He placed a hand flat on Mac’s chest, right over his heart. The beat was strong and fast under his palm.
“My turn,” Mac said, voice thick.
Melvin didn’t protest. He stood still as Mac’s capable hands made quick work of his own uniform buttons. The fabric parted, and Mac pushed the shirt off, letting it fall to the carpet with a soft sound. His hands settled on Melvin’s bare waist, thumbs stroking the defined ridges of his hip bones.
For a long moment, they just looked.
The lamplight painted their skin in warm gold. Mac’s broader shoulders, Melvin’s leaner lines. The silence was a blanket, a permission.
Mac leaned forward and pressed his lips to the hollow of Melvin’s throat. Then lower, to the center of his chest. He breathed in, deep, as if he could pull the scent into his lungs and keep it there.
“I missed this,” he said, the words muffled against Melvin’s skin.
“I know.” Melvin’s hands came up to thread through Mac’s short hair, holding him close. “Me too.”
They moved toward the bed without breaking contact. The mattress was firm, the sheets cool and crisp under Melvin’s back as Mac followed him down. The weight of him was a comfort, an anchor in the strange, quiet room. Mac braced himself on his forearms, caging Melvin in, his face hovering inches above.
“No one can hear us,” Melvin said, the realization settling over him.
“No one,” Mac echoed, and kissed him again, deeper this time.
Melvin got up and grabbed a bottle of lube from his cargo pocket. He shuffled back to the bed.
“Guess I may have some foreshadowing powers,” he said.
He handed the bottle to Mac, climbing up on the bed and straddling Mac’s hips. He could feel him, hot and thick beneath him, already imagining the weight of him filling him completely. Melvin leaned in, kissing Mac’s temple and pressing his mouth close to his ear.
“Now be a good alpha and breed your mate.”
The words landed in the quiet room like a struck bell.
Melvin heard Mac’s breath rush out, his hands coming up to grip Melvin’s thighs, fingers digging into the muscle there. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. He didn’t speak. He just looked up at Melvin, chest rising and falling, the bottle of lube cool and solid in his hand.
Melvin held his gaze. He shifted his hips, a slow grind that dragged Mac against him. The friction was electric.
A low groan rose out of Mac, raw and unfiltered in the silent space.
Then Mac’s hands were on him, one curling around the base of him, the other smoothing up the back of his thigh. His thumb found the cleft of his ass, a slow press.
Melvin’s head dropped forward, a shudder working through him. “Yeah,” he breathed.
Mac popped the cap on the lube. He poured a generous amount into his palm, warmed it for a second, then his slick fingers returned. The first touch was a cool shock that quickly melted into heat. Mac’s finger circled, slow and thorough, coating him before pressing inside.
Melvin gasped. The stretch was immediate, a blunt, welcome pressure. He pushed back against it, taking him deeper.
“More,” he said, voice rough.
Mac added a second finger, working him open with a patience that felt like reverence. His other hand stayed on Melvin’s hip, steadying him. Melvin rocked into the touch, his own need leaking onto Mac’s stomach, leaving a wet, hot trail. The panther in him purred, a deep, contented rumble he felt in his bones.
“You’re so ready,” Mac murmured, voice thick with want.
He crooked his fingers, searching, and found the spot that made Melvin’s whole body jerk. A sharp sound tore from Melvin’s throat.
“There. Right there.”
Melvin’s hands braced on Mac’s shoulders, his nails biting in. Mac worked that same place, again and again, until Melvin was trembling, sweat beading along his spine.
Mac withdrew his fingers. Melvin whimpered at the loss.
