Raw, Animal Magnetism #3
Dex’s chest vibrated quietly, an almost purr-like sound, and it worked through their body, loosening the tension incrementally.
Bit by bit, they eased back into the couch, into Dex, until they were almost entirely lax.
Both Dex and Jasmyn sighed in relief, as if Cya’s tension had been keeping them on edge as well.
As the movie progressed, Jasmyn snuggled deeper until she was nearly laying across Cya’s lap, head pillowed in the crook of their tail.
They ran their fingers through her fur, rubbing her ears, and she growled her satisfaction.
They smiled and let themself enjoy the closeness.
Just because their parents had denied them this type of affection didn’t mean they weren’t allowed to receive it, right?
Halfway through the film, Dex’s arm on the back of the couch shifted, pressing against theirs. They could have lowered their arm, now that Jasmyn was in their lap, but they didn’t. They stayed exactly where they were, heart galloping in their chest as his hand brushed theirs.
When they didn’t move away, his fingers grew bolder, his thumb dragging over the back of their hand.
They managed to quell their gasp, though their next exhale trembled.
Their eyes shuttered closed as he drew aimless designs with his fingertips, touch so light it nearly made them itch.
Then his nose nuzzled the side of their head, breath hot and moist on their scalp.
He inhaled deeply, like he was filling his lungs with their scent. That purr-like rumble deepened in his chest, and every inch of Cya’s skin prickled. Every nerve-ending was on high alert, every sensation dialed up to a hundred until fireworks danced along the trails his fingers blazed.
Shit, they were burning, and they never wanted it to end. They wanted to bask in the fire forever, but they couldn’t. Because the last time they’d gotten close, the last time they’d felt this desire—the pale imitation they’d experienced with Kent, at least—their world had crashed down around them.
They’d risen from the ashes, yes, but they didn’t know if they could do it again. If they let Dex in, if they showed him everything, they didn’t think they’d survive if he rejected them.
“Shh, easy,” Dex breathed in their ear, and they crashed back into their body, eyes flying open.
Their breathing was quiet but uneven, and their heart raced, sprinting in a blind panic behind their ribs.
Like he could hear it, he flattened a hand on the top of their chest, thumb and fingers splayed around the base of their throat.
He breathed in slowly, letting it out with just as much control, and they tried to match it.
It took nearly a full minute, but eventually, they were breathing in sync.
Jasmyn’s ears twitched, a slight whine scraping her throat, but she remained otherwise unmoving in Cya’s lap.
Either she was incredibly intuitive, or Cya had missed some sort of communication between Dex and his sister while their eyes had been closed.
Regardless, they were grateful Jasmyn was at least trying to pretend she was ignorant to their crash-out. They already had one witness; a second would have sent them bolting for the door.
Because fleeing was what they did. They’d been running their whole life, from the truth of who—and what—they were, from vulnerability and intimacy, from openness and authenticity.
They hid behind status and arrogance and icy cruelty.
Dex had seen it so clearly, right from the start, and he’d named it.
They were a coward; they always had been.
But that didn’t mean they had to remain that way; it didn’t mean they couldn’t be brave.
Courage was a choice, not a feeling. They could be scared and still stand strong in the face of it.
Because they weren’t the same person they’d been, and for the first time in their life, they wanted to be brave.
So Cya clasped Dex’s wrist in a vise-like grip and pressed his hand harder to their chest. He nosed at their ear as his other hand twined with theirs on the back of the couch, grip firm and grounding.
His voice didn’t waver as he said, “I got you.”
They nodded, and he squeezed their fingers, nearly hard enough to hurt. But they welcomed the ache. It was a crude reminder they were here and alive and real.
“Better?” he whispered, and they nodded again.
After another squish to their fingers, Dex loosened his grasp, like he was going to let go. Taking their first step toward courage, Cya tightened their hold on his fingers—not so much that he couldn’t pull away if he wanted, but enough to communicate that they wanted him to stay.
He hesitated for less than a second before his fingers slid between theirs until they fit together more comfortably.
His face nestled in the crook of their neck, and he hummed happily, his palm scalding their chest through their dress.
Smiling, Cya released his wrist and reached behind them, sifting their fingers through the fur on the back of his head, and he shivered.
“I got you,” they offered his words back to him, each one a trembling, pathetic thing, and he smiled against their neck.
“Good,” he said, lips painting their skin with every syllable he spoke. “That’s real good, highness.”
And Cya closed their eyes again and smiled.