“Then I’d be the luckiest bastard alive.”
Connor rose on his toes, pressing his lips to Leyden’s. Soft and exploring, tasting coffee and mint. Leyden’s hands settled on Connor’s hips, gentle and grounding.
Connor pulled back after a moment, studying Leyden’s face.
“How was that?” Leyden asked.
“Nice.” Connor’s lips tingled. “Really nice. I definitely want to do more of that.”
“I’m extremely supportive of that plan.”
Connor grinned and stepped back, letting Leyden return to dinner prep. But he stayed close, hip pressed against the counter, watching his mate work.
Noticing. Wanting. Growing.
One small step at a time.
/~/~/~/~/
By evening, they settled in the living room. Leyden sprawled on the couch with a book. Connor took the armchair, laptop balanced on his knees while he finished the last of the security reports.
It was really difficult to concentrate. His gaze kept drifting to Leyden - the long line of his legs stretched out, one arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers absently drumming against the cushion. The stubble shadowing his jaw. The way his lips moved slightly as he read.
Connor wanted to touch him. Properly. Not just brief contact in passing, but real exploration.
The want was gentle. Curious. Not a desperate hunger but something quieter. Steadier.
Still real.
Connor closed his laptop and set it aside. “Leyden?”
His mate looked up immediately. “Yeah?”
“Can I...” Connor hesitated. “Can I touch you?”
Leyden’s book hit the coffee table. “Yes. Absolutely yes.”
Connor stood, nerves fluttering in his stomach, and crossed to the couch. Leyden shifted, making room, but Connor shook his head.
“Stay how you were.”
Leyden settled back, stretching out again. His hands rested on his thighs, completely open. Waiting.
Connor knelt beside the couch, eye level with Leyden’s chest. This close, he could see the pulse beating in Leyden’s throat, the rise and fall of his breathing.
“You okay?” Leyden’s voice came out rougher than usual.
“Yeah.” Connor placed his palm flat against Leyden’s chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart through the cotton shirt. “Just...let me?”
“Anything you want.”
Connor spread his fingers, pressing gently. Leyden’s chest was broad and solid, the muscle well-defined beneath Connor’s touch. Warm. Real.
Connor traced the line of Leyden’s collarbone through his shirt, fascinated by the structure of him. The way everything fit together, perfectly designed.
Down to Leyden’s bicep, squeezing experimentally. Rock-hard muscle flexed beneath Connor’s grip.
“Damn,” Connor murmured.
