Every piece of him is tense, especially the hand on the door, keeping the humans outside from trying to burst in and potentially make things a hell of a lot worse. Blood oozes from the fresh slices his mate opened up against his collarbone, the fabric of his shirt torn enough to get the whole thing thrown out. Omega doesn't notice. The sounds Blue is making might drive him to a frenzy of his own if he doesn't figure out what the hell is happening to her and how to make it stop.
At the dangerous purr, he instantly goes still; claws flex instinctively beside her, because no matter how intent he is upon not hurting his mate, he isn't going to let her try to kill him, either. But she wouldn't do that -- and doesn't, finally losing the savage tension across her back, sinking into a miserable ball that has no business being a relief.
Is she coming out of it? Omega wants to risk a touch, but holds himself in place, because the last one ended very badly. (In his wildest moments, would he have accepted any comfort at all?) Yet almost before he really has to decide, his mate turns to him, rising a little until her mouth -- he lets out a swift, sharp hiss when the first touch of her tongue reignites pain he'd pushed aside. But only a moment later the sound becomes a slow exhale, those gentle licks working the strange magic that soothes away all the hurt, and Omega remembers the very first night he spent with her. She'd cleaned away the blood from wounds she'd left then, too.
Cautiously, Omega brushes his fingers against her arm, testing the waters, fully prepared to dive backward if she tries to rip him open. When she doesn't lash out, his hand slips behind her shoulder, and then very slowly he curls a loose arm across her back. He doesn't pull her in, or tighten his grip, but he watches her as she draws her tongue across his skin.
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At the dangerous purr, he instantly goes still; claws flex instinctively beside her, because no matter how intent he is upon not hurting his mate, he isn't going to let her try to kill him, either. But she wouldn't do that -- and doesn't, finally losing the savage tension across her back, sinking into a miserable ball that has no business being a relief.
Is she coming out of it? Omega wants to risk a touch, but holds himself in place, because the last one ended very badly. (In his wildest moments, would he have accepted any comfort at all?) Yet almost before he really has to decide, his mate turns to him, rising a little until her mouth -- he lets out a swift, sharp hiss when the first touch of her tongue reignites pain he'd pushed aside. But only a moment later the sound becomes a slow exhale, those gentle licks working the strange magic that soothes away all the hurt, and Omega remembers the very first night he spent with her. She'd cleaned away the blood from wounds she'd left then, too.
Cautiously, Omega brushes his fingers against her arm, testing the waters, fully prepared to dive backward if she tries to rip him open. When she doesn't lash out, his hand slips behind her shoulder, and then very slowly he curls a loose arm across her back. He doesn't pull her in, or tighten his grip, but he watches her as she draws her tongue across his skin.