BEBEHTOE.6

The second rule was also professionalism. The third rule came with a twenty-minute lecture, a slideshow, and a threat that sounded suspiciously like paperwork. Rex remembered exactly none of the slideshow, but he remembered the number attached to the donation to the GDA if they let you take him as your personal bodyguard.

It had commas. Plural. So here he was. Standing outside the dressing room of the most famous pop idol on the planet, wearing a black suit that fit a little too well and an earpiece that made him feel like he should be narrating a heist movie instead of guarding a singer who could sell out stadiums by simply blinking.

He really did try to stick to being professional. He didn’t let himself get caught up anytime you called him into your greenroom before or after a show with excuse after excuse of some security breach— but he’s only a man. Even if he’s trying to be better how could anyone expect him to continually turn down your obvious advances?

“Rex? Could you come here, pretty please?” Your sweet voice rattled through his earpiece. Rex let out a sigh, a hand running down his face before turning towards your door and opening it slowly.

Rex immediately knew two things once he stepped into that room.

One: there was no security threat.

Two: he was in danger anyway.

You stood near the vanity, bathed in that soft halo of mirror lights, wearing lace.

Nothing like the bodysuits you typically wore on stage. This was much more intimate. The lace, cheeky cut panties, hugged the swell of your ass. And when you turned to greet him, rex was met with you in a bra stitched with lace material that covered absolutely nothing. The whole set matching. He could completely make out the way your nipples were perked from the cold of the room and where your areola’s laid against the completely see through material.

Rex stopped just inside the doorway, hand still on the knob like he might need it for balance, clearing his throat and immediately lifting his eyes to the ceiling, “… You called for security?”

You turned to him like this was a perfectly normal situation, like you weren’t currently dismantling his entire sense of discipline thread by delicate thread. How many times had you set him up to see you in your intimates? Not that he minded, he could put those mental images right into his spank bank— just because he’s trying to be a better man, doesn’t mean he still isn’t a man!

“I did,” you said, nodding, “I thought I saw something.”

His eyes flicked— traitorous and quick— over your form before snapping back up to your face like they’d been burned.

“Where?” he asked.

You gestured vaguely toward the far wall, “Over there. Thought I saw a blinking red light.”

He moved automatically, because his training didn’t disappear just because you looked hot as hell. His gaze swept the room, sharp and efficient.

His hands ran over corners. Checking inside vents and fixtures… and once again, nothing. Not even a suspicious hat that you’d sworn was a camera a few days ago.

“…I’m not seeing anything,” he muttered.

“Really?” you asked, stepping a little closer to him, batting those thick lashes that framed your pretty eyes.

Rex turned back to you— and immediately regretted it, because you were right infront of him.

Distance had been doing him favors. Up close, it was worse. The lace, the soft lines, the way you carried yourself like you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Not to mention your perfume. Sweet and warm.

His jaw tightened, clearing his throat nervously, “Yeah. Really.”

“Hm. That’s strange.” You say back, voice soft and just a hint of a smile on your lips

Rex narrowed his eyes slightly. Silence stretched between the two of you. Rex shifted his weight slightly, adjusting his stance but not entirely for tactical reasons. His pants were getting far too tight for his liking and you were going to notice if he wasn’t careful. He couldn’t afford to mess this up just because little Rex couldn’t keep his head in the game.

He cleared his throat, “You can’t keep calling me in here for this.”

“For what?” you asked, blinking up at him, all doe-eyed and completely not innocent.

“For—” he gestured vaguely, then immediately regretted that too, because now his hand had moved in your direction and his brain short-circuited trying not to notice everything, “—this.”

Your lips twitched, fighting a smile, “I can’t call my security head in the moment when I feel unsafe?”

“That is not what this is, unless you’re really just that crazy paranoid.”

You giggle, a sound that makes Rex’s heart stutter and you shrug, “maybe I just like watching you move around the room to keep me safe.”

Rex let out a slow breath through his nose, dragging his gaze away again. The wall. The mirror. The floor. Anything safe. Neutral. Non-revealing lace.

“Ma’am,” he said, voice tightening, “if there’s no actual threat—”

“What if there was? And you’re just doing your job and you’re sooo good at it.” You cut in, batting those thick lashes again, and dragging out your words in that cute way that does things to him.

