hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive
Atrox had never been in a relationship long enough to know about the insecurities that came with it. Even when he had been entangled with Twinge, they had never been exclusive. He had never been tied down, let alone content with it, until Ryatah. So this is all entirely new for him. He doesn’t know the right things to say that would ease her heart or soften a blow before it even connects. Atrox can only tell her what he thinks and do his best to prove, every day, that he’s going to be there—even when she thinks he won’t.
But none of this rises to the surface. Not now.
Instead he can only bask in the warmth of the moment, feeling the curves of her press against him and know, finally, what home feels like. Home wasn’t the cool pines of the Chamber or the battlecries of an open war. It wasn’t the glory of conquest. It was here, in this quiet moment, with her at his chest.
Smiling down, he kisses her neck, lingering and enjoying the moment. When she pulls back, he lets her, but only just so, determined to keep her close. “I am very good at pretending,” he laughs, the humor clear in his yellow eyes. “Now get back here,” he says with a growl, closing the space between them.
There is another kiss, and then another, and then a nip of teeth against the impossible white of her coat—just to reminder her that he remains the same panther she had first fallen in love with. He continues like that, exploring her once more, discovering the angles of her that he has long ago memorized, until he pauses near her shoulder, smiling into the curve of it. “So should we discuss the,” his voice fades for a second as his sharp eyes flick up to consider her stardust wings, “recent changes or not.”
