something soft against the concrete wall. "Like safety. Like mine."
"I smell like industrial-grade pheromone enhancers and yesterday's murder."
"Exactly." I turn to face him, still clutching his shirt like a lifeline. "Like I said. Safety."
He's leaning against the doorframe in just gray sweatpants that highlight the long outline of his cock and make my mouth water. He's all pale skin and sharp angles and scars that tell stories I know by heart. The tattoo covering the brand on his throat catches my eye, a dagger pointed down, wrapped in thorns. Sometimes I trace it with my tongue when he's sleeping, tasting the ink and trauma and transformation all at once.
"I brought you snacks," he says, holding up a basket like some kind of Big Bad Wolf. "Those protein bars you like. The ones that taste like cardboard."
"They taste like chocolate," I protest, but my attention is already wandering. The room feels too warm. My skin feels too tight. Everything smells like want and need and— "I think it's starting."
"I know." His nostrils flare slightly. "You smell like flowers on fire. When did you last eat actual food?"
I try to remember, but time gets slippery when we're between jobs. Yesterday? The day before? There was definitely a burger at some point, or maybe that was last week. The shadows in the corner of the closet shift, forming shapes that might be hands or might be nothing at all.
"Juney." Felix's voice cuts through the fog. "Food. Now."
"After." I turn back to the nest, adjusting a pillow that doesn't need adjusting. "I'm almost done. Just need to—" My hands won't stop shaking. "Fuck. I'm so restless. Like there are bees under my skin."
"That's the heat talking." He sets the basket down, and I can feel him watching me with those silver eyes that see too much. "Can I come in?"
The question makes something warm bloom in my chest. He always asks. Even after all these years, all these heats, all these times I've begged him to crawl inside my skin and live there forever. He always asks.
"Of course you can come in," I say, abandoning the nest building to press myself against him. His skin is cool against my fevered flesh, and I melt into him like wax meeting flame. "You live here too."
His lips find mine, soft at first, then harder when I nip at his bottom lip. He tastes like mint and control and all the things I want to unravel. My hips roll against his, seeking friction, seeking him.
"Nest first," he murmurs against my mouth, but his hands are already tangled in my hair. "Then I'll take care of you."
I whine but I listen. I always listen to Felix. He's the compass when my world spins off its axis. I grab the last few blankets, arranging them with fingers that fumble and shake. The nest is a cocoon now, soft walls to keep the world out and us in.
"There," I announce, pulling him into the center of my creation. "Perfect. Now kiss me like you mean it."
He does. Oh, fuck, he does.
His mouth claims mine with a hunger that matches my own, tongues dancing, teeth catching on lips. My hands find the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging, needing skin against skin. His shirt—my shirt now—gets tossed somewhere in the chaos of hands and want after I claw it off his lean, athletic body.
"Wait," he says, pulling back when we're both half-naked and panting. "Let me get the toys."
"Felix," I whine, grinding against the obvious bulge in his pants. "I need?—"
"I know what you need, Juney," His thumb traces my bottom lip, and I suck it into my mouth just to watch his eyes go dark. "And I'm going to give it to you. Every last fucking thing."
He disappears for a moment that feels like forever, returning with the box we keep for times like this. The times when biology demands things Felix can't naturally provide but tries to anyway because he's mine and I'm his and that's all that matters.
"Come here," he says, setting the box aside and pulling me back against him. His hands are gentle as they peel away the rest of my clothes, reverent like I'm something precious instead of something broken. "Let me see you."
I'm naked now, fever-flushed and trembling, and his gaze travels over me like a physical touch. He starts with my breasts, cupping them in his palms, thumbs brushing over nipples already hard and aching.
"So fucking perfect," he murmurs, then his mouth replaces his hands and I see stars.
He sucks and nips and laves attention on my breasts until I'm writhing beneath him, my hands fisted in his hair. Every pull of his mouth sends electricity straight to my core, building and building until I think I might die from want.
"Please," I gasp, but he's already moving lower, kissing a trail down my stomach that makes me arch off the blankets. "Felix, I need?—"
"Shh." His breath ghosts over where I'm wet and aching. "I know."