He looked back at you, and what a big mistake that was. You stepped closer. Not enough to touch, just enough to close the space in a way that felt intentional. Pointed.

His shoulders squared automatically, like bracing for impact, “I, uh, I mean— it’s what you pay me for.”

Your smile softened, but your eyes stayed sharp. Curious. Watching him like he was the interesting thing in the room.

“You are,” you say again. “You’re very good at it.”

Rex swallowed, jaw flexing, and shifted again—subtle, careful, trying to keep everything under control. Including himself.

Which was… becoming a situation.

“You done?” he asked, a little more gruff than intended.

“With the security check?” you hummed, “Almost.”

He blinked, “Almost?”

Your gaze dipped— quick and deliberate, then lifted back to his face. And that nearly did him in.

“I just want to make sure,” you said softly, “that you didn’t miss anything.”

Rex stared at you. Long. Hard. Processing.

You were playing with him, right? Absolutely, undeniably, intentionally playing with him.

And the worst part? You knew exactly how close he was to cracking. You had to of based on that not-so-innocent smirk on your red lips.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “Didn’t miss anything.”

“Good,” you say, letting a couple beats pass before saying casually, “Then you can stay a second.”

Rex huffed a quiet, disbelieving breath, glancing toward the door like it was offering him salvation.

It wasn’t, “Ma’am—”

“Rex,” you interrupted gently. He looked back at you. Again. Mistake. Always a mistake. He should really know better.

Your expression had shifted just slightly. Still playful. Still warm.

But there was something else there now. Something a little more honest. A little less teasing.

“I asked for you, specifically.” you said, your lips popping a bit on the ‘p’ sounds

And suddenly this wasn’t just a game anymore. Rex’s posture stilled, the fight draining out of his shoulders just enough to be noticeable if you were looking for it.

He studied you for a second, like he was trying to solve something. Or maybe decide something.

Then he let out a slow breath.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “I noticed. Why exactly?”

Silence settled again— but softer this time. Less sharp. Still charged, but in a different way now.

He shifted once more, subtle, controlled, dragging himself back into something resembling professionalism before he did something incredibly stupid.

“I saw you on television a few times. I love a confident man who knows what he’s doing… and I thought a little forced proximity couldn’t hurt.” You admit casually with a little shrug, the epitome of a woman who is seldom told no.

“You like—“ Rex starts to parrot you, a befuddled look on his face, “I’m sorry, ma’am. What?”

“You’re hot. I have a thing for heroes. Thought I’d be able to shoot my shot if you didn’t have choice but to let me say hello. But you’re so different than what I read online about you.” You say, lifting yourself to sit on the vanity, pretty legs crossed as you twirled a lock of your hair around your finger, “I thought this would be an easy ‘Hi, you’re hot, I have a bodyguard fantasy cause I read too much smut online. Let’s fuck’ but you’ve just been SOOOO professional.”

You’re pouting now, legs swinging as your head tilts a bit. And Rex? He is in disbelief. This SERIOUSLY cannot be his life right now. In no way is this happening to him. He turns to scan the room for the simple fact that Ashton Kutcher must be about to jump out and punk his ass, to reboot that iconic MTV hit.

“… you hired me to… fuck you?” Rex finally asks, his mouth feels dry. He knows he’s hot, he’s slept with plenty of women over the years, but certainly none to your caliber. He knew he had game but certainly not to this level.

“Well of course not, Rex. You’re not a prostitute.” You say, that sweet little giggle leaving your lips, “I just meant, y’know, if you’re interested—“

He doesn’t let you finish that thought, stepping in closer, his large hands coming to rest on either side of your thighs on the vanity, his voice sounding practically relieved, “I’m interested, I’d be a fuckin’ idiot not to be.”

🔥✨💥✨🔥

The entire arena still vibrated from the show. Even three floors beneath the stadium, tucked away in the private underground garage, the bass lingered in the concrete like a heartbeat. Crew members rushed around loading equipment, security shouted into radios, and fans somewhere above screamed your name like a prayer.

Rex barely heard any of it. Because you were in the backseat beside him. Alone. Privacy divider up, and looking at him like you’d been thinking about this for the entire concert.

Which, judging by the way you had kept glancing toward stage left during the show, you absolutely had.

The car door had shut with a heavy thunk behind him as he climbed in after escorting you through the garage. The SUV smelled faintly like leather, expensive perfume, and the adrenaline still radiating off your skin.

