Kyyre felt the tension in his chest loosen, but only slightly. The relief in Leon’s voice, the way his body relaxed, the slow, lazy flick of his tail—it all made Kyyre’s throat tighten. He had done that. He had made Leon feel at ease. The thought sent a thrill through his nerves, but it also made his stomach churn with something heavier, something too large to name.

Then Leon said that.

Kyyre’s eyes snapped up to him, horror flashing across his face before he could school it into something more neutral. Afraid of him? Was that what Leon thought? That Kyyre had been staring at him because he was scared?

His mouth opened instinctively, words bubbling up before his brain could catch up.

“I—no. No, I wasn’t—” He stopped himself short, inhaling sharply through his nose. If he wasn’t careful, if he let himself get too flustered, he’d trip over his own damn tongue again. His hands curled into loose fists at his sides, willing himself to steady.

He swallowed. “I wasn’t afraid of you,” he repeated, softer this time, more deliberate. His gaze flickered down to Leon’s arm, the way he cradled it, before lifting back to meet those sharp, glowing eyes.

He could still remember it. The trial. The blood. The way Leon had moved through it, owned it, like some relentless force of nature. But it wasn’t fear that had gripped Kyyre’s chest back then, and it sure as hell wasn’t fear now.

“I’ve never been afraid of you.”

The moment the words left his lips, he realized how much weight they carried. His face burned as he quickly averted his gaze, suddenly hyperaware of how close they were standing in the dim hall.

His pulse thundered in his ears. He felt like he was suffocating, but at the same time, he wanted—needed—to stay right here.

Leon’s tail had stilled, his usual smile just a little too slack, his eyes just a little too dark. There was something unreadable in his expression, something that made the air between them feel heavier, tighter.

Kyyre had to do something, had to break the unbearable moment before it swallowed him whole.

“You’re just…” His voice wavered, but he forced himself to keep going, keep talking, keep moving before he completely lost his nerve. “You’re a lot to take in, okay?” He tried to make it sound light, almost teasing, but there was too much sincerity behind it. Too much truth.

His hand twitched at his side, fingers briefly lifting like he might reach for Leon again, but at the last second, he clenched them into his sleeve instead.

“Anyway,” he muttered, clearing his throat, “I did say I wanted your company, so…you’re staying, right?”

It was meant to sound casual. Indifferent. But even Kyyre could hear the hope tangled in his voice.

As his words faded, he found himself staring, again. Pale pink eyes flickered over a hulking form he ached to have, if not only for a moment. Lovesickness making his stomach hurt and his eyes a little wetter than before, and it wasn't long before there was a lump in his throat that he had to swallow down.

-

Astrid settled back into the chair as he watched her look away.

Great. She was falling asleep.

..now what?

He looked up at the ceiling as well, feeling sick, almost floating. Being somewhere halfways restful, a peaceful, dark environment, made his bones and wounds ache more than they had when he'd been standing up.

Everything hurt.

Astrid reached up, rubbing his eyes. He wouldn't fall asleep. He couldn't, not now. Not like some idiot that would leave her alone, vulnerable, in a state like this. He wasn't stupid. Fawn wasn't either, and if she came after Andromeda in the middle of the night, she'd have nothing but the guards posted outside the door, which—to be fair—Leon could probably outwit. They weren't hard to get by. They also weren't hard to knock on their asses.

He let out a sleepy grumble.

"Damn women."

The humming of his bones was daring him to reach out, to give into the whispering thoughts that encircled his mind. Coaxing him closer to Kyyre with each gentle push, each suggestion of movement that made his logical thinking slip away. He could give him what he needed, he gave Andromeda what she needed. He could do that for Kyyre.

His muscles thrummed with energy, the desire, the need to do something. The sound of Kyyre’s voice made his now heavily dilated pupils flicker back and focus on him. His mind being halted in its tracks, even if his skin burned with intention. There was a moment of fuzzy confusion before it evaporated from his expression as he processed the words that were leaving his mouth. With a short nod, he confirmed his intent to stay with him. There was little hope of dragging Leon away now, not with the electrifying sensations that were rocketing up and down his spine.

