“You want me to what?” he squeaked, feeling the tips of his ears heat up.

Down on the ground, you were perched comfortably between Henry’s legs, eyelashes fluttering anything but innocently. Your cheek rested on his thigh so casually that one would think you belonged there (you did, and you’d swear that under oath).

“You heard me, Loomis,” you cooed, lips twisting into what could only be described as a Cheshire Cat grin. “Talk nerdy to me.”

The paleontologist blinked owlishly from behind his round spectacles. Part of him was wondering if he’d gotten concussed during the fall on that island and was just now starting to feel the effects. Definitely possible, since he totally should’ve.

It wasn’t that Henry had never been propositioned before–look at the man. Who wouldn’t want to climb all 5’11” (180.34 cm, since he’s a man of science) like a tree? No, it was more so that his current partner was just fucking insane. 

When he’d first met you, the first words out of your mouth were, “Are you a carbon sample? Because I want to date you.” He was just a man, a man at work who nearly dropped his clipboard out of sheer shock. But maybe he was a bit insane as well, since soon he was your boyfriend, or as you called him, “paleo boy”.

Which brings us back to the present.

“I assume that means you want me to talk about dinosaurs, but… do you have to be between my legs while I do it?” he asked, feeling a warmth more intense than the one in his ears start to pool in his gut. The current sight of you was very suggestive, but he had no clue if you were just being yourself or being yourself + horny. It was always a toss-up.

“Henryyyy, that’s the whole point,” you drawled, eyeing the bulge in his slacks. There had been less hunger radiating off the mutant dinosaurs that tried to eat him.

The bespeckled man pulled out his can of Altoids and shoved some in his mouth. Despite the icy coolness of the mints, his groin still felt like it was throbbing with heat. “Go ahead,” he groaned after he finished crunching the little white candies.

That was all you needed to hear, hands making quick work of Henry’s belt. There was an audible hitch in his throat as his boxers were exposed, including the little wet patch from his pre-cum. “Call me a paleontologist as well, because I’m about to unearth this bone,” you said with a laugh, tossing his pants aside.

“Why do I love y–f-fuuuuck…” As soon as you coaxed his cock out and wrapped your lips around the blushing tip, he was melting like butter. Blunt nails dug into the couch cushions, gripping onto them like he’d done with the cliff ledge.

You just smiled and pulled off, kissing the pearly drop of pre that was already beading up again. “C’mon, paleo boy,” you crooned, spitting a dollop of saliva onto your hand so you could work his aching shaft. “Asked you to talk nerdy to me. If you don’t, I’ll stop.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, slack-jawed, like you were an angel, the devil, or both. “Fine,” he gasped out, knowing you weren’t bluffing about blue-balling him. Another moan bubbled in the back of his throat as your wrist twisted ever so slightly. “What ngh period?”

“Hmm…” An absent-minded hum vibrated through you as you mulled over your three options. All the while, your hand languidly pumped up and down, filling the living room with slick, lewd noises. It was just enough to make Henry’s nerves tingle, but not sufficient to bring him closer to release. “How about Cretaceous?”

When your hand started to slow down even more, he blurted out, “Pachycephalosaurus.” As a reward, you dragged your tongue up one of the yummy-looking veins that adorned his cock, dragging a deep, shuddering moan from the depths of his soul. “I-it’s a herbivorous ah ornithiscian that lived about seventy million years ago.”

Now that Henry was getting started, so could the real fun. His hips jumped when you suddenly took the tip back into your warm, wet mouth, suckling oh-so sinfully. “Back in the 1870s, Joe–god, please more,” he whimpered, resisting the urge to push more of his length between your slick, accommodating lips. His restraint was laudable, but his begging, however cute, didn’t sound like an info dump. Slowly, you started to draw your head back, much to his despair.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the brown-eyed man whined, trying desperately to recollect his thoughts, which was hard, considering you seemed to be trying to suck them straight out of his dick. “Back in the hngh 1870s, Joseph Leidy named a taxon Tylosteus ornatus because of a bone fragment that he mmm thought was reptile armor. That bone f-fragment was later determined to be part of a Pachycephalosaurus’s skull–the squamosal part, to be specific. Please keep on going.”

Much better. Your tongue swirled around his weeping tip, teasing at the leaking hole until his honeyed moans were coming out in full force. And it was beautiful because Henry Loomis moaned like a whore. His lashes fluttered behind his glasses, and his tendons tensed deliciously in his neck as he practically sobbed something about Stygimoloch spinifer, Dracorex hogwartsia, and potential juvenile skulls. In return, you took more of him, hollowing your cheeks until his hips were bucking softly.

Henry tried–he really did–to keep rattling off the factoids that he’d spend hundreds upon hundreds of hours researching, but he was just sooo helpless to the pleasure that you sent tearing through him. The moment words turned to just moans, you were off of his dick, letting it slap against the slutty, little sweater he’d worn to work that day.

He looked like he was going to cry.

“Henry, Henry,” you tutted, giving him a look of faux disappointment. He met your gaze, pupils blown wide and chest heaving in shallow, little pants. Sweat lined his hairline, trickling slowly down to his jaw. Yummy. “You were doing so well. Don’t tell me you don’t want to cum.”

An honest to god whine reverberated from the back of his throat.

“I do! I’m trying so hard, love,” he groaned, words coming out slurred. The poor man knew that if he didn’t get himself together, he’d be having a sad, not as sexy date with his hand tonight. “Just one more chance. I’ll be good. I’ll be so, so good.”

Who could say no to that?

Your hands braced on the paleontologist’s thighs, giving them an indulgent squeeze. “Hope that brain of yours keeps up this time,” was all you said before finally taking him wholly into your mouth.