You’d changed after the concert, thankfully. Or maybe not thankfully, Rex wasn’t sure. You looked sexy as hell in your stage costumes but the oversized zip-up hoodie you wore now hung off one shoulder, exposing the smooth line of your collarbone and the tiny remnants of glitter still dusted across your chest from stage makeup. Your thighs were bare beneath it, one leg folded underneath you as you turned toward him.

Rex sat rigidly beside the door. Too rigid. Like if he relaxed even slightly, he’d do something catastrophically stupid like he almost had in your green room.

You noticed immediately. A smile tugging at your mouth as you teased him softly, “You survived the show.”

“Barely.”

Your laugh lit up the dim interior of the car. God, that sound did things to him.

Rex loosened the knot of his tie with a rough tug, finally exhaling for what felt like the first time in an hour. Watching you perform after that conversation backstage had been torture. Absolute torture.

Knowing you wanted him while you danced under stadium lights in outfits that should’ve been classified as psychological warfare? Cruel and unusual punishment. Especially every time your eyes found him near the wing and send a smug little smile his way.

Rex shook his head, muttering something under his breath before leaning back against the seat. His suit jacket strained slightly across his broad shoulders, tie loosened now, rust colored hair mussed from running his hands through it too many times tonight.

You watched him carefully. Hungry, almost. Rex noticed that too. He’s had the same look countless times.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to eat me alive.”

“Maybe I am.”

His eyes flicked toward you instantly, sharp and dark now instead of merely flustered. The tension from earlier hadn’t disappeared. If anything, it had fermented. Thickened. Become something hotter in the cramped privacy of the car.

You shifted closer across the seat. Enough for your knee to brush his thigh. Rex inhaled sharply, your perfume surrounding him like warm velvet.

Rex’s jaw flexed.

“You have any idea what you put me through tonight?” he asked quietly.

Your lashes fluttered innocently, “Me?”

“Don’t start.”His voice had dropped lower now. Rougher. Dangerously close to snapping.

“You get on stage after tellin’ me you hired me because you think I’m hot,” he continued, eyes locked on yours, “then spend two hours lookin’ at me like that in front of an entire arena.”

Your lips twitched, “You noticed?”

“Sweetheart,” he said with a disbelieving laugh, “I noticed everything.”

The pet name slipped out naturally. The second it landed between you both, the air changed.

You felt it and so did he.

Rex went still for half a heartbeat like he regretted saying it. Then your hand slid slowly onto his loosened tie and whatever regret he had vanished completely.

His eyes dropped to your fingers curling around the fabric.

“…You’re trouble,” he muttered.

“You still got in the car.”

“Part of the job.”

“Mhm.”You tugged him a little closer. Not hard by any means. Just enough to get him to move. And Rex let himself.

His hand planted beside your hip against the leather seat, caging you in without fully touching you yet. Big shoulders blocking the dim light spilling through the tinted windows. Close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he said softly, “and I’m gonna forget every single lecture Cecil gave me.”

“Who’s Cecil?”

Rex laughed under his breath, low and incredulous, forehead dipping briefly toward yours like he was gathering the last scraps of his restraint, not bothering to answer that cause honestly that man was the last thing he wanted to think about when you were sitting so pretty there under him like this.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, “how long I’ve been trying not to kiss you.”

Your breath caught slightly, plump lips quirking into a smile, “Sounds exhausting.”

That did it. Rex’s hand finally slid to your waist, fingers spreading against the soft fabric of your sweatshirt as he pulled you flush against him in one smooth movement. The sudden closeness knocked the breath from both of you.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly, eyes dropping to your mouth, “You gonna make it worth it?”

You answered by pulling him down the rest of the way, your lips pressing to his in a heated kiss. Teeth bumping and tongues exploring the depths of one another’s mouths.

It isn’t long before his hand is slipping up under your quarter zip, callused fingers trailing over ribs until his thumbs are brushing the underside of your breasts.

“What? No fancy lace to tempt me with now, huh?” Rex asks breathlessly against your lips, his hand gently gripping at your breast.

“No, those shows are so hard on my body. Nothing but this sweatshirt and comfy panties until I get back to the hotel to soak.” You explain back, your own hands slipping down the fabric of his button up, heading towards his waistline.