“I’m a lot to take in.” He repeated slowly, sounding out each word carefully as he tried to come to terms with what Kyyre meant. There was still an impulse rummaging around in his head, to reach out and grab, to take. It was distracting.

“I’ll try to be less.” Leon offered, tilting his head to look over his own shoulder, noting the complete emptiness of the hallway. He wasn’t sure what to do now. Usually Andromeda took the wheel and steered them in whatever direction they were going to. He followed her intentions closely, but Kyyre was standing in front of him.

As he returned his gaze to Kyyre, he blinked as he was met with the already staring pink eyes. The pull in his chest again.

“I’m staying where?” He spoke slowly, unsure now. His good arm raised to gesture to the hallway they were standing in. “You wish to talk here?” He questioned, with each word that he was pronouncing there was a heavier gravel to it as though he were subduing some sort of growl. Leon wasn’t even sure what it was himself, but it kept coming from the back of his throat.

He willed for it to stop, to stop being too much for Kyyre. The effort made his body go still, looking at Kyyre almost pleading him to speak to give him some sort of direction, a command, anything.

–

She could hear the subtle shift of fabric as Astrid moved beside the bed, but her eyes remained closed. They were too heavy for her to open now anyway. The uncertainty of her safety did nothing to combat the pull of sleep as he dragged her under.

The exhaustion in her bones made them feel like lead, so heavy they were going to drown her. The blackness did not last long.

Whilst her body was unmoving, her unsteady breathing remained the same as before she slipped away, Andromeda was sent back into the darkest parts of herself. It always happened after an episode. It was as though the fit upturned her mind. Threw it into some sort of disorder, a dysrhythmia.

These episodes were occurring with increasing frequency, usually brought on by some sort of bodily trauma. At first it was subtle, the rolling of her eyes into the back of head for a second before she could correct herself. But gradually, it became a full bodied attack on her senses. Leaving her vulnerable and weak in the moments she was suffering the affliction of her own gift.

Kyyre’s breath caught in his throat.

Leon’s words echoed in his ears, but they were wrong. So wrong. The very idea of Leon trying to be less made something hot and panicked rise inside him, twisting in his chest like a knot he couldn’t untangle fast enough.

“No, no, no—” The words tumbled out in a rush, too raw, too desperate. He barely knew what he was saying, only that he had to say it, had to get it out before it lodged itself somewhere deep and unmovable. His body moved before his mind caught up, a step forward, a hand twitching up—only to falter.

Don’t be weird.

But it was already too late for that, wasn’t it? Because he wanted to soothe Leon, wanted to reach out and take away whatever made him think he needed to shrink himself down, whatever made that flicker of self-doubt slip into his voice.

Leon wasn’t too much. He was—

Kyyre’s fingers curled at his sides, his breath shuddering out as he realized just how close he had gotten. His gaze dragged down before he could stop it, flickering over the firm muscle of Leon’s shoulders, the way his dress shirt stretched against his frame, pulled taut where his body naturally commanded space. The flickering firelight cast shifting shadows against him, making the ridges of muscle at his forearm stand out more sharply. Even the broken arm, even the faintest trace of blood against his sleeve, did nothing to dull the sheer presence of him.

His tail, lazily flicking behind him, hypnotic in its own way. The slowness of it. The raw, restrained energy lingering under his skin, like he was holding himself back from something Kyyre couldn’t name. His own mouth had gone dry, and he fought the urge to wet his lips as his eyes snapped back up to Leon’s face, to the silver-green glow of his pupils reflecting the dim light of the hall.

He had to force himself to breathe.

“You’re not too much.” The words came out quieter, but just as urgent. His pulse hammered in his ears, like a war drum inside his ribcage, making him feel so exposed, like Leon could see how unsteady he was.

But Leon wasn’t stepping back.

His muscles were so still now, unnaturally so, like he was bracing himself, like he was waiting for something. For Kyyre to say something, do something. It made Kyyre’s stomach tighten, because for the first time—he was the one being looked at for an answer. He was the one Leon was deferring to, was waiting for, and the weight of that realization nearly knocked him flat.

