"Easy," Kavinsky breathed, and it was unclear if that was a command to calm the fuck down or just a soothing breath of a word, knowing that Proko was feeling a way. Two pills might have been a little excessive, but Kavinsky found he didn't care. Proko was his, and they'd been not-fighting since Kavinsky had wished him into Darrow. Something needed to be done.

Everything was quiet except for the noise of their breathing. Kavinsky cupped the back of Proko's neck and inhaled the smell of him. He rolled his hips toward him.

"Hey there, beautiful. I've got you." You're mine, the words said, as he'd found ways of saying it so many other times in so many other ways. All of you is mine.