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Zani doesn't know how Phoebe can sense it; that line of thought bubbling in her head telling her to get up the moment the knot between Phoebe’s thighs wanes down and detaches itself from her body after their climax's high.
But she knows, somehow; this, Zani finds out as her beloved holds her close. Their bodies press against each other as they lie down on their sides, limbs tangled and intertwined as the sweat from all their previous movement saturates their skin.
"You're on the last days of your cycle," Phoebe notes, reminding her again of the work she has for this moment, its utter lack thereof, "Your rut's coming to a close, the exhaustion from all that knotting is finally catching up to you. No one's going to fault you for laying in bed for a little longer than usual."
Despite her tiny stature, Phoebe is a force upon her neck, featherlight brushes of her lips inching at every nook and cranny, leaves no skin unturned as strands of her hair tickle and poke around Zani's jaw, tickling her every once in a while, here and there.
Zani grumbles in discontent, nosing into her head as a sign of acknowledgement.
"I've been fucking you every hour for the whole week because of that rut," She responds, matter-of-factly, the thought of each and every single time it's happened flies through her head—on the bed, against the wall, over her marbled kitchen counters, under the showerheads. Done it on every piece of furniture she owns in that barely used apartment of hers; not even the floors were able to escape their grasps. Over here, over there. Everywhere and—
"You still make sure to get up every morning to make us breakfast for us even when you're all sore because of me."
(Though she guesses it's also kind of not much of a fact, considering that's also somewhat of an exaggeration. She's effectively out of her mind when this happens, nearly every Alpha does even with the help of suppressants when they're in the presence of their one and only, the one they've decided to spend the rest of their mortal lives with—but the breaks are there, still. Restful naps every five-or-six hours and soft moments in between climaxes; she likes to make sure that she doesn't hurt her when they touch, doesn't want to make this a chore even though Phoebe makes sure she knows it doesn't feel that way when she always ends up gleefully curled up in her embrace for the night.
Still.
Some part of her had deemed it a necessity; a much needed exaggeration, she guesses she can leave it at that. Zani has to nail it down, make sure she delivers the exact effect she wants to convince her to let her leave for a moment even if she doesn't want to because she likes being able to lay dormant in Phoebe's arms all the same.
You're more tired than I am, she wants to convey, a fragment of her hazy mind starting to knit itself back together with that stupid, stupid rut no longer replacing every basic instinct in her body with the urge to realize the mating bite Phoebe's long cherished in the small of her neck; shouldn't I be able to take care of you the same?)
She doesn't get an immediate response to her question; a rather unfortunate thing that has Zani tilting her head down and carefully observing the abnormal look on Phoebe's face.
"Sweetheart?" Zani leans down when she calls for her, the bridge of her nose nuzzling at her forehead innocently before she looks her in the eye—unfocused pupils, widened eyes; she looks like she's lost in some kind of space, avoid facing the reality that is Zani waiting for her, wanting to be given a reason for her out-of-nowhere meltdown, and that just won't do.
For a second time: her name, then.
"Phoebe?"
It takes a moment—but the mention of her name is what snaps Phoebe out of her daze, anchoring her right back into this reality, pulling her away from the space she'd been lost in, the one that didn't have Zani in front of her, ona top of her; occupying the entirety of her line of vision with her unkempt features; a pair of horns worn away from having been held to for days on end on top of a bed of silver hair, accompanied steadily by the longing gaze that has yet to move away from her still reddened face.
All the attention has Phoebe flustered, a whine softly escaping her lips when she turns her head away.
"You can't just say things like that…"
"Like what?" There's a genuine confusion in Zani's voice, the blooming realization of the somewhat vulgar nature of her words yet to settle in as she continues on, "That I've been fucking you every hour for the whole week?"
From there comes another yelp, another soft thud against her shoulderblades that doesn't even has an impact—barely much of an attempt at leaving a mark when juxtaposed with all the scratches Phoebe's left on the valley of her back.
Ah.
Must be that, then.