“I mean—you’re you.” His fingers flexed, the heat creeping further up his throat. “That’s—” That’s what I want.

He bit back the thought before it could fully form, before it could send him spiraling even further. The feeling was already too much—the weight of Leon’s gaze, the way his body felt too hot under it, like it was pressing in on him, making it hard to think straight.

“I just—” Gods, stop talking, stop fumbling over yourself like a fool.

His mouth snapped shut, lips pressing together. He swallowed thickly, his pink eyes darting up to Leon’s face again, and—fuck. The way he was looking at him. The way his gaze was pleading, waiting—for what, Kyyre had no idea, but it made something unsteady unravel inside him.

His step forward felt like a mistake now, like he had gotten too close, like Leon could feel how nervous he was, how tightly wound he’d become in a matter of seconds. But Kyyre didn’t step back.

And that terrified him.

His body felt too aware, too overwhelmed by everything happening in this narrow space, in this tiny little hallway where Leon stood in front of him like something larger than life. He had no idea what he was doing. No idea what Leon wanted from him.

But gods help him—he wanted to figure it out.

He could feel the eyes roaming over him but he didn’t so much as flinch under the scrutiny, keeping himself planted on the spot, letting Kyyre progress however he desired. There was no strong remark, only something quick and soon cut off that made Leon’s head tilt to the side, still expecting him to continue. His flitting expression was hard to keep track of, he couldn’t figure out if Kyyre wanted him to leave or stay or something else. It was like he was scared of him but refusing to back down, it made his skin crawl with apprehension.

This was a new kind of adrenaline, simply the unknown of Kyyre’s inner thoughts, letting his own mind spiral as he tried to piece together what he was thinking. The nerves and anxiety balled up into a rush of adrenaline that made his blood seeth with heat.

His head remained tilted to the side as he listened dutifully. The sentence never truly was finished, a spluttering of beginnings but nothing complete. He wanted to know what he was about to say.

“What is it that you want, Kyyre?” Leon pushed, letting his voice drop in volume and subsequent octave, eyes lowered to look down at him. Lashes hiding his whole eye from being seen as he tried to figure out the puzzle that was Kyyre.

He certainly spoke a lot more when he was away from Astrid. Even the memory of the other man made his muscles pop, his good hand flexed ever so slowly as he tried to work out the tension from his muscles as subtly as he could manage. It didn’t seem to be helping.

What wasn’t helping the situation was the proximity, there was all but one small step between them. Leon could almost imagine the warmth of the other man radiating towards him, or was that really the start of his body heat just reaching him. He wasn’t entirely sure.

What he was sure about was the scent that was lifting from his skin, it seeped into his nose and spread throughout his brain like a narcotic. Making his head spin, sending him giddy with the pheromones. He knew people’s scent could make his head swirl but this was something else, a rawer sensation that gripped his brain with thorn sharp talons. Corrupting every other thought with Kyyre, the image of him before Leon, the way the flickering flame painted his hair all the colours of fire. The tainting of his eyes with the darkness, the smallest tremble of a muscle.

Leon’s chest rose sharply with each intake of breath, unable to take a steady lungful of air without his body shuddering.

He did his best to stay still, but the windmill of his tail was on hyperspeed behind him. The tension in his muscles wasn’t leaving and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He was waiting for something, whatever that something was. He craved it.

“What do you want from me?” He questioned again, slowly so that his canines were exposed by his ministrations. Leon was awaiting the order, the command to talk to move to do anything. He wasn’t used to this and it was melting his thoughts into a puddle of desperation. Desperation that was plain as day on his face.

Kyyre’s breath hitched, a sharp little inhale he couldn’t suppress. His whole body felt like it was thrumming, every nerve alight, every muscle wound tight with something too big, too hot for him to contain.

Leon’s voice had dropped, all rough and low and demanding, curling around his senses like smoke, sinking deep into the marrow of his bones. It was too much—but not in the way Leon seemed to think.

Gods above, this wasn’t fair.

Kyyre could barely think straight, his mind tripping over itself as it tried to process everything at once—the heat of Leon’s body so close to his, the near-silent sound of his breathing, the flicker of muscle tension he was trying to mask. The windmill spin of his tail.