For a brief moment, Henry couldn’t breathe. All he could discern was the rush of heat that spread from his cock to the rest of his body until he felt feverish. When his vision cleared, he saw you with hearts in your eyes and your nose buried in his trimmed pubes. It was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen, more so than the wild Titanosauruses.

“Kingdom: animalia. Phylum: chor–oh my goddd–chordata,” he choked out, defaulting to rambling scientific classification. Remembering history was too big of an ask at the moment. “Cl-clade: dinosauria, ornithiiiiscia… pachycephalosauri–hahh.”

As Henry struggled through family, tribe, and genus, you began to bob your head, mixing the sloppy noise of your mouth gliding up and down his shaft with his symphony of moans. He was shaking now, eyes glossy with pleasured tears, and glasses crooked on his nose. Whatever facts he was spewing from his lips were random streams of consciousness at this point, because he would probably perish on the spot if you stopped. And this wasn’t a riverbed with silt. 

Pleased, you continued your torturous ministrations, removing one hand from his tensed thighs to gently fondle his taut balls. That was his undoing. Henry practically wept, “The only d-definitive type species is the P. wyomingensis! Shit! Cumminggg…”

You felt his cock twitch once, then twice in your mouth, releasing sporadic spurts of his cum while he cradled your cheeks with the same care he’d use with an excavated fossil, whimpering something delirious. God, he was a vision, dark hair mussed with sweat and head tipped back in ecstasy.

“F-fuckkkk, I love you,” Henry mumbled in his blissed out state, finally regaining some coherency. His head weakly tilted forward, witnessing you as you drew off with a soft pop and swallowed down his essence. You were too damn hot for your own good.

Smiling, you pushed yourself to your feet and kissed his bearded jaw before going over to the kitchen and getting two glasses of water. When you returned, Henry’s hands were trembling, so you held the cup for him as he drank in greedy gulps.

“So sweet,” he said breathlessly, pulling you into his side as soon as his cup was set aside. “You're perfect.” The light scratch of his scruff as he rubbed his cheek against your shoulder made you laugh fondly.

“You make it sound like we’re done here,” you purred, carding your fingers through his dark, damp locks. “Once you recover, we’re doing this again, but this time, I’m going to ride you.”

In an instant, the sleepy post-oral haze was gone. Desire was once again stoked in his core, the sensation completely at odds with the logical part of his brain, which was screaming that he couldn’t survive this ordeal again. “Y-you’re going to what?” he stammered.

A lazy grin just graced your lips as you grabbed his pants from the coffee table (he hadn’t even noticed them landing there), then pulled out his Altoids, popping one in your mouth. “Love you,” you giggled, pulling Henry into a kiss. ‘Definitely the devil,’ he thought to himself while your tongue gently pushed the candy into his mouth. ‘But I still love them.’

A/N: Thank you for reading!

And ty to @swimmingnightcolor, who made me wanna write faster. I wrote this as fast as I could (which is not fast for most, but it is for me)

The late afternoon sun was high in the sky by the time Henry finally locked the doors and headed home. He had spent the entire day rearranging exhibits, giving lectures, and fielding endless questions, but all the while, his thoughts drifted back to you. His wife. His very pregnant, stubbornly independent wife.

He worried constantly. He’d built his life on bones and theories, but you were something he could never study or measure, only cherish...and protect.

When he let himself into the house, he expected to find you resting on the sofa, curled beneath the quilt he always left ready for you. Maybe with a mug of tea he’d brewed that morning before leaving.

But the silence was strange.

He set his satchel down slowly, listening. A soft clatter drifted down the hallway, and his stomach dropped.

“Sweetheart?” His voice was careful and worried all at once.

No answer.

Henry strode quickly toward the nursery. The door stood half-open, and when he pushed it wider, the sight made his eyes soften marginally.

There you were. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, a screwdriver in hand, cheeks flushed, your rounded belly obvious under your dress. A half-assembled crib sprawled around you like the scattered remains of some primitive beast, bolts and wooden slats everywhere.

His breath caught in his chest.

“What,” he said softly, the word edged with disbelief, “do you think you're doing?”

You froze, eyes darting guiltily to his. “I...I just wanted to help. The baby will be here soon and I thought-”

“Help?” His voice sharpened, though the heat in it was born of the need to keep you safe. He stepped fully into the room, throat working as he crouched down in front of you. “You are nine months pregnant. You should be resting, my love, not on the floor.”

His hand trembled slightly as he brushed it over your cheek, down your arm, and then to your belly, cupping the swell with care. “You could have told me you wanted the crib built. I'd have come home early if you'd only called me.”

You pouted softly, defensive. “Henry, I just wanted to do something. You never let me-”

“Never let you?” His eyes flared, a mixture of exasperation and desperate love. He kissed your forehead, quick and firm, before pulling back to meet your gaze. “Darling, you are already doing everything. You’re carrying our child. You’re building our family with every breath you take. Do you think there is any task, any museum exhibit, or crib or fossil, that matters more than that?”

Your throat tightened, tears threatening. He looked so undone, kneeling there with his tie loose and his hands spread protectively over your body.

Henry exhaled shakily, then sighed. “You will drive me to an early grave.” And with surprising ease, he slid his arms beneath you, lifting you off the floor despite how pregnant you were..

“Henry!” you squeaked, clutching his shoulders.

“Shh,” he murmured, carrying you over to the rocking chair in the corner of the nursery. He set you down carefully, smoothing your dress, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. His hands lingered at your belly again, palms broad and steady. “You sit. You tell me what you want for dinner. You tell me if you need water, tea, or, hell, ten pillows. And I will finish this crib.”

Your lips curved, tender despite your embarrassment. “You’re really not going to let me help at all, are you?”

“Not even if you beg,” he said firmly, though his voice softened when he leaned down to kiss you again. “My job is to keep you safe. Both of you.”

