Riot’s hands were gripping the armrests, his knuckles white.
“You don’t have to if it’s weird for you,” Cass added quietly, staring at the thread on his pillowcase. If Riot was disgusted by the request, he didn’t want to see, so counting threads was easier. “I just thought... Honey always says I give good cuddles even if I am too bony. Maybe it would be nice for you too? You seem like someone who doesn’t get a lot of nice things.”
The grip on the armrests loosened. Riot’s whole body sagged, like he was deflating on the inside. “Christ, princess.”
“Is that a no?”
Riot moved like he was walking to his own execution and stopped at the edge of the bed, looking down at Cass with an expression that looked almost frightened.
“This is a terrible idea,” he said roughly.
Cass scooted over to make room, patting the mattress. “Just lie down. I’ll show you.”
Riot made a sound in his throat, halfway between a sigh and a squeak, sort of like a dying horn, but he sat. The bed dipped under his weight, and suddenly he was right there, still sitting. Still rigid.
“Lie down,” Cass repeated, tugging at Riot’s sleeve.I guess they didn’t do this when he was in Gensyn territory. They must not believe in the healing power of touch there.“You can’t cuddle sitting up. That’s not how it works.”
Riot lay down like his body was moving against his will, stretched out on his back, and stiff as a board. Cass immediately curled into his side, resting his head on Riot’s chest and draping an arm across his stomach like he used to do with Honey.
But the effect was immediate and overwhelming.
Heat flooded through Cass—not the feverish, uncomfortable heat he’d been fighting all day, but different. Warm in a way that made his mouth feel dry and he pressed his thighs together, shifting against the Berserker as he felt himself twitch again. Riot’s body was so solid against him, and his scent was everywhere, and Cass could hear his heartbeat pounding much faster than seemed normal.This feels very different from cuddling Honey.
I won’t tell him. It might make him feel bad.
Riot was trembling. Actually trembling, fine vibrations running through his entire body that made Cass press closer to him.
Riot made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a sob.
“Cass.” Riot’s voice was barely recognizable. “You need to stop moving.”
“Sorry.” Cass stilled, keeping his hand flat on Riot’s chest. He could still feel the heart hammering underneath, fast and hard.
“You’re—” Riot took a sharp breath. “You’re fine. Just. Stay still and sleep.”
Cass stayed still. Riot’s body was still rigid beneath him, still trembling, but slowly—so slowly—some of the tension started to ease. He yawned, suddenly aware of how exhausted he was. The warmth of Riot’s body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the comforting smell of strawberries—it was all making him drowsy.
“Thank you,” Cass mumbled, his eyes drifting shut. “For staying. For this.”
Riot said nothing, but Cass felt a hand come up to rest hesitantly on his back—gentle, so gentle, like Cass was made of glass.
“Riot?” Cass asked through a yawn.
“Yeah, princess?”
“Why do you smell like dessert instead of cordite?”
The chest beneath his cheek stopped moving for a moment. Then Riot exhaled slowly.
“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice rough. “Maybe I’m broken. Or maybe because you make me feel like something other than a weapon.”
That made Cass sad. He wanted to argue, to tell Riot that smelling nice wasn’t broken, but he was so tired and the warmth was pulling him under.
Chapter seven
Meditations on Furniture Design
Riot
