Chapter Text
It’s become a habit, these late night visits. Sometimes he’s at her door, but more often than not, it's the balcony, in the quiet hours of early morning, when she’s alone.
It’s a miracle the railing hasn’t failed on him yet with the abuse it's taken, but she doesn't mind it on nights like this, when the weight of everything seems that little bit more heavy, the expectations of the hunters association, the unanswered questions that linger behind every door.
But he always seems to be there when she needs him. Sometimes she doesn't even realise it until he’s tapping against the glass, a crinkled bag of pastries clutched in his grip, a soft smile playing on his lips, something warm and affectionate in his gaze.
“You looked like you needed it.”
She still doesn't know what to call this thing between them. A kinship, maybe. An alignment between some part of herself and some part of him, something she hadn't been aware of before they’d met.
She always lets him in.
–
“You’re close with your family?”
The thick fur in her hands twitches, as if he hadn't expected the question. They're seated on the couch, close enough that their arms brush with every other movement, knees pressed together, touching, always touching. Skin against skin. Or in this case, skin against fur, the heavy weight of his tail curled around her hip, resting in her lap.
It's something to do with scent, he'd explained when she'd asked. He’d been flushed as he said it, a rush of heat climbing his throat up to his ears, and it had taken her asking more than once to get an answer. It was important to his people to share scent with those they knew, establishing a sense of kinship, safety.
“My family is important to me.” It takes her a moment to pick up the thread of the conversation, to realise he had answered her question. “But it's more than that.”
She twists in her seat to face him, breaking the contact between them, although it doesn't last long as he shifts with her, their feet tangling together as he gives her space. His tail disappears from view as he leans back onto the arm rest of the couch, considering her.
“You know that I’m the head of my family. That's more than just a title for us.” he shifts in his seat, brow creasing, as if he's trying to figure out how to phrase it. “They’re mine. My responsibility. My pack.”
Pack. The word carries weight, a sense of reverence, care. It's important to him, and he's mentioned it before, but she still doesn't think she understands it.
“I don't understand what that means,” she admits, shifting in her seat to face him. He’s dressed down for the night, his usual leather and dark denim traded in for something softer, a lightweight sweater to match the cooler autumn nights.
The light from the muted tv reflects from the lenses of his glasses as he considers her for a long moment before he reaches out, extending his hand, palm up. It’s an offer, not a demand, echoed in his softly spoken request. “Can I show you?”
She hesitates, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “I won’t bite.”
She gives him a look and he huffs out a laugh, looking pleased as she places her hand in his. The skin of his palm is warm - almost too warm - and rougher than she’d expected. Working hands. She can feel the strength in his grip, even as he carefully turns her hand and laces their fingers together.
“Close your eyes.” He squeezes her hand gently, just once. “Trust me.”
She wouldn’t have, before. Just a few months ago, the suggestion would have made her scoff - at his arrogance, at the idea that their relationship could be anything more than a temporary partnership, aligned against a common enemy. But a lot has changed since then.
“Focus on where our hands meet. That connection.” His voice is a soft murmur in the hushed silence that falls between them, before he asks again, “Do you feel it?”
At first, all she can feel is the heat of him. It’s always a surprise, the difference in their body temperatures, another reminder of the fact he’s not really human. Or rather, human and something else.
But that’s not all there is. When she focuses beyond that…
She feels it. She feels him.
It’s more than an awareness. It’s a familiarity, as much a part of her as the core nestled inside of her chest. A part of her that recognises a part of him, base and instinctive and true.
It's always been there, she realises. That sense of something more, a restlessness that's been itching beneath her skin for weeks, ever since she first met him. It settles when she’s near him, she realises, stabilising into something more secure, warm and safe.
When she opens her eyes again, he's shifted closer, closing the distance between them. His eyes are bright, amber burning into hers, a flush beneath the faint freckles on his cheekbones.
He doesn't make a move, doesn't do anything but wait, an intensity in his gaze as it flickers across her expression, reading her, and he knows, like he knew the last time, that she does.
His lips quirk, revealing the sharp points of his teeth. “You feel it.”
There’s no point denying it. Her gaze drops to his mouth, and a soft sound escapes the back of his throat, a choked breath. She feels the need in it, and recognises the same in herself.
“Can I kiss you?
His voice is soft, almost breathless. He’s closer to her in height like this, and she can feel the heat of him, the unmistakable weight of his presence. His hand rests on her knee, and she can feel the restraint in it, the heated urgency in his gaze.
She nods, and he closes the distance between them, pressing his mouth to hers.
His lips are soft, and a little dry, chapped from her central heating. He kisses her gently, and it’s so careful, so tender, she can’t help the way she melts into it, into him.
He makes another small noise in the back of his throat when she licks at his mouth, chasing the wild, metallic taste of him, before he draws back to meet her gaze.
He’s breathing hard, something intent and wild in his eyes as they flicker between hers, amber irises blazing like a beacon. He’s shaking, she realises, a tremor running down his spine, his chest heaving, fingers flexing at his sides, and she can see the reflective patches of his Evol flickering across his skin.
“I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this. For you.”
It should be cliche, and it is, but also, it isn't. He means it, a vulnerability in the way he looks at her, before he leans in and kisses her again, his head tilting as he licks at her bottom lip, coaxing her to open her mouth.
He tastes sweet, like the chocolate he insists on consuming, and something about this feels so right, it's as if she’s found what she was looking for, the missing piece she’d been searching for all along.
He chases her mouth when she pulls away, needing to breathe, needing to think, and his eyes are bright as he watches her, amber glinting in the low light, cheeks flushed and chest heaving.
He looks like sin, hair mussed from her fingers, lips wet and kiss swollen, and she wants to kiss him again so badly it almost hurts, her teeth digging into her lip.
He tracks it, his gaze dropping back down to her mouth, pupils blown as he leans in, almost imperceptibly, before pulling away. Respecting her wishes. Giving her space.
What if she didn’t want space?
She has dreamt about it. His hands, his mouth, the press of his teeth, kissing, biting, almost consuming - the desire so real, so visceral, she’d only known it was a dream when she’d woken up, breathless and panting.
But it’s too much. Too fast, and she can’t - not now. “Valko, I-”
“It’s okay.” He’s watching her, and there’s a tenderness in his smile, an understanding. “I know. Too much, too soon. I just- you know.” He huffs out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Got carried away.”
The flush on his cheeks has spread to his ears, highlighting the freckles on his cheekbones. Here, like this, he’s just a man, the sharp lines of his features softened by the dimmed lights and the warm cable knit of his sweater.
He reaches out, as if he can’t help himself, tracing the curve of her cheek before he leans in and brushes a soft kiss against her temple. He pauses there for a long moment, the strong arch of his nose pressed against her skin, breathing her in.
When he draws back, his eyes are soft, all tender affection, and something inside her breaks.
“Take all the time you need. I’m here for you, whatever happens.”
–
The rest of the evening is spent marathoning trashy reality tv and dating shows over boxes of takeout, and she will never get used to just how easy it is, being with him like this.
It’s somewhere around the early hours of the morning that she wakes up against him, her face tucked against his throat, legs tangled together. His arms are wrapped securely around her, tethering her to his body, and it feels right. Like something she'd been missing all along.
I’m here for you, whatever happens.
She’ll hold him to that promise.