Henry’s shoulders flexed beneath his shirt as he crouched by the crib, steady and meticulous, tightening each bolt with the same focus he gave to mounting priceless fossils in the museum. Every so often, he glanced at you in the rocking chair to make sure you were okay.

When the crib finally stood whole, polished and sturdy, he wiped his brow and then knelt beside it. Large hands smoothed over the railing, testing it, before one spread over your belly again.

“There,” he murmured, leaning close, lowering his voice as he kissed the swell of your belly. “Safe and strong. Just like your momma.” His hands brushed your stomach tenderly. “And when you’re finally home, little one, you’ll sleep here. Surrounded by every comfort we can give you.”

Your throat tightened, watching him, this brilliant, serious man made softer than you’d ever seen.

He stayed that way for a while, one palm against your belly, talking to your baby. That he’d teach them about bones and the history of the world, that he’d keep both of you safe. His voice grew husky at the end, and he pressed one more kiss against you before standing to tuck a blanket neatly into the crib.

Over the next few days, he grew almost feverish with preparation.

When you suggested hiring someone to help, Henry refused. “No one else,” he’d said lowly, before softening when he saw your look. “No one else is worthy of building this for you both.”

He came home from the museum each evening with bags tucked under his arms, rolls of wallpaper patterned with tiny, multicolored dinosaurs, stacks of children’s books with fossil illustrations, plushies shaped like triceratops, stegosaurs, and even a plush T. Rex whose grin made you giggle.

Henry didn’t laugh. He smoothed the toy’s head with surprising tenderness. “He’ll guard the baby,” he said firmly, setting the plush at the corner of the crib like a sentinel.

The wallpaper went up under his steady hands, painstakingly aligned while he refused to let you so much as stand on a stepstool. He would stop every few minutes, checking on you in the rocking chair, pressing a glass of water into your hand or brushing a kiss across your temple.

By the time the nursery was finished, it was a pale green sanctuary filled with prehistoric wonder, tiny fossils painted along the trim, shelves lined with books and plush dinosaurs, and a mobile of pterodactyls hung gently over the crib.

You sat back in awe, tears filling your eyes. “Henry…it’s beautiful.”

He stood in the doorway, tie loosened, hands still dusty from his work, and looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. “And you...,” he murmured, crossing to kneel at your side. His hand spread over your belly, his forehead brushing yours. “You’re beautiful. You and our precious baby, and I can't wait to spoil you both even after they're born.”

Later that night, you lay in bed, shifting again, sighing when another little kick jabbed at your ribs. The sheets felt too hot, your body too heavy, and sleep wouldn’t come. You didn’t want to disturb Henry, he’d worked himself ragged between the museum and fussing over you all day, so you carefully slipped out from under the covers and padded softly into the living room.

The couch welcomed you, cushions arranged into a nest you’d perfected over the last few weeks. You curled up as best you could, rubbing a hand over your restless belly. “Alright, little one,” you whispered, “I know you’re excited, but your mama’s tired.”

You’d only just closed your eyes when you heard the bedroom door creak.

“Sweetheart?” Henry’s voice was low, but tight with worry. Moments later, his tall frame filled the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, his shirt unbuttoned halfway. His eyes swept the room until they landed on you, and he let out a relieved breath. “Thank God.”

He crossed to you immediately, crouching by the couch. “Why didn’t you wake me?” His hand brushed over your arm, then to your belly, checking you over.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted softly. “I just…I can’t get comfortable. And the baby’s been kicking nonstop.”

For a moment, his expression flickered, exasperation that you’d suffered in silence, fear that you’d slipped away without him knowing. But when he exhaled again, it was with pure tenderness. “Bother me? Darling, you are my every joy.”

He guided you gently, adjusting pillows with almost comical precision until you were supported on every side, your legs stretched, your back eased. Then, instead of returning to bed, Henry slid onto the couch beside you, one arm curling around your shoulders, the other resting over your belly.

“There now,” he murmured. “Both of you are exactly where you belong.”

When the baby kicked again, he smiled, lowering his head. He pressed a soft kiss against the curve of your stomach. Then another. And another, as if dotting the kicks themselves with affection.

“You’re keeping your momma awake, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips brushing your skin between words. “She needs her rest, and so do you. You’ll have all the time in the world to wriggle and kick once you’re here. But for now…be still. Be gentle with her.”

His voice was low, soothing, almost hypnotic. He spoke to the baby about fossils and stars, about how fiercely he loved them already, about how he dreamed of carrying them through the museum one day and showing off the bones of creatures long gone. His hand rubbed slow circles over your belly, grounding you, easing the tension from your body.

Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of his murmurs and the steady warmth of his hand lulling you. The last thing you felt was his lips pressing one final kiss against your bump, and his whispered vow:

“I will love you both until the end of time.”

Sunlight swept slowly into the living room, slipping between the curtains and warming the space in soft golden beams. You stirred, half-waking, your body still heavy with the best sleep you’d had in days.

For a moment you didn’t quite understand why, until you realized the weight against your side, the warmth of a hand still splayed protectively across your belly.

Henry.

He was slumped awkwardly on the couch beside you, his long frame bent at an angle. One arm pillowed his head, the other had never left you, fingers curled gently against the swell of your stomach as if even in sleep he refused to let go. His glasses were set neatly on the side table, you hadn’t even noticed him take them off last night.

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

Almost instantly, his eyes blinked open, sharp with worry before he saw you awake beside him. Relief softened his features. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep. He shifted upright quickly, checking you over with his hands. “How do you feel? Any pain? Any discomfort?”

You shook your head, still smiling. “Actually… better than I’ve slept in weeks.”

