Heir Apparent

Sex, Death, and Paparazzi

He became aware of three sensations before all others, and in the following order:

First, the sunlight on his face, persistent and bright and hot. It had him turning his head away, which in turn dragged him upwards slowly through the layers of his consciousness.

Second, a gentle but incessant ache, starting at the base of his spine and radiating forward in a broad arc. His stomach, his pelvis, his thighs felt tender and weak, although it was not, he discovered, an altogether unpleasant sensation.

Third, the sound of rustling fabric and soft footsteps. It was at this point that Ander was finally cogent enough to become aware of where he was. He was in the hotel room in Paris, the one he'd shared with Francis.

Francis. Ander opened his eyes slowly and saw him at once, even as all else in his field of vision was hazy and out of focus. He was on the far side of the room, buttoning up his white shirt, hair damp and freshly showered.

Even from across the room, Ander could smell the shampoo. His senses were still heightened, his mind slowly reasoned. It would take a few hours for the last secondary symptoms of heat to wear off.

"Ander? You with me?"

Ander stretched, slowly at first, rolling his back upwards and off the mattress. Objectively, he should have felt horrible – his muscles were sore, he was covered in dried sweat and come, the light was hurting his eyes – but instead he felt sort of great. He recalled reading about a physiological phenomenon omegas went through after estrus, where the body was flooded with friendly chemicals to fight the physical pain that would have otherwise followed all the physical stress of heat. He couldn't remember the medical term (it had been a while since sex ed), but he remembered the colloquial word.

"Afterglow," Ander said in response, stretching his arms over his head. He saw Francis smile, finish buttoning his shirt, and cross the room. At his bedside, he bent down to kiss Ander lingeringly, which Ander returned enthusiastically. He lifted sore arms to snake around Francis's neck and tug him down—

"I just showered," Francis laughed, pulling away. "And you should, too; you look a fright."

"I just had sex for two days straight, of course I look a fright," Ander returned.

"How are you feeling?" Francis asked.

Ander considered the question carefully. He knew how he felt physically, but how he felt physically didn't feel like the relevant answer.

"I feel... good," Ander said after a lengthy pause.

"Good?"

"Surprisingly good," Ander said. "I don't know, I guess I was half expecting to have another panic attack. It's what happened last time."

Francis sat at the edge of the bed. Ander twisted his body eagerly to drape himself across Francis's lap, which drew a startled laugh from him. His fingers traced through Ander's hair.

"I did do my best to be vigilant for anything out of turn," Francis said. "But I'll admit that there were lapses where I wouldn't have been able to remember my own name, let alone that you had a history of sexual trauma to worry about."

"God, same," Ander said, and Francis laughed again. "Don't worry about it, Francis. It was... good. I feel good."

"You were phenomenal, Ander Bennet," Francis said, and Ander grinned up at him. "Though I admit, I find I prefer you cogent."

Ander grinned. "Oh?"

"Don't misunderstand," Francis said, "there is certainly a primal, visceral satisfaction I found in sharing a heat with you, but I didn't fall in love with the heat-drunk version of you. I fell in love with the whole of you, witty and crass and thoughtful and sarcastic. The person who plays violin and feels most comfortable on crowded streets and dirty tube stations. Seeing you stripped down to your bare animal instinct was nice, but I missed the rest of you while you were gone."