He huffs into your mouth, swallowing your moan as his thumbs roll over your nipples. His hips rolling gently into yours so you could feel the strain of his manhood in his pants before your hands get there, “you ever fight aliens? Shits real hard on your body.”

You giggle at his response, tracing his lips your fingers tracing the hard planes of his abs before quipping back, “You ever dance three hours in six inch stilettos?”

He groans this time, his hands pulling away from your breasts to push up the offending material, his head dipping down for his mouth to find your nipples. Rex’s tongue swirling around the sensitive bud while his fingers roll the other between them and switching.

Your back arches off the seat, chest pressing further into his face as he pulls the sweetest sounding moans from you. His hand leaves your breast, slowly sliding down your torso before slipping under cotton panties, thick fingers brushing through your folds, “shit ma, already this wet and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Been fantasizing about you since I saw you fight aforementioned aliens on TV.” You tell him breathlessly, a gasp passing your lips as he pushed his middle finger into your tight heat.

“God you sound so damn pretty.” He moans, feeling your cunt flutter around his finger as he gently pumps it in and out a few times, curling just right to find that spongey spot inside your velvety walls.

He adds a second finger keeping a steady pace, drawing out more of the sweet sounding mewls he wishes he could bottle and save for later, “fuck, that’s it, you like that sweetheart?”

You nod, one of your pretty manicured hands rubbing over the hard bulge in his pants, making him hiss and gently rocking into your touch and when you ask for more, who is Rex to deny you such a thing?

He pulls back, chuckling a bit at the whine that passes those pretty plush lips when he removes his fingers so he can pull the damp cotton down your thighs as he moves to the floorboard. His knees press into the carpet and his tongue drags through your fat lips, moaning into your pussy like it’s the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted, “God baby, taste so fucking sweet. Gonna drown in this pussy.”

His tongue and mouth work together expertly, lips sealing over the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucking gently as he adds his fingers into your tight heat once more, curling perfectly as he pumps them in and out, making you see stars with a dizzying pace.

“Rex, Rex god— don’t stop. Please.” You beg, egging him on as your hand finds home in that pretty red hair, strands tugging between your manicured fingers.

He doubles his efforts, tongue playing with your clit as your hips buck into his mouth until he’s pulling you over the edge, your sweet release making him moan in tandem with you as he drinks down every drop of sweet nectar.

All in time for a quick couple knocks to the privacy divider and the intercom to click on from your driver, “Ms. Y/N, we’re at your hotel.”

🔥✨💥✨🔥

The hotel suite was offensively luxurious. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one wall, the city glittering below like someone had spilled diamonds over black velvet. Everything smelled faintly expensive. Fresh linen. Citrus. Vanilla and lavender from some candle already burning near the soaking tub.

Rex barely noticed any of it.

He was too busy trying very hard not to think about the fact that less than thirty minutes ago, he’d had you tangled against him in the back of an SUV while your driver politely pretended not to notice.

His mouth still tasted like you but yet here he was hearing Cecil in his head droning on about professionalism.

Cecil was going to kill him. Actually, scratch that.

Cecil was going to make PowerPoint slides about killing him and make it an example for future recruits.

The elevator doors opened directly into the suite, and you stepped out first with the kind of exhaustion only performers seemed capable of carrying. The adrenaline from stage had finally started draining from your body. You looked softer now. Sleepier. Still devastatingly beautiful, unfortunately.

Your oversized hoodie hung off one shoulder, glitter dusting your collarbone in stubborn little flecks. Mascara slightly smudged beneath your eyes. Human. That was the dangerous part, really. Because somehow, seeing you tired made Rex feel something suspiciously close to tenderness, and frankly, he preferred being horny. Horny was easier.

“Massage therapist’ll be here in ten,” you muttered, toeing off your shoes near the entryway with a groan.

Rex blinked, “Massage therapist?”

You gave him a tired look over your shoulder, “Rex. I danced for three hours.”

That was fair. Actually, judging by the way you were rubbing the back of your neck, probably very fair.

He set himself near the door automatically, in some plush chair, his instincts settling into place despite everything. Scanning exits. Windows. Entry points. Still doing his job. Mostly.

You disappeared into the bathroom area, muttering something about washing your face and a quick shower.

Rex tried not to notice your legs when you walked away. He failed spectacularly.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, scrubbing a hand down his face.