At that, his whole body seemed to exhale. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there. “Then this is where we’ll sleep from now on. The couch, the floor, a chair, it doesn’t matter. If you rest, I’ll rest.”

“Henry…” you laughed softly. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said firmly, straightening. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair tousled, but his eyes shone with unshakable devotion. “I’ll build you a nest of pillows right here every night if I must. I’ll fetch tea, warm milk, or anything else you desire. The bed is nothing compared to your comfort.”

Your heart squeezed. You reached for his hand, guiding it back to your belly. “You’re going to spoil us both.”

“Good,” he murmured, kissing your temple, then leaning down to press another kiss to the curve of your stomach. “You deserve nothing less.”

The baby kicked beneath his palm as if answering him, and Henry chuckled low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your skin. “See? Even they agree with me.”

Later that afternoon, Henry decided you needed air. So, he took you to the museum.

He insisted on driving you himself, fussing with your coat and scarf even though the day was mild. When you tried to argue that you could manage, he only fixed you with a look that ended the discussion instantly.

Inside, the museum was quiet, closed to the public that day. The familiar scent of polished wood and old stone wrapped around you like an embrace.

Henry guided you slowly through each hall, his hand never leaving yours until he stopped at an exhibit. Then, with ritualistic care, he would step behind you, sliding one arm low across your belly. His palm spread beneath the swell, lifting just enough to take the weight off your aching back. You melted into the relief, sighing, and he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“There we go,” he murmured. “Better?”

“Much,” you whispered.

And then he began to talk, not to you, but to the baby.

At the fossilized Triceratops skull, his voice softened. “This one roamed the earth sixty-eight million years ago, little one. A herbivore. Strong, protective. Much like your mother.” He squeezed you gently, his lips grazing your ear.

At the towering skeleton of a sauropod, he chuckled, smoothing his hand over your belly. “See this giant? One of the largest creatures to ever walk the earth. Someday, I’ll teach you their names. I’ll show you every bone, every secret.”

Through each hall he spoke, patient and passionate, as if the baby could already understand every word. You leaned back against his chest, eyes half-closed, letting the cadence of his voice wash over you, the pressure on your spine easing under his careful support.

Finally, he led you out into the museum gardens. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, dappling the gravel paths and flowerbeds. You stopped before a quiet bench, and Henry guided you down carefully, his hand still steady at your back until you were settled.

He knelt in front of you, broad hands cupping your belly. His forehead rested against it for a moment, his shoulders trembling as if overwhelmed.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice rough. He lifted his gaze to yours, eyes shining with emotion. “For this. For our baby. For giving me everything I never knew I needed. You and our little miracle...you are my whole world.”

Your throat tightened, tears gathering in your eyes as you stroked his hair.

He kissed your belly again, then your hands, then finally your lips, slow, gentle, filled with unspoken promises.

The jungle was starting to hush, cicadas singing their evening chorus as the last rays of sunlight bled into golden twilight. The camp was calm, just how you liked it after a long day excavating bones and cataloging fossils.

You were at the makeshift cooking station, stirring a fragrant pot of stew over the portable stove. The smell of roasted vegetables, spices, and toasted bread filled the air. You hummed to yourself, swaying a little in time with the rhythm of the sizzling pan.

Then, from a distance you heard shouting.

“Move! Move, move...HEY!”

Zora’s voice sliced through the quiet. Your heart dropped instantly. You turned around, eyes darting toward the trees. There, just past the edge of the excavation zone, Zora and Duncan were rushing toward camp, dragging someone between them.

Henry.

He was slumped between them, blood soaking through the side of his thigh. A torn strip of fabric was tied tightly around his leg.

You froze for one heartbeat. Then dropped the ladle and ran.

“Henry!” you shouted, skidding over uneven dirt and rocks. “What happened?!”

“Landslide,” Duncan grunted. “He got pinned, rock gouged him good.”

“Get him to my tent now!”

They obeyed without question. Your voice was sharp, commanding, unshakable on the surface even as your heart pounded like thunder. You were already shouting orders as you ducked into your tent ahead of them.

“Zora, get my med kit. It’s in the green case by my footlocker. Duncan, bring in extra lanterns, I need light!”

Henry groaned as they lowered him onto your cot. His skin was pale and slick with sweat, lips slightly parted as he panted through the pain.

“Hi,” he mumbled faintly. “Did…did you finish dinner?”

Your breath hitched in your chest. Even hurt, he was trying to make a joke.

“I’m gonna kill you,” you whispered, voice trembling as you dropped to your knees and examined the wound. Deep. Ugly. But survivable. “You idiot. You absolute...god, Henry.”

“I missed you…,” he whispered as you cut away the ruined fabric from his thigh. His head lolled back on the pillow.

“Don’t you dare pass out yet,” you said, reaching for the local anesthetic. “Stay with me.”

Zora returned with the kit, and you moved fast, cleaning, numbing, and checking the damage. The gash was clean enough for stitching. Deep, but not catastrophic. He was lucky. Still, the blood loss was catching up to him, and you could tell he was already starting to drift in and out.

You injected the anesthetic, then grabbed the needle and thread, trying not to let your hands shake.

“I’m right here,” you whispered as you began the first stitch. “You’re gonna be fine, Henry.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, blinking up at you blearily. “You look like…an angel.”

You paused, lips parting.

“I’m serious,” he slurred. “Your hair’s all glowy from the lamp. Like a…like a saint. Do you hear harps? I hear harps.”

“Henry-”

“You smell like soup,” he sighed dreamily. “Like heaven. And rosemary. And...god, I love rosemary.”

Zora bit back a laugh behind you, quietly slipping out to give you space.

“I need you to stay still,” you murmured gently, trying not to laugh or cry as you pulled another suture closed.

“I’d let you stab me any day,” he said with sudden conviction. “You’ve got magic hands. Like...dinosaur goddess hands.”

