Kyle, seeing Lucan's struggle, simply goes ahead and repeats the entire process without hesitation. He loves it.
And this time, when Lucan comes, it sounds and feels different, final.
He pulls Kyle down onto him, clinging so tightly, his body locking up so hard that Kyle can feel every violent shudder, every sharp jerk, every desperate twitch beneath him.
It's as though Lucan is trying to anchor himself, grounding his soul through Kyle's presence alone.
When it's over, Lucan collapses entirely, boneless and undone, his body still trembling with residual aftershocks.
His chest heaves with ragged, shallow breaths, the air between them hot and charged with something almost too big to name.
Lucan's arms wrap weakly around Kyle, pulling him closer with a fragile kind of desperation, like if he let go even for a second, Kyle might disappear.
There's no need for words.
Everything is in the way Lucan's hands tremble when they touch him, the way his exhausted body presses closer and closer, still needing, still worshiping him even in the aftermath.
Kyle, however, becomes aware of his own arousal, his cock still achingly hard. He worries_ what if Lucan notices?
Yet Lucan refuses to let him go, clutching him tighter, pulling him impossibly closer, as though Kyle is the only thing tethering him to reality.
"Why won't you undress? We won't do anything, I promise. I just want to feel your bare skin," Lucan whispers, his voice so raw and vulnerable that it makes Kyle jerk away like he's been burned.
After everything he's done, Lucan is still asking him for that?
Kyle had wanted to, had really wanted to touch Lucan that way, and giving him that pleasure, had already left him feeling strangely fulfilled, whole, even though he hadn't found release himself.
"What?!" Kyle asks, sitting up sharply, looking back down at Lucan with wide, startled eyes.
Lucan, unbothered, slides an arm under Kyle's sweater, seeking the warmth of his bare back, but Kyle quickly pulls away, evading his touch.
Words spill out of Kyle's mouth before he can stop them.
"You know, after everything I've done, I thought you would just fall back on the mattress, mutter a muffled 'thank you,' and fall asleep," he says, his voice unreadable .
Lucan can't help it, a soft laugh escapes him, light and breathless.
"You can talk this much?" he teases, amusement flickering in his eyes despite the heavy exhaustion pulling at his features.
"Yes," Kyle says, a little defensively, his voice softening. "So please, let's just sleep. I'm really not feeling well."
Lucan raises an eyebrow, sarcasm dripping from his words as he says, "Are you?" His smile deepens, teasing. "After everything you just did, I really don't think you're sick. You're just... still afraid of me. Or rather..." his gaze grows more serious, "...afraid of the acts themselves. Which is okay. Take your time. I'm not rushing you into anything."
He pauses, reaching out for Kyle again with gentle hands, but Kyle flinches away.
Lucan's voice is steady when he continues, "But at least let me thank you the same way you've made me feel. I want you to feel how I've felt, I'll not go beyond the same things you've done to me, I promise."
Kyle shakes his head, standing up and moving toward the couch without a second thought.
His voice is firm when he says, "I honestly don't want that. This wasn't about me. It was about you."
Lucan watches him go, a slight pout forming on his lips. "Okay, fine. Come back to bed. I won't ask you for anything of the sort again," he says, a touch of pleading in his tone.
But Kyle remains stubbornly on the couch, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
Lucan sighs, giving in. "Okay, okay. I'll even get dressed again, alright? So come on, help me find some other clothes in the drawer," he coaxes, flashing a small smile.
Reluctantly, Kyle rises and walks over to the drawer, searching through it. As his hands brush over the soft fabric, he suddenly feels lighter, almost happy.
This feels natural_ easy, even. For a moment, he wishes there were no heavy shadows hanging over them, no hidden truths like the identity he still hadn't confessed.
He finally finds clothes that pleases himself and pulls them out, holding them toward him. But Lucan doesn't take them.
Instead, he juts out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. "Are you not going to help me dress?" he whines, looking up at Kyle through long lashes.
Kyle nearly laughs.
There's something so innocent, so genuine about Lucan's ridiculous behavior that he can't help but feel warmed by it.
When Lucan still refuses to take the clothes, Kyle simply loosens them, letting them fall in Lucan's face before turning away, heading back to the couch.
Behind him, Lucan chuckles softly and finally dresses himself. He gets off the bed, strips the sheets with slow, exhausted movements, and puts on fresh ones.
Then, with the persistence of a man who refuses to be denied, he coaxes Kyle back to the bed.
Kyle relents, letting Lucan pull him into the warm embrace of clean sheets and strong arms.
Safe in Lucan's hands, Kyle falls asleep almost immediately, the world fading around him.
~•~
The next morning, Kyle jolts awake.
Every nerve in his body is screaming. Danger. Wrong. Wrong.
His instincts sharp.
His heart pounds violently against his ribs.
Lucan is not in bed and even scent is gone, faded entirely.
A sickening feeling twists Kyle's gut, instinct screaming that Lucan isn't anywhere nearby.
He knows where Lucan must have gone_ back to the witches, and he knows how dangerous those witches are.
Panic shoves him into motion.
He leaps out of bed, barely bothering to pull on the clothes Lucan had bought for him before rushing toward the door.
But the moment he swings it open, four guards stand at attention right outside.
One of them steps forward immediately, bowing slightly. "We're sorry, Luna," he says formally, "but Alpha Lucan gave strict orders. You are not allowed to leave the room especially when he's not around. You must remain within our sight at all times."
Kyle stares at them, stunned, frustration bubbling hotly in his chest.
He exhales sharply, an irritated sound tearing from his throat. He groans, pressing his hand to his forehead.
He needs to leave.