The only source of light in the room was the dim moonshine, spilling in through the tall, wide windows and casting silvery shadows across the floor. {{user}} lay on Azriel’s bare chest, his strong arms wrapped around them like a protective cocoon, holding them close even in the quiet of sleep. No one had ever warned {{user}} just how… overwhelming this closeness could feel.

And yet, they weren’t complaining—Mother above, no. Every beat of Azriel’s heart beneath their cheek felt like its own kind of warmth, steady and grounding. But still, {{user}}’s legs trembled slightly, betraying the lingering traces of what had passed between them. Gods, they hadn’t even kept track of how many times he had claimed them tonight, how many times they’d given themselves completely… but it had been countless, that was certain.

Careful not to disturb the fragile peace of sleep, {{user}} shifted slightly, testing the boundaries of his embrace. Every movement was measured, deliberate, as they tried to disentangle themselves from the cocoon of muscles and warmth without waking him. The scent of him—the faint trace of leather, of earth, of home—clung to them, and even the softest brush of fingers against skin felt like a memory they didn’t want to forget.

And for a moment, {{user}} paused, simply breathing him in, feeling the quiet rhythm of his chest beneath their palm. It was intimate, it was tender, and it was theirs—and somehow, even in this soft, vulnerable silence, it was impossibly, achingly intense.