You paused, snorted softly, then shook your head.

“Henry, I’m literally stitching your leg right now.”

“I know,” he beamed up at you, dopey and adoring. “And I’ve never felt more cherished.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your heart twisting painfully in your chest. “You are ridiculous.”

He reached out blindly, catching the edge of your sleeve.

“You always take care of everyone,” he said, a little quieter now. “You’re the first one awake and the last one to sleep. You pack lunches, patch wounds, make charts, find fossils, and somehow…somehow you’re still sweet.”

His eyes locked on yours, bleary but full of something warm and earnest.

“You remember the day I forgot to eat lunch?” he murmured. “You snuck into my tent and left me a sandwich. Peanut butter. No crust.”

You nodded wordlessly, heart full.

“I knew then,” he said, voice slurring more now. “Knew I was a goner.”

Your hands slowed. You looked at him, breath stuck in your throat.

“...In love with you,” he whispered.

Your hands stilled completely.

He didn’t notice. He was already fading, eyelids fluttering closed, lips parted with the softest, sleepiest smile.

You stared at him for a long moment, your needle still in your hand, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Then you finished the last stitch and gently wrapped the bandage, adjusting his pillow beneath his head with a shaky touch.

Zora peeked through the tent flap again. Her expression was soft.

“He’s out,” you whispered.

She nodded, then raised a brow. “You gonna tell him what he said?”

You looked back at Henry’s sleeping face, your thumb brushing over the edge of the bandage on his thigh.

The next morning Henry blinked awake slowly, the morning light spilling through the tent’s canvas walls in a soft, hazy glow. He squinted, fumbled for his glasses on the side table, and sat up with a groan.

“…I want to see if he remembers.”

You were beside him instantly with a steaming cup of tea.

“Careful,” you murmured. “You’ve got eight new stitches and a lecture in nonsense from last night.”

He winced. “Oh god. What did I say?”

You sipped your tea, smiling into the cup. “A lot.”

“Did I embarrass myself?”

“Oh yeah.”

He groaned. “Do I want to know?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “You said I have goddess hands.”

“…That tracks.”

“You also said you love rosemary. And that I smell like soup.”

He blinked at you.

“Anything else?” he asked slowly, nervously.

You looked down. Then met his gaze again.

“You said you were in love with me.”

The silence was deafening.

He froze, completely, totally frozen, and you could practically see his heart seize in panic.

“I…I did?”

You nodded, quiet. “You did.”

Henry looked like he wanted to dig a hole and crawl in. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Tried again.

“…I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

You leaned in, cupping his cheek with one hand. His eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away.

“That’s okay,” you whispered. “Because I feel the same.”

And then, before he could react, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your lips, and when you pulled away, he looked completely, utterly stunned...eyes wide, mouth parted.

“I…wow.”

“Yeah,” you smiled shyly. “Wow.”

And then he grinned.

A soft, dopey, smitten grin.

“I should almost die more often,” he muttered.

“Don’t you dare,” you warned, laughing as he caught your hand in his.

“I won’t. Not now. I’ve got something to live for.”

The camp had quieted down early that evening. The excavation team had finally gone to bed, the generator hummed softly in the distance, and the jungle sang its usual nighttime lullaby. Distant tree frogs, rustling leaves, and the low call of something ancient and unseen. The world felt muted and slow. Still.

You sat in your tent, legs curled underneath you as you spooned some leftover stew into a bowl. Henry was propped up on the cot, his bandaged leg stretched out carefully in front of him, a blanket pulled up to his waist. His glasses were slightly askew, his hair a little messy, and he looked impossibly soft in the flickering lantern light, eyes already fluttering with exhaustion.

“Soup again?” he mumbled sleepily as you handed him the bowl.

You smiled, settling beside him on the cot. “It’s stew, not soup. And yes. It’s easy to reheat.”

He took a bite and sighed contentedly. “I’ll eat anything you make, you know.”

You bumped your shoulder gently against his. “Even if it was burnt?”

He gave a dramatic pause, as if considering. “I’d eat it with a smile. And tears. But a smile.”

You giggled softly, resting your head against his arm. He hesitated, then slowly, so carefully, shifted his arm to wrap around your shoulders. The bowl trembled a little in his hand as he adjusted it with one arm, but he didn’t let go of you. Not for a second.

“I missed this,” he murmured after a moment. “Not that we’ve…had this before, I guess. But I always imagined it.”

Your heart squeezed. You looked up at him, and he turned to meet your eyes, soft and open, no walls between you anymore.

“I thought you didn’t remember what you said,” you teased gently.

“I didn’t. Not until you told me,” he said, setting the now-empty bowl aside on the crate beside the cot. “But I know I meant it. Every word.”

You were both quiet after that. The lantern light danced on the walls. The tent felt warm, safe. You reached for his hand without thinking, fingers lacing together naturally.

“Come here,” he whispered, voice low and hushed like a secret.

You scooted closer, laying your head on his chest as he eased down slowly onto his side, careful of his leg. He wrapped both arms around you, pulling you close until your legs tangled gently and your bodies slotted together under the thin blanket. His chin rested against your hair. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear.

“I could stay like this forever,” he said softly, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “Just breathing you in.”

You looked up at him, your noses brushing, your breath catching.

He blinked down at you, wide-eyed and a little nervous.

“Can I kiss you?” you whispered.

He nodded once.

And then your lips met.

It was soft. Barely a breath of a kiss. His lips trembled just slightly under yours, like he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. And when you pulled back an inch, just enough to see his face, his eyes were glassy.

You smiled.

He smiled back and then kissed you again.

This time it lingered.

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, and he kissed you like he was trying to memorize every second. You kissed him once, twice, then again, barely pulling back in between, savoring each touch like it was the first and last time.