His scent.

Oh, gods, the scent of him.

Kyyre had caught it before, of course. It was impossible not to when they’d been fighting together, moving together, bleeding together. But now—now, it was thick in the air between them, clinging to his lungs like something syrupy and heady and all-consuming. It was making his stomach clench, making his throat feel tight, making his brain churn in slow, stuttering circles because why was this affecting him so much?

Why couldn’t he look away?

Leon tilted his head, silver-green gaze burning into him, watching, waiting. That steady, patient kind of waiting that was somehow more intense than anything else he could’ve done. Like Kyyre was something worth studying, something worth figuring out.

He was going to die. Right here, in this hallway. His heart was going to give out under the weight of this tension and he was going to drop dead at Leon’s feet.

His fingers twitched at his sides like they were trying to contain the riot inside him.

The question came again, slow and deliberate, every word dragged out just enough to set his skin on fire. And Leon’s mouth—his teeth, sharp and bared in the dim glow of the hall, his canines flashing with the movement of his lips.

Kyyre’s thighs tensed. His breath was coming too fast now, too shallow, barely reaching his lungs before he had to take another.

What did he want?

The question spun in his mind, looping over itself, unraveling and tangling again into some indecipherable mess because—what did he say? How did he explain this feeling clawing up from inside his chest?

Kyyre had wanted a lot of things in his life. Things that made sense. Things that were attainable. But this?

This felt dangerous.

His pink eyes flicked down before he could stop himself. Down to the line of Leon’s throat, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. The broadness of his shoulders, the tension still holding there, barely contained, like he was restraining himself from some unseen force.

Then his lips.

Fuck, his lips.. what he could do to those lips..

Kyyre swallowed thickly, but his voice was nowhere to be found. His body felt like it was burning, his skin too tight, too hot, his muscles trembling with the effort to stay still.

He had to answer. Leon was waiting.

But all he could do was stare, frozen in place, caught between instinct and rationality, between hunger and fear.

The questions were left unanswered in the air, hanging there and abandoned as Leon watched the way that his gaze dropped. There was an unspoken tension hanging between them; it felt thick, almost like he could chew on it.

The roaming eyes made his breathing hitch, an unfamiliar sensation to experience, it made his eyebrows crease together in confusion. Why had he felt his lungs stagger out that breath, why had he struggled to make a cohesive thought?

It didn’t help that Kyyre wasn’t looking up at him, he didn’t even flick a glance in his direction, not once as he savaged his body with those eyes. The line of sight was so obviously not centred on his face, not until it lifted but it was still too low and it made his lip twitch.

Feeling his tongue moving across his lower lip before he had time to register that he was salivating. Not enough to drip from his mouth, but enough to make him swallow sharply. Only for it to be replaced almost immediately.

His hand flinched. Why was Kyyre looking at him like that? Why had he not spoken a word to him? It made his tail slow to a halt, the thing lay there limply as he tried to process the urges in his body.

He wasn’t a complete idiot, he knew what it was but why it was happening was bewildering. This little creature, standing in front of him, was completely eclipsed by his own torso. So why did he want to..

Leon’s body moved forwards, closing that tiny one step gap between them to leave the smallest sliver of space between them. He had to dip his head to look down at Kyyre now, the loose strands of ruddy red hung from his temples and veiled his face from all but the man in front of him. The free hand rose up from his side, still tight with restraint as it found a home on the wall beside Kyyre’s head.

His forearm pressed against the cold stone, it was then he noticed now searing hot he felt as the stone kissed his skin and bled that coolness into his veins. A long, drawn out breath left through his nose.

With each breath, his chest came dangerously close to brushing against Kyyre, only giving him a modicum of space once he released his lungs.

He didn’t know what to do, he wasn’t entirely sure why he had stepped forwards. Perhaps he wanted to test the waters, uncover what made Kyyre so nervous around him and others. Maybe there was something to use here, in the alliance and well…for himself.