Nine days. Nine days on this tour and somehow this had become his life. He’s not fighting aliens. Not stopping supervillains. No. He stuck being catastrophically attracted to a pop star who looked at him like he personally hung the moon.

A soft knock at the suite door interrupted his spiraling. The massage therapist.

Rex checked credentials. Did the quick security sweep because he took suspicious situations seriously.

The therapist entered with practiced efficiency, setting up a portable table near the windows. You reappeared a few minutes later looking freshly scrubbed and impossibly comfortable.

Hair damp around your face. No makeup. An oversized hotel robe tied loosely around your waist.

Rex immediately looked at the ceiling. Because somehow this was worse than the lace in your green rooms.

The lace had been distracting, sure. But this? This felt intimate. Domestic almost. Dangerous if he ever had to name the feeling.

“You staying?” you asked casually, “you’re done for the day if you want.”

Rex blinked, “For the massage?”

“You’re my personal bodyguard.”

He crossed his arms, “Pretty sure nobody’s assassinating you via deep tissue massage.”

A sleepy laugh escaped you, “What if the massage table attacks me?”

The therapist snorted, and Rex sighed dramatically, “You are exhausting.”

“But charming.”

“…Debatable.”

Still, Rex stayed. Because apparently his spine had dissolved somewhere between your green room and the backseat of that SUV.

You settled onto the massage table with a quiet sigh, face resting in the cushion as the therapist began working oil into your shoulders.

And immediately—

“Ow.”

Rex looked over. You were wincing, he’d imagined from the tone of your voice.

“Jesus,” the therapist muttered gently, hands pressing into a knot near your shoulder blade, “You’re carrying half the world back here.”

“Told you,” you mumbled into the headrest.

Rex frowned before he could stop himself, “… You always this messed up after shows?”

Your voice came out muffled, “Mhm.”

The therapist worked lower. You hissed quietly, “Back, calves, hips, My feet are the worst.”

Rex’s jaw tightened slightly. Because suddenly he was noticing things. The faint bruising near your ankle. The way your shoulders sat tense even relaxed. How tired you actually looked now that nobody was watching.

There’s no cameras. No screaming crowds. No glittering stage persona. Just the softest version of you. A person whose body hurt.

Something in his chest shifted weirdly. Uncomfortable almost.

“Sexy, right?” you teased weakly.

Rex huffed a laugh from where he sat in the armchair, “Little concerning, actually.”

You turned your head enough to peek at him. His jacket was off now, tie gone entirely. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. One ankle resting over his knee.

“Aw,” you teased softly. “You worried about me?”

“No,” he said immediately, making you smile a bit as he continued, “Maybe a little.”

That smile. God. That smile was going to kill him someday.

The therapist worked quietly while conversation drifted lazily. Tour horror stories. Stage mishaps. Rex telling increasingly ridiculous stories about hero work that sounded too absurd to possibly be real.

By the time the massage ended, you looked boneless. Soft around the edges. Completely melted.

The therapist packed up while Rex walked them out, double-checking locks out of habit. When he turned back toward the suite, you were curled sideways on the couch. Still in your robe, hair messy, looking impossibly comfortable.

You patted the couch beside you, “Come sit with me.”

He hesitated for exactly two seconds. Then got up and crossed the room. Because apparently he lacked self-preservation. The couch dipped under his weight, and you shifted closer immediately.

“You know,” you murmured, head tilting toward him, “I thought this bodyguard fantasy was gonna be mostly hot.”

“Mostly?” Rex echoed.

“Mhm.” Your eyes softened, in a way that matched your voice, “Didn’t think you’d actually be this sweet.”

Something about that landed harder with him than expected.

Rex looked away briefly. Scratched at the back of his neck, “… Don’t spread that around.”

You smiled, “Your secret is safe with me.”

Silence settled between the two of you, comfortable and warm. Outside, the city glittered endlessly. Inside, your shoulder brushed his.

“You looked worried earlier,” you said softly.

He exhaled slowly, “Didn’t like seein’ you hurt.”

You went quiet for a few moments, “Touring’s rough.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Still.”

His gaze dropped briefly as he thought about his next words, “To be honest? You spend all night takin’ care of everybody else.”

He doesn’t say who, you know. The crowd. Your Crew. Fans. He shrugged one shoulder, “Feels like somebody should take care of you for once.”

