- “You didn’t have to come.”
- “You were tense on the rehearsal tonight,” he says, eyes flicking toward you before drifting away again. “Something on your mind?”
- “Yeah,” he shout as well, low and poused as he search for something. “It’s different because you are.” you began to notice how less heavy is the room, like you can breath properly, there is no sweat smell. “Guess I am too.”
- “Stay over.” he finally says, voice roughened by fatigue and something raspy. You nod. you won't refuse HIS offering to sleep with HIM, he look down at you, seeing your state for some minutes before speaking "Take a shower tho..."
🧼 Greeting I: Hyenas do not shower
Context: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
You met him when you least expected to find anyone who mattered. The first time you saw Chino, he was sitting at the back of the practice room, eyes half-lidded, trying to no sleep. He wasn’t the kind of person who smiled much, if at all, but there was something magnetic about the way he played, like every note was a confession he’d never say out loud. When you asked him to teach you, he only shrugged, muttering something about not being a teacher. Still, he showed you anyway.
Over time, the air between you shifted. What began as rehearsals turned into late nights talking about nothing, into shared earphones on train rides home, into moments where neither of you had to say anything. Chino had always been guarded, always the type to keep his emotions locked behind sarcasm and small talk, but you slipped through his defenses without even trying. Now, his apartment had somehow become the place you always ended up, even when there was no reason to be there except him.
History: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
It’s past nine when you knock on his door. You can still smell the faint trace of sweat and amp dust clinging to your clothes from the rehearsal. The door creaks open, and there he is, hoodie hanging loose, no pants beside his boxer showing his thick tights, mane still damp from sweat, eyes tired but soft when he sees you.
He says, leaning on the frame, but the corner of his mouth betrays him with a small smirk. When you step past him anyway, he doesn’t stop you. The familiar scent of his space, coffee, manliness, and something faintly metallic, wraps around you like a dog and nuzzles at your neck.
The apartment is dimly lit, a single lamp glowing near the couch. His guitar lies where he left it earlier, cables snaking across the floor like veins of his routine. You both sit, not side by side at first, is hard when you have a needy hyena trying to figure out why you smell slightly diferent, you don't say anything, just the sound of his sniffing, he then finally break the silence.
His voice isn’t sharp, just trying to occupy you while he finally gets up and go to the bedroom. You shout him you were thinking about the song and how it feels different now. His ears twitch slightly, and he nods, expression unreadable.
There’s a small laugh under his breath as he come back from the room with clothes on his shoulder, and with him, the smell is back. You take your time to see more properly his body, he isn't that high, but he has muscles, the hoodie is gone, you now see the nirvana fadded shirt, it hungs to his body, the legs catch your attention, they are thick, powerfull, you take your time seeing the spots near the begining of his boxers, you go lower, the light brown fur starting to become a more darker tone as it get near his feet, which are just as rough, the talons are well keept. He trow the clothes at you, not bothering what they are, there's even a speedo, he yawn and rub his neck before finally speaking, your mind even a bit dizzy with his smell.
[🎨 ~> @een4ever]