The look Kyyre was giving him made the fur along his spine stand up on end, pushing aggressively against his shirt, bringing back that uncomfortable itch to his skin. The fur on his tail lifted as well, increasing its size behind him.

“What do you want from me.” Leon repeated his question, except this time it didn’t have that increased inflection at the end. It was low and quiet, spoken only in that small world he had created between the two of them.

A command of his own rather than a pleading question, he wanted to know and he couldn’t take it any longer. It made his muscles bundle up tightly, made his flesh burn. He needed some kind of answer.

Air stuttered out of him in a shivering exhale, his lungs tightening and heart skipping beats like they’d forgotten how to function properly. His whole body was betraying him, stiff and frozen yet burning, every inch of his skin prickling under the oppressive weight of Leon’s proximity.

He was right there. Right there, right there, right there.

Heat radiated off him in waves, sinking into Kyyre’s bones, setting his nerves alight. Every small shift, every ripple of tension beneath Leon’s skin, was impossible to ignore. The warmth of his breath, so close it ghosted across Kyyre’s cheek with every exhale, made his spine lock up, made his throat close around the air he so desperately needed. His fingers twitched at his sides, nails pressing crescents into his palms as if the sting of pain could root him in the moment, could pull him from the spiraling descent of his own thoughts.

But Leon’s voice—that voice—dragged him deeper.

It wasn’t a question anymore. Not really.

It was a command.

And Kyyre felt his resolve shatter into dust.

A tremor ran through his legs, so slight it was almost imperceptible, but he felt it like an earthquake inside his own body. His breath hitched, his lips parting slightly, but no words came. How could they? His mind was blank and yet overflowing at the same time, thoughts crashing against each other in a frantic, dizzying storm.

He couldn’t think. Not properly. Not with Leon standing so close, his body crowding into Kyyre’s space, pressing his presence into every inch of him without even touching him. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the pink of his irises in dark, hungry pools. His skin was unbearably hot, his heartbeat hammering like it was trying to escape his chest, and no matter how hard he tried to will himself to move, to step away, to break the tension crackling between them, he couldn’t.

Because his body didn’t want to move away.

The realization hit him like a strike to the gut, sending another tremor through him. His mouth was so dry, his fingers ached to reach out, to grab onto something—onto him—to steady himself, to ground himself in the whirlwind of sensation.

He shouldn’t be reacting like this.

He should say something. Anything. He should push back, should move, should do anything other than stand there, drowning in the suffocating heat curling around them like smoke.

But his tongue wouldn’t work. His lips wouldn’t move.

All he could do was stare.

His pink eyes flicked up, locking onto Leon’s face—what little of it wasn’t obscured by the veil of ruddy red hair hanging between them like a curtain, shielding them from the rest of the world, sealing them in this unbearably small, unbearably hot space.

Leon’s scent—rich, strong, something so distinctly him—filled Kyyre’s lungs, burrowing deep, making his head swim. His thoughts, already chaotic, grew even more frenzied, scattering in every direction, latching onto everything—the sheer size of him, the way his muscles flexed under his skin, the ripple of motion in his throat when he spoke.

He should look away.

But he couldn’t.

Leon’s chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, and Kyyre couldn’t help but watch the way his body moved, how close it was to brushing against his own. The way his exposed canines caught the dim light, sharp and gleaming. The way the fur along his arms bristled, standing on edge, betraying the tension coiled in his frame.

The silence stretched between them, unbearably thick, and Kyyre knew he had to respond, had to say something, had to breathe—

But the words were strangled somewhere in his throat, tangled in the heat thrumming between them, in the unbearable pull that made his knees weak, that made his fingers twitch, that made his body scream with a want he wasn’t ready to name.

There was no answer, not even the rising of his throat in the attempt of forming a word. There was no bubbling of a thought behind his eclipsed eyes, only blind panic. Leon felt his own features wince at the lack of response, now he was dead in the water.

Had he done the wrong thing?

Leon shifted his arm on the brickwork, feeling it pull at his skin and relieving some of the tension that was coiled up within but it did nothing to soothe his spiralling mind. His eyes cast down at Kyyre, waiting for some kind of order, even the dart of his eyes to somewhere, anything would be catered to. No, instead Kyyre kept his gaze steadily pointed up at his own and Leon was frozen to the spoke.