(Well, she could leave it at that, honestly. Turn the conversation around and spare her sweetheart from the constant widening of her arteries. Phoebe doesn't have a lot of weaknesses, not in her ordinary, everyday life as a priestess among the countless acolytes that look up to her for her insights—but Zani isn't another acolyte; has never been just another face in the sea of nine-to-nines despite her ongoing claims of being a small cog in the machine. Not to the people who know her, certainly not to her one-and-only forever after, either.
Which means she knows something most people don't; something that she's used to her advantage many times before this one, and will continue to do so until the very last days of her life.
When Phoebe not so busy trying to rile her heart up with whatever new trick she doesn't even know she's doing, Zani's come to realize after all the time they've spent revealing to one another the contents of their hearts—more often than not, if she times it well enough, her girl cannot handle the pressure of being teased, and especially not when it concerns activities that liked to start from a kiss that means to do so much more and ends with the two of them collapsing from exhaustion on their bed.)
"You're getting red at the thought of remembering how much I like to be with you when I'm in my rut?" There's a glint in her eyes when she says it, a sense of mischief underneath when the remark is sent straight Phoebe's way, "Is that why you're spacing out? Was my beloved Phoebe reminiscing how much she liked getting pushed over my sofa while she screamed into my neck?"
It gets her, this opening course for a comment. Not meant to be the statement to corner Phoebe into the spot Zani wants her in, but close enough.
Her beloved whines, burrowing her reddened face deeper into the pillows beneath her head as if they're some sort of hiding place, "No…"
Not the sofa, huh. Just as Zani's expected. "On my office table, then?" Comes as another ask, a follow-up double down to her relentless teasing, "While I had to do that emergency paperwork yesterday and you were basically trying to get me back to bed by riding me but just ended up having me take you there instead?"
Even deeper now, to the point where Zani can barely even see a hint of her featherthin eyelashes fluttering in discontent at her continuous attack, "N—no…"
"Then the shower?" Something about this particular suggestion startles her, makes Phoebe twist her neck to an angle that has their eyes meeting, finally—Imperator, Zani hopes that didn't hurt—and everything begins to click into place, "It's the shower, isn't it? Cramped as it is, it does give me a reason to stay so close to you like we do on the bed, and you did seem awfully pleased pulling my horn while I was between your le—"
She's not given a chance to finish her words; another unfortunate thing happening upon her in less than five minutes from her previous misfortune. But Zani won't consider the start to her day to be so unlucky—not when she's cut off by the softest press of cloudsoft lips to her running mouth, sealing it shut an instant.
She doesn't complain when Phoebe doesn't pull away immediately, either. Phoebe knows that a momentary peck is enough to stop Zani from continuing to talk, enough to give herself the aforementioned chance to turn the conversation around and put an end to her still widening arteries. It's not the first time they've done this to each other—it won't be the last either.
But Phoebe keeps on kissing her gently, pulls her so near to her face to the point their noses are touching, their foreheads grazing against each other from their proximity. The momentary peck that no longer is one had been Phoebe's feeble attempt of a diversion, distracting Zani at the height of her 'cruelty' to Phoebe's already wavering psyche.
Then again—it had stopped being feeble at some point, didn't it?
At some point, somewhere between the realization that Phoebe was trying to undercut her successful teases and the closing of her eyes at the warmth that is Phoebe's lips on her own; Zani had done exactly what Phoebe set out to do, melting into her embrace and relishing in the moment that they can say belongs to them. Them and only them and no one else. Not her still stupid, stupid rut or the heat that she in turn induces in Phoebe when their hormones are no longer on full blast. It's just their moment of domesticity resulting from an embarrassment-born reflex, but it's all theirs to share; the thought of it has Zani smiling against those same cloudsoft lips, unbroken when they part at last.
"You're so unfair." Phoebe whines as they return to their previous rhythm, their breaths heaving to retain their oxygen supply from short-circuiting away despite the protests of their wanting hearts, "Really, really unfair."
"You're just so cute when I get to tease you." Though Zani wouldn't deny that she's also cute doing anything and everything else—but that's besides the point; it's what's happening now that matters most, throwing her complaint that isn't exactly one right back at her, "That's what's unfair."