Your expression softened in a way he hadn’t seen before. Less teasing. More… vulnerable.

And suddenly the space between you felt smaller. Warmer. You leaned your head lightly against his shoulder.

“Stay a little?” you asked quietly.

Rex looked down at you. At damp hair, and sleep-heavy eyes. The faint glitter still clinging stubbornly to your skin. And something in him folded instantly.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet, “I can do that.”

🔥✨💥✨🔥

Rex’s hips roll into yours. Deep and slow, making your lowly tummy bulge. Not that he could see that from how his large hand pressed against it, feeling himself fill you.

Soft moans fall off your lips as you take his cock, he’s not sure you’ve ever looked more ethereal than you do now. Hair splayed out in a beautiful halo on the pillow, your eyes fluttered shut in pleasure based on the way your lips pursed in a pretty ‘O’ shape. Fingers gripping into the luxurious bedsheets.

“God, Mama. You’re doing so good. Taking me so well, sweetheart.” Rex moans softly, his free hand gently massaging your tits, playing with your nipples as he takes care of you sexually.

Your velvety walls flutter around his girth with each slow roll of his hips. Rex didn’t usually take things this slow, preferring to move fast and hard. This moment with you was turning into something awful close to love making, but Rex couldn’t bring himself to put anymore strain on this perfect body of yours, his lips worshipful as he kisses on your neck, pushing you slowly over that edge of euphoria once more.

The way your cunt clenches around him has his vision blurring, going white in pleasure as you mill him for everything he’s worth. Rex’s hips stutter as he spills deep inside you, thick ropes of hot cum filling your cunt until it’s spilling out and dripping down your ass.

The room had gone quiet. The city still hummed beneath the windows, distant traffic weaving through the dark like veins of light. Somewhere in the suite, the candle near the bathtub had burned low, lavender lingering soft in the air.

But here in your big bed in this hotel room? Here, everything felt warm. Safe.

Rex laid beside you now, one arm thrown lazily across your waist, the other tucked beneath his head. His hair was even messier now, freckles dusted warm across cheeks still faintly flushed.

You looked thoroughly melted. Sleepy. Boneless against the pillows. His thumb traced absent little patterns against your side before he let out a quiet breath through his nose.

“…You okay?” he asked softly.

You smiled without opening your eyes, “Mm. Think I forgot what my own name is.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him. Low and fond before he muttered, “Good, Means I did my job.”

Your eyes cracked open then, head turning slightly toward him. For a second, neither of you said anything. Rex just looked at you. At the damp hair spread over expensive hotel pillows. At the glitter somehow still stuck near your temple. At how relaxed you finally seemed for the first time all day. Something softened in his expression.

“You always this tired after shows?” he asked quietly.

You nodded a little, “Usually just soak alone. Ice pack. Complain to myself dramatically.”

His brows pulled together immediately, “Alone?”

“Mhm.”

Rex was quiet for half a beat, fingers reaching up to brush strands of hair off your forehead, “…Don’t gotta do that while I’m here.”

The words slipped out easy, like he hadn’t even thought before saying them. You blinked at him. Something warm unfurling quietly in your chest.

“That so?” you asked softly.

He shrugged one shoulder, suddenly looking almost shy about it.

“I mean…” his hand squeezed lightly at your side, eyes flicking away for a second. “Kinda signed up for takin’ care of you.”

Your smile turned smaller then.

Realer.

“Pretty sure this wasn’t in the contract… but I’m glad you agreed.”

“No,” Rex said, voice quieter now. “Guess not. But I’d be an idiot to turn you down.”

The city glittered outside. Inside, warmth curled around the two of you like something alive. You shifted closer without thinking, resting your head against his chest this time.

Rex’s arm tightened around you instantly. Protective like it belonged there. His chin rested lightly against the top of your head. And after a long moment, voice gone rough around the edges, he muttered:

“…You know, you’re kinda wreckin’ my life.”

A sleepy laugh escaped you, “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He sighed dramatically toward the ceiling, “Now I gotta pretend I’m normal tomorrow.”

You laughed harder this time. Rex huffed before continuing.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss into your hair, “starting to think I’m the one in danger here.”

And somewhere between your laugh and the steady rise and fall of his breathing, sleep started creeping in. The city still glowing below while Rex stayed exactly where he was. Holding you close, like maybe he’d decided he liked the job more than he planned.

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