Nothing rushed. No heat. Just heart.

And when you finally tucked your head back beneath his chin, his arm tightened around you and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered again, voice thick and quiet.

You kissed his collarbone, your fingers curled over his shirt. “I know,” you whispered. “Me too.”

The night passed slowly. Wrapped in each other. Breathing in sync. You fell asleep like that, tangled together, with his heartbeat steady under your ear and the memory of soft kisses still warm on your lips.

The overhead fan spun lazily above, stirring the heavy scent of old books and clean sweat. Henry’s study was dim but warm, filled with the soft glow of his desk lamp and the low rustle of papers. You were kneeling between his legs, your fingers curled into the waistband of his khakis, tugging them just enough to free his dick.

He leaned back in the leather chair, one arm resting across the armrest while the other settled behind his head, smirking lazily down at you.

You looked up at him, lips brushing against the base of his cock, already hard and thick in your hand. “Go on then, Dr. Loomis,” you purred. “Impress me.”

“You really want this right now, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice rough with amusement and desire.

He narrowed his eyes, breath catching. “With… what, exactly?”

You smiled sweetly. “Dinosaur facts. As long as you're educating me, I’ll keep sucking. But if you stop…,” you leaned in and ran your tongue slowly along his length, barely touching, then stopped short of taking him in. “I stop. Think you can handle that?”

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, already falling apart and you hadn’t even started.

But he was a prideful man. And he was a world-renowned paleontologist. Surely he could handle a little distraction.

You gave his cock a slow, teasing stroke as you looked up at him.

“Talk to me, baby.”

He cleared his throat, trying to focus. “D-Dinosaurs… dinosaurs first appeared during the late Triassic period, about… 243 million years ago. They...fuck...they were part of the clade Dinosauria.”

You hummed approvingly, then slowly wrapped your lips around the tip, just enough to taste him.

Henry gasped.

“Dinosaurs are divided into two major groups based on their hip structure...Saurischia, the lizard-hipped, and...oh, god...Ornithischia, the bird-hipped…”

Your mouth moved in time with his words, every moan he made making you wetter, every gasp making your core clench. Henry’s breath hitched, but he stubbornly powered through.

“Saurischians include the theropods, like Tyrannosaurus rex, apex predators…” He let his head fall back as you sucked harder, your tongue flicking around his tip. Henry paused, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by the heat of your mouth.

You immediately pulled back.

He looked down, stunned, panting. “God, don't stop…”

You licked your lips. “You stopped talking, my love.”

His lips curled into a wild smile, like you’d just challenged him to a duel he was eager to lose. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered. “Alright then…”

You took him into your mouth again as he continued.

“Alright. Theropods eventually gave rise to modern birds. That’s why...ah...why we say birds are the only living dinosaurs.”

You hummed in approval, the vibration making him buck his hips. You steadied him with your hand, unrelenting in your rhythm but stopping instantly every time he gasped and lost track of his train of thought.

You were in total control of his pleasure, and he knew it. He was flushed, gripping the arms of the chair like a lifeline, voice cracking between academic authority and breathless desperation.

“Stegosaurus... had two rows of plates... th-there’s debate if they were for defense, display, or thermoregulation...”

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice almost broken. “That mouth...baby, please-”

You pulled off again, slowly, watching a thin string of spit break between your lips and the flushed head of his cock.

His hand tightened in your hair. “No. No no no, don’t stop, please. Please, baby!”

You blinked up at him, all doe-eyed. “Then keep talking.”

He looked wrecked. His hair was damp with sweat, cheeks flushed, and his chest heaving as he tried to find one goddamn fact through the haze of pleasure.

“I-I can’t-”

You gave him a warning glance, licking up his shaft, so slowly he shuddered.

“Yes, you can,” you whispered. “Be a good boy. Use your big brain for me.”

He groaned, the sound torn from his throat, and tried to pull together a coherent thought.

“Brachiosaurus,” he choked, “had longer front legs than back. That’s how you know it was built to graze from the tops of trees. F-Forelimbs were angled almost vertically. Massive...fuck...massive nasal arch-”

You moaned around him in approval, sucking him deep and slow. His hand tightened again in your hair, guiding your rhythm, but every time he started to coast, started to lose the thread of his words, you pulled back.

“NO-” He gasped, desperate. “Please. I-I’ll talk, I’ll tell you anything! Just don’t stop, baby, please...please!”

“You’re so pretty like this,” you whispered against the tip of his cock, flicking your tongue over it. “So smart. So needy.”

He cursed again and dragged you back down by the hair, but it was almost pathetic now, his hips twitching with the effort not to fuck up into your throat.

“Parasaurolophus,” he groaned, “used its crest to make low-frequency sounds… c-communication… herd safety...oh, my god...fuckfuckfuck-”

You kissed the head of his cock and let it drop from your lips, saliva slick and glistening down his shaft. “You know the rules, sweetheart. You stop lecturing…”

“…You stop sucking,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“Exactly,” you purred, dragging your tongue flat up his length, slow as dripping honey. “Now, continue your lesson.”

He blinked like he was drunk, or maybe on the verge of passing out. “O-Okay. Okay…”

You took just the tip between your lips, watching him unravel again.

“Um… Diplodocus…” he gasped, “was a long-necked sauropod… up to 90 feet… lived in the late Jurassic… had...fuck...had a whip-like tail for defense…”

You started to bob your head slowly, and he moaned, low and broken.

“It… it had peg-like teeth only in the front of its mouth,” he breathed, legs twitching under your touch. “Used to strip leaves… not chew…”

Your hands gripped his thighs as you picked up pace, wet sounds echoing obscenely in the dim, lamplit study. He was panting like a man on the brink, but when his voice faltered, just for a second, you immediately pulled off.