And it's also unfair that Phoebe's primed her to this point, to a point that no longer were any of her comfiest retainers or even the long-standing sofa in her living room that's accompanied her through all her years adequate enough for her to sleep on by herself. Phoebe has changed her in ways that she never imagined before, hadn't she? Zani had been used to living alone, bidden to a life of solace by the lonesome of her own self and no one else's. Paperwork was an acquaintance turned friend turned practically-spouse, and her empty cans of Devil's Tax were all that kept her up raring and in a state that she could call alive through the days and night—but they'd long gone lost such statuses in her life, now replaced by Phoebe in front of her.
Her Phoebe, her one and only, her everything—at one point, she thought she might never even find someone so special to share such titles with. It's this thought that has Zani reaching out to her again, pressing another gentle, short-lasting kiss to her lips, a loving gesture to prepare her for what Zani says next.
"Thank you." Comes the whisper, soft. Beat. "For everything."
There's a hum; a comforting tune that melts through the air as Phoebe returns a peck onto her cheek.
"You don't have to go out of your way thinking you have to repay me for taking care of you." She mutters, her already soft voice turning even softer than usual, amicable warmth seeping into each and every crack of her ministrations; even the hand that's replaced her lips to thread through the fine lines of Zani's hair feels like the touch of the sun, too. "I like being able to stay with you even when you're in rut, it feels nice to know you trust and want me so much."
"Really?" Zani chuckles heartily, returning ever so slightly to her fervent teasing when she continues; "Even though I'm always clinging to you and make it difficult for you to actually take care of me because of how much my rut makes me want to knot you up and remind you who gave you that gaping bite mark on your neck?"
Phoebe chuckles back, endeared despite the somewhat vulgar nature of her words. "Especially even that." She agrees. her voice lowering down a notch with the next sentence that comes out of her mouth; "You're always so scared that I can't handle you when you're on your rut, really. I…"
There's a slight pause, now. Phoebe stops, takes a moment to lean into her, shifting onto her side and reaching to close the gap between them that could barely even be classified as one. They're so close already that Zani can hear the sudden acceleration in Phoebe's heartbeat, something that gets transferred onto her own heart when she feels Phoebe breathing against her ear; painting the surface of her lobes a faintish hue of pink.
"I like it when Miss Zani wants to make it known that I belong to her even when there's no one else to declare it to…" She whispers, her vibrato strained with the slight of a tease—she's picked up some of her tendencies over the course of their relationship, and now she's trying to turn the tables on her, fuck, Zani hadn't anticipated it would come to this. "I like Miss Zani a lot, you know? I like it when Miss Zani's inside of me."
A disgruntled breath almost has Zani choking, the same hue of pink now spreading to the surface of her face, deepening in its shade.
"Shit, Phoebe—"
"Is Miss Zani shy?" Phoebe ignores her swears in favor of the observation, giggling as her lips graze her ears. Maybe she'll reprimand her for it later, maybe she'll look past her transgressions; who knows? All Zani knows now is that she's the one put under the spotlight now. The role of culprit and victim now turned on its heel for a reversal, and Phoebe isn't so merciful for once. "Miss Zani's so cute when she's red—does Miss Zani not like hearing me say I like having Miss Zani inside of me?"
"Miss Priestess, you really are…" devious, cunning, insufferable—well, not insufferable, even though the pulse of wanton heat rushing through her veins could easily be described as insufferable if neither of them do anything about it; "If I can't say certain things, then you can't either."
"You did it first." Phoebe points out; a true accusation at its core, "I felt this way too, now Miss Zani knows."
She does, she does—Phoebe's made her point explicitly clear. It's fun to be the one tugging at her heartstrings, to see that lovely pink transmute into a vibrant shade of russet red that'll ink the canvas that is her skin; this unyielding and certain proof that they know how to fluster and bother each other out and about. But the things she's been saying…
Phoebe notices it too, Zani thinks. Her breath hitches, hand reaching down to make sure of something; only to affirm her suspicions when she grazes against the bulge on her stomach, gasping as she looks up at Zani once more.
