Chris woke to the faint light that slipped through the curtains, painting soft lines across the room. For a moment, he didn't move. His body was warm, heavy with a safe feeling he couldn't explain, and it took a slow, bewildered heartbeat to realize why.
He was pressed against Dax.
The alpha's arm was draped over him, heavy and protective, his breath a steady rhythm against Chris's hair. The scent was unmistakable: spice, with faint traces of wine still clinging to his skin. The kind of scent that settled deep, that made the air itself feel heavier.
Chris stared at the expanse of Dax's chest in front of him, the rise and fall of it, the quiet power even in rest. He should've moved. He should've pulled away. But his body didn't seem to understand that, every instinct, every nerve still raw from being off suppressants, leaned into the heat beside him like it was gravity.
