Chris disappeared into the adjoining room without another word, the soft tread of his slippers fading over the carpet. Dax stayed by the sideboard, glass in hand, watching the faint slice of light spill out from the bedroom.
Through the open door he caught glimpses of him: jacket coming off, dark hair falling forward as he tugged at his tie, the clean line of his throat as he unbuttoned the collar. The small, domestic motions looked out of place against the memory of him standing in the hall like a man bracing for an execution.
Dax's mouth curved again, this time in something that was half a smile, half a baring of teeth. The omega thought he had banished him to his work, but the bed was warm, the room quiet, and the scent of rain-clean skin threaded through the sheets. If he had to read reports until dawn, he might as well do it anchored by that instead of an empty chair.