He whined.

“Baby, please, don’t do this to me, I can’t think straight-”

You grinned up at him, voice sugar-sweet. “You want to come so badly, but you still haven’t told me about ceratopsians. How many horns did Styracosaurus have?”

He blinked, dazed. “I swear you're trying to kill me...”

You licked a stripe up his cock.

He groaned. “Six. No, seven...seven horns. Frill spikes, fuck, baby, posterior direction...god-”

You sucked him down again, deeper, and he moaned so loudly it would’ve echoed through the hallway if the door weren’t shut.

His hand tightened in your hair, possessive now, almost pleading, as you worked him with your mouth.

“You’re so fucking cruel,” he gasped. “You’re ruining me-”

“Mmm,” you hummed, pulling off with a pop. “Then tell me about the Allosaurus, baby”

He thumped his head back against the chair, practically growling.

“Allosaurus… was a theropod predator, slightly smaller than T. rex...lived in the Jurassic...had crests over its eyes, three fingers, not two, like the T. rex... Jesus Christ, your mouth-”

He looked down at you, flushed and wild, hair sticking to his forehead, glasses askew, chest heaving.

“I can’t...Baby, I need to come, please, I’ll do anything!”

You tightened your grip on his thigh, eyes locked on his as you whispered, “Not yet.”

He looked like he might cry.

You started again, slower this time. Cruel. Drawn-out. Making sure he felt every flick of your tongue, every hollow of your cheeks, every tremble of your throat.

“F-Fuck,” he whispered. “Okay. Okay. Ankylosaurus was part of the ankylosaurid family...fused bones, ankylos, means fused, tail club for defense, bony plates for armor, glands may have secreted...oh my god-”

He was coming undone, unraveling. Sweat dripped from his temples, his thighs trembling as he fought to keep talking, but you kept edging him, letting him get so close before pulling off again with a wet pop.

His voice was cracked now. “I’m begging you,” he gasped. “I’ll give you every species I know...taxonomy, classification, even the fucking etymology, just let me cum.”

You smirked, gently licking his length. “Then tell me more about the Tyrannosaurus rex, baby.”

Henry let out a breathless, almost shaky laugh, then gritted his teeth and obeyed, voice trembling.

“Name means ‘tyrant lizard king’… bipedal predator… sixty serrated teeth… two feet long… bone-crushing bite force… evolved keen binocular vision…”

You moaned and took him all the way in, letting him hit the back of your throat. He shouted, one hand flying to grip the desk as the other held your hair like a lifeline, dragging you closer, deeper.

“Kept balance with its tail,” he whimpered, “could smell prey for miles...fuck-fuck I can’t-”

You swallowed around his cock, and that was his undoing.

He came with a broken cry, head thrown back, his body tensing violently as wave after wave crashed through him. His fingers gripped your hair, trembling, the tension in his voice replaced with stunned, ragged gasps as you swallowed around him.

When you finally pulled off, breathless and glowing, he looked destroyed. Glazed eyes. Slack jaw. Sweat-slicked chest rising and falling like he’d just run for his life.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, giving you a sleepy smile.

You crawled into his lap, straddling him while his softening cock twitched against your thigh. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, holding you like he might float away.

“You did so well for me,” you murmured in his ear. “My brilliant, paleontologist.”

He groaned. “Next time, I’m bending you over my desk and making you recite the taxonomic tree while I ruin you.”

You grinned. “Promise?”

The sea stretched endlessly around the boat, glassy and golden beneath the early morning sun. Wind tousled your hair as you leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the smudge of land growing larger on the horizon.

You felt the buzz of anticipation in your chest, real dinosaur nests, finally within reach. It was the kind of research trip you’d dreamed about since grad school, and you were here, among some of the best minds in the field.

Somewhere behind you, a man stood frozen on the deck.

Dr. Henry Loomis clutched his clipboard so tightly his knuckles were white. His gaze hadn’t left you since you stepped onto the boat. His brain had completely stopped working the moment you smiled at Zora and wrapped her in a familiar hug, voice soft and bright as the sun bouncing off the waves.

“She’s studying nesting behavior,” Duncan said, sidling up beside him. “And you’re staring.”

Henry blinked, startled. “I-I wasn’t-”

“You are,” Duncan said with a smirk. “Like you’ve just seen a goddess emerge from the sea.”

“I was just...curious. Scientifically.”

“Right. Scientifically curious about her mouth.”

Henry looked away, face flushed, clutching the clipboard like it could shield him from embarrassment. “She probably doesn’t even know I exist.”

Zora, now lounging on a supply crate nearby, arched an eyebrow. “Not if you keep hiding behind clipboards.”

“She’s…stunning,” Henry whispered, almost like he was afraid saying it aloud would make it less true. “And brilliant. Zora, you said she had a paper on interspecies nesting overlap-”

“Uh huh. And you said you were going to be professional this trip,” Zora cut in. “But you’ve been staring at her like she’s the last fossil on Earth.”

Henry sighed, hopeless. “Oh, god...I’m doomed.”

The island was breathtaking, with lush foliage, low sweeping valleys, and thick canopies shadowing ancient terrain. You helped set up base camp and immediately launched into work, hiking out with a pack full of scanners, a journal already half-filled with hypotheses.

The forest air was thick with humidity and the deep, earthy scent of ancient soil. Ferns brushed your legs as you crouched beside a nesting mound, brush in hand, gently sweeping away loose dirt from the edge of a partially buried eggshell.

Henry knelt beside you, notebook open, but he wasn’t writing. Not yet.

He was watching you again.

The sun filtered through the canopy above, streaking gold across your cheek, highlighting the delicate concentration in your eyes. The way your brow furrowed, how your fingers moved with careful precision, like the egg could crumble under the weight of a careless breath. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, unaware of the way his heart stuttered every time you did.