The ever present lingering of Kyyre was wrapped around him now, drowning his senses, it was impossible to think with the tendrils of his scent pushing down into his lungs and taking control. It wasn’t fear that tainted him, it was something else wrapped up with anxiety and anticipation that made Kyyre’s hands shake at his sides.

Leon let his eyes drop to look down to where Kyyre was gripping his own hands tightly enough to create divots within the flesh. This wasn’t going well. He wasn’t doing the right thing. Carefully, Leon withdrew his arm from the wall, taking some of the dust with him as he leaned up straight. His small steps back allowed the pair to breathe something other than each other.

He kept himself there, almost panting as he swallowed back the saliva. One strike of his tail, kinking it at the tip.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was levelled now, no drawn out vowels or silly implications. Simply sincere as he watched the form of Kyyre tremble. Was he ever not trembling? He was curled up on that platform, he let him pin him to the ground in the hand to hands. The memory stirred something within him that he forcefully pushed away from the front of his mind.

The feel of Kyyre in his hands, the pressure he pushed down onto him, all of it.

Leon shook his head and lifted a clawed hand to push through his hair, making it stick up at awkward angles. Some strands flopped back into position, others remained upright and unkempt. His chest heaved for air he didn’t know he needed and was that a sweat on his skin? As though he had been out in the noon sun, roasting himself. What a complete and utter mess.

“Shall I walk you back to your quarters?” Leon’s eyes moved away to peer down the hallway, but his lips tried to slip into that easy smile. He managed to make it rise to his face, flickering a glance over to Kyyre and waiting for his response. There was a gleam of concern behind his eyes and guilt that he had acted to brash, so forwardly.

He thought people liked it when he did those things.

The sudden loss of warmth was like a slap to the face, like being plunged into ice water after basking too long in the sun. His skin bristled, gooseflesh prickling up his arms in a delayed protest. His fingers twitched, the painful indents of his nails against his palms the only thing anchoring him as the pressure of Leon’s presence receded—just barely, but enough. Too much.

The heat that had wrapped around him, that had invaded every inch of his space, was gone, and the absence of it sent his mind into a tailspin. His body swayed forward, just slightly, barely perceptible, a reflexive motion toward what had been taken away. A pathetic, involuntary reach for something he hadn’t even known he wanted until it was gone.

And Leon was apologizing.

Kyyre’s stomach twisted violently. Apologizing? For what? For crowding into his space, for backing him against the wall, for the breath-stealing intensity of his presence pressing in from all sides?

For making Kyyre want it?

His lungs burned as he dragged in an unsteady breath, as if his body didn’t want the new air that replaced the thick, intoxicating haze of him. His fingers clenched harder. His eyes flickered up to Leon’s, searching for—what? An explanation? A reason for the abrupt retreat?

And then he saw it.

The sweat dampening his skin, the way his chest rose and fell just a little too fast, the way his tail lashed once behind him, a single sharp motion betraying the tension still coiled in his body. He wasn’t unaffected.

Kyyre’s thoughts tangled, tripping over themselves in a chaotic spiral. He should say something. He needed to say something. He wanted—

He didn’t even know.

All he knew was that the air between them felt wrong now. Too open. Too cold.

Leon’s voice came again, smoother now, like he was trying to settle the moment, to push past it. Like he hadn’t just had Kyyre’s entire body short-circuiting with a single step forward. Like he hadn’t just ripped it away.

"Shall I walk you back to your quarters?"

Kyyre almost flinched.

No.

The word screamed through his head, visceral and immediate, but it never made it past his lips. Instead, his jaw locked, his nails digging crescent moons into his skin, his entire body tight with something he couldn’t place—frustration? Confusion? Desperation?

He hated this. Hated the way his body still buzzed, hated the emptiness where Leon had been, hated the stupid, curling sensation in his stomach that demanded something more—something he couldn’t even define.

And he hated that he missed it.

He couldn't speak.

But actions spoke louder than words.. right?