"I thought you were exhausted." Phoebe says, shyer now.
"I was exhausted." That, she won't deny; but that exhaustion's far in the past. "It's not fair to be blaming me for getting turned on when you're so cute like this. I mean, did you hear the things you were saying? I like having Miss Zani inside me, Phoebe? The formalities, too? You know how that gets me in the bedroom."
The fact that Phoebe's squirming doesn't make this any better, either, now realizing what could happen if they don't separate from each other before the situation turns for the worse. Her knot's deflated for some time now. It could be quelled if they wanted to, considering that the rut won't kickstart her into a frenzy when it's nearly gone. Zani could pull out of her perfectly fine—she'd even forgotten she was still inside her with all their talks—and it would be the end of that.
Well, she could…
"But if you want to make sure I don't go anywhere else and stay here right by your side, Miss Priestess," Zani remarks instead, a sly grin tugging the corners of her mouth upwards. She puts the offer in Phoebe's hands, casting the net and waiting for it to set. "I can graciously give you a rather interesting idea you could use to make that happen."
There's a movement, a pair of legs shifting around to give her some space to move. Phoebe spreads her legs wide enough to allow her to rut around between her thighs, and that's an answer in itself.
"How kind of you, Miss Zani." Phoebe gives for an audible affirmation, giggling as she pulls Zani in with a tenderness that no one could ever replicate. It's just her, it's always just her—there's no one else she wants to be within the arms of if not her. "I'll take you up for that, then, since you offered so nicely."
The idea is never really told to her straight; any attempt of an inteligible sound finds itself lost in the midst of their appetites for each other growing once more.
But that doesn't matter, not really—they know each other best, that hasn't changed. There's nothing she has to say when Phoebe understands that whining her name is just one of the many things she can do to make sure she won't want to do anything else but mess with her under the comfort of their sheets for just a few minutes all over again.
"…The kitchen counter," says Phoebe.
"Huh?"
"It's the kitchen counter, too." She parrots again as they're waiting for the knot to unbind from her for the nth time, repeating the phrase once more when the look Zani gives her can't be explained as anything but bewildered, "When you came up to me while I was making your breakfast at the start of your rut… that's what I was also thinking about."
…The kitchen counter, right.
(It's somewhat hazy, the memory of her first day of her sweltering rut coming to her in pieces as she reminisces the morning after. She'd haphazardly thrown on the first dress shirt she could pull out of a hanger onto her body, unmulling frustration over unbuttoned buttons before deciding to leave them be in favor of following the scent of her Phoebe who was no longer between their bedsheets—only to find her in the kitchen, humming to the crackling of eggs and bacon on her ten-year-old frying pan, not noticing Zani slowly walking up behind her.
It's even hazier after that. Zani doesn't remember everything clearly, the rut must've taken over her once more at some point between her making a fuzzy mental note on how Phoebe looks so cute clad in one of her spare shirts and getting so close to her before enveloping her entire body within her cagey arms.
There'd been a squeak, Zani thinks. Phoebe had squeaked a surprised squeak of her name, Zani! when she tugged her shorts down to her knees—then another squeak that borderlined on the tippy-toes of a moan when she'd ghosted a finger over Phoebe's entrance, already temptingly wet even though she'd barely touched her, had barely made an effort to have Phoebe prepped and ready to take her knot as she's always done before. Then again; Zani… Phoebe had called for her while she was trying to see to it that Phoebe knows what she does to her body, for Phoebe to know how badly she wanted to stay close to her and—)
"Remember now…?"
Zani blinks, brought out of her daydream.
Right, that explains it.
"Well," Zani chuckles because yes, she supposes, she does get it; "guess I'll have to let you prepare breakfast again, huh?"
The giggle that comes out of Phoebe fills her with more dopamine than any sugary food ever could. If Zani could replenish her hunger from sound alone—she might as well find herself filled to the brim with the tenderness of Phoebe's voice; saccharine sweet as she loops around her consonants before spelling out her ohs.
Brighter than the sun, the smile that pokes the corners of Phoebe's lips upwards is something she would be savouring, too.
"Mhm, I guess you do."