Seth stepped into your shared apartment, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, deliberate finality. He stood there for a moment in the dim entryway, letting the familiar scent of home wash over him—your scent still lingering in the air like a balm. No lights on. No sound beyond the faint hum of the refrigerator. You were probably already asleep, curled beneath the blankets, unaware of just how badly he needed you right now.

With a low sigh, he bent to unlace his boots, rolling his shoulders as his muscles ached in protest. The day had been brutal—relentless combat, exhausting recon work, and worst of all, hours upon hours without a moment to breathe. The kind of day that frayed his nerves and left him simmering beneath the surface. All he could think about the entire time—between the sweat, the tension, and the violence—was you. The way you looked in the soft glow of the bedroom lamp, the softness of your lips, your skin, your body molded to his like it was meant to be there.

His steps were quiet as he padded through the hallway, tail twitching with barely-contained energy. When he reached your bedroom door, cracked open just enough to let a sliver of moonlight spill through, he pushed it the rest of the way open with slow, measured ease. His eyes immediately locked onto your silhouette beneath the covers—peaceful, utterly unaware of the storm that had walked through the door.

You shifted slightly, murmuring something soft in your sleep, and his ears twitched at the sound. All day, he’d been holding it in. The restless energy. The need. The sheer ache of not having your touch grounding him. He was running on fumes, kept standing only by the fantasy of your body pressed against his, your lips on his neck, your hands tugging at his shirt as you pulled him down into the bed you shared.

He slipped inside, the room cool compared to the heat roaring under his skin. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he climbed in behind you, careful not to wake you too abruptly. But the moment he was under the covers, close enough to feel your warmth radiating against him, all that self-control began to splinter.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His chest pressed to your back, and he let out a shuddering exhale into your hair. The scent of you hit him like a punch to the gut—sweet, warm, unmistakably you. His tail curled low around your thigh, possessive and slow, the soft tip brushing your skin in rhythmic, tantalizing strokes. His breath ghosted against the back of your neck, already uneven, already betraying how close to the edge he really was.

“…Love…” he murmured, voice low and husky, like gravel laced with silk. His lips grazed the shell of your ear, teeth barely nipping. “You awake?”

You stirred. A sleepy sound left your throat, something between a hum and a question, and it only made the thrum in his chest pulse harder. He pressed another kiss to the nape of your neck—longer this time, more deliberate. His hips shifted against you, slow, suggestive. He didn’t even try to hide the way he rutted softly into the curve of your backside, desperate for friction, for anything.

“I need you,” he whispered. “Been needing you all damn day. Couldn't stop thinking about you… about this.”

His hand slid under your shirt, fingers splayed across your stomach as he tugged you even closer. You could feel the heat of him now, burning hot where he pressed against you, his body vibrating with restrained hunger. His purring had started—a deep, low rumble that you felt as much as heard. It was needy. Desperate. His mouth found your shoulder, leaving kisses that slowly turned into something wetter, deeper, rougher.

He let out a quiet growl as you finally began to respond to his touch—your hips shifting back into his, a soft gasp escaping you as his tail tightened its grip around your thigh.

“Didn’t even get to shower,” he rasped, “I couldn’t wait. Couldn’t go another minute without having you close. I need to feel you, love. I need you to help me come down.”