His body moved before his mind could catch up, a trembling, instinctive step forward, his stomach twisting into knots so tight they felt like they might snap. His eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the world, blocking out the fear, the uncertainty, the sheer madness of what he was doing.

And then—heat.

Blistering, suffocating, all-consuming, him.

Kyyre pressed himself into the solid expanse of Leon’s chest, his body so small against the broad, towering frame before him. He felt the way the warmth of Leon’s skin bled through his shirt, seeping into him, setting every nerve alight in a wildfire that spread with terrifying speed.

The tension in his limbs should’ve locked him in place, should’ve stopped him, but it was too late. The second his forehead touched the burning skin above Leon’s sternum, the second his breath shuddered against it, there was no going back.

His fingers twitched at his sides, useless, shaking. His heart pounded so viciously in his chest he swore it would bruise his ribs, but he still didn’t move away.

Don’t pull back.

Don’t ruin this.

His breath left him in a slow, unsteady exhale, the sound barely audible against the pounding of his pulse in his ears. The closeness, the heat, the scent—it was all too much, too much, and yet—

He needed it.

His mind was screaming at him, his body trembling under the weight of something he couldn’t name, but he stayed. Eyes still squeezed shut, face still pressed into the unbearable, perfect warmth of Leon’s chest.

Because the moment he pulled away, he knew—he’d lose this heat forever. That Leon would hate him. Pull away. And never be that close again.

And, as much as Kyyre barely knew this man, the thought was terrifying.

He felt the fizzle of hope in his chest begin to die out as Kyyre simply stared at him, there was no reply to be heard as the pale man gazed at him. What was he supposed to do now? As much as it annoyed him, he began to wonder if he needed to seek out Astrid.

Despite himself, his lungs still punished him, drawing in shallow intakes and betraying the lingering feeling in his stomach. There was something that felt like pain, something sharp in his ribs, cutting through like a blade but there was no physical wound. His eyes slipped away from Kyyre, giving up on trying to fix this situation. Whatever he felt didn’t matter because he had dashed all hope of it advancing any further.

At least that was what he thought until the pressure of something against his collarbones made him look down.

His eyes went first, sliding down to see the strands of white hair bleeding onto his skin, sticking there with the light sheen of sweat holding the pieces in place. His breathing stopped as he realised that Kyyre was pushing his weight into him, leaning his entire form against him. It sent shockwaves through his nerves, radiating from the epicentre at the base of his throat.

Had he missed something? He thought Kyyre was upset with him, but this looked like something else.

At the first intake of breath, Leon almost jolted at the return of his perfume. It made his head feel light and woozy. His fingers tingled with pin pricks of sensation, reminding him that he was just standing there was Kyyre pushed into his muscles.

The one pinned to his chest remained there, ignoring the dull throb of the bone, that was nothing in comparison to the rest of his experience. His free hand was frozen in place, but the moment his eyes darted to the side and saw where the white skin melted into his own, his arm snapped around Kyyre like a snare.

Pulsing with energy, he secured his grip on him like a vice, careful of his claws. Taking the time to make sure the needle sharp tips didn’t bite into his skin. The heat that moved through him was almost enough to fell him, to make him bend the knee before Kyyre. This was nothing like what he felt with Andromeda. He loved her, yes. But this was a whole other playing field.

The next thing to take up space was his tail as it began to wag quickly behind him, the only hint of movement aside from his ragged breathing. His hand gripped the opposite waist of Kyyre, crinkling the fabric in his grasp, feeling the flesh beneath its thin veil of clothing.

Head dipped low, almost resting against the top of Kyyre’s crown, eyes still wide with awe and sparkling with excitement. He showed no embarrassment for the way his lips parted to aid in his breathing, the beginnings of a pant forming while his heart thudded against his chest to keep up with the demand for energy.

The only sound that carried around the hallway was his increasingly laboured breathing and the swipe of his tail through the air, creating a small breeze with the movement. Leon’s grip on Kyyre did not waiver, did not alter as he stood there, possessively grasping to other man. Ensuring he remained flush against his chest, even if there was a paper-thin barrier between them comprised of his dress shirt.