“I think it’s Dryosaurus,” you murmured, brushing back a bit more soil. “The shell’s thickness, the slight green tint from the sediment...see here?”

You leaned closer, and Henry leaned in too, helpless.

He swallowed. “You’re…incredible at this.”

You smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

“Seriously,” he added, voice barely above the wind rustling through the trees. “I could watch you do this all day.”

You froze for a second, blinking. He realized what he said a heartbeat too late.

“I-I mean professionally, of course. As a colleague. From a respectful scientific distance.”

You bit your lip, hiding a smile. “Of course.”

Henry ducked his head, face pink, but the moment was interrupted by a low, throaty chirp nearby.

Both your heads turned in sync.

From the brush emerged a young Pachycephalosaurus, no taller than your chest, its curious eyes blinking as it tilted its head. Its scales shimmered faintly green and gold in the dappled light.

You stilled immediately, careful not to startle it.

Henry’s breath caught.

“She’s alone,” you whispered. “Probably ventured from her herd. We’ve seen tracks up the ridge.”

Henry’s hand drifted protectively near your back, he didn’t touch you, but he hovered close enough to make your skin tingle. “Stay still. She might approach.”

Sure enough, the little dino took a tentative step forward.

You slowly extended your hand, palm open, voice low. “Hey there, pretty girl…”

The Pachy blinked again, then, to your delight, nudged her nose gently against your palm. She sniffed curiously, then chirped once and lowered her head as if inviting more contact.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “She’s trusting me.”

Henry was utterly silent beside you, awestruck, not by the dinosaur, but by you. The way you softened, how your voice turned gentle, your entire body becoming calm.

“She likes you,” he murmured, watching your hand stroke over the creature’s scaly brow. “Of course she does.”

The dinosaur nuzzled your knee, then turned and waddled back into the brush, disappearing with a rustle of ferns.

You stared after her, grinning widely. “That was…magical.”

Henry hadn’t moved. “So are you.”

You turned to him, breath catching at the look on his face. He blinked, realizing he’d said that out loud again.

“Sorry. I-”

“Don’t be,” you said, smiling softly. “You’re kind of sweet when you forget to filter yourself.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re going to kill me.”

You stood and extended your hand to help him up. He hesitated only a second before taking it, warm, solid, his fingers curling into yours like they were meant to fit.

When he stood, your bodies were close. He didn’t let go.

You looked up at him through your lashes. “You okay?”

“I’m great,” he said, voice shaky.

You held his gaze for a long moment. And even though neither of you said anything more, the electricity between you crackled like fire just beneath your skin.

He finally let go. You both turned back to the site.

For the rest of the afternoon, Henry never strayed more than a few feet from you. Whenever you crouched to check a nest or adjust your notes, he hovered nearby, watching, listening, burning quietly with love.

He didn’t need a dinosaur to knock into him to know he’d fallen hard.

But somehow, you still didn’t realize.

Zora did.

She approached you one afternoon as you were sketching nest layouts near camp. She plopped beside you, chin in hand.

“So,” she said casually. “How long are you going to make Henry suffer?”

You blinked. “What?”

Zora snorted. “Girl. You have to know. He’s so in love with you, it hurts to look at him.”

You stared at her, heat creeping into your cheeks.

“He’s been inventing reasons to be near you for days,” she said. “He blushes every time you say his name. He practically short-circuits when you smile at him.”

Your lips parted slightly. “I thought he was just…shy.”

“He is. But he’s also obsessed with you.”

Your heart started beating faster. All the stolen glances. The trembling hands. The way his voice went hoarse when he asked you questions.

“Oh my god.”

Zora leaned back with a grin. “Go talk to him. Or I will.”

Meanwhile, Duncan had dragged Henry behind one of the tents, arms crossed.

“She knows,” he said.

Henry’s whole body tensed. “What?! What do you mean, she...Zora told her?!”

“She did. You’re welcome.”

Henry groaned. “I-I’m going to ruin everything. What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

Duncan shook his head. “Listen, man. You’ve been walking around like a kicked puppy. Just go. Tell her. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Henry stood frozen for a full thirty seconds before he finally nodded.

You were in your tent when he arrived, the flap rustling softly as he hesitated in the entrance. He looked wrecked with nerves, hair mussed, glasses slightly fogged, breath shallow.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said quietly.

You stood. “Not at all. Come in.”

He stepped inside like it was sacred ground. The lantern light painted him in gold and amber, casting soft shadows across his face.

“I…Zora told you,” he said.

You nodded slowly. “She did.”

He swallowed hard. “It's true...all of it. I’ve never…I’ve never felt this way before. About anyone. And I was terrified I’d ruin it if I said something. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you. Not just for your work. Not just as a colleague. I want you.”

You stared at him, heart in your throat.

“I noticed you the moment you stepped on the boat,” he whispered. “And I haven’t stopped.”

You stepped closer, voice barely above a breath. “Henry…”

He looked up, eyes full of longing. “Please. Just tell me you feel something too.”

You reached up, cupped his cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something.”

He exhaled like you’d just granted him salvation. And then he kissed you.

It started softly.

Henry’s lips met yours with aching tenderness, his hands tentative as they curled around your waist. But the longer your mouths moved together, the more control he lost. The kiss deepened, turned hungry. Days of restraint cracked under your touch.

He guided you back toward the cot, pausing only to whisper, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, like he was savoring every second. His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, tracing warm lines over your skin as he murmured your name like it was something holy.

When your shirt came off, he stared like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His hands hovered just above your skin, hesitant, afraid.

“Henry,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

He obeyed instantly, palms sliding up your ribs, over your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples gently as you gasped. He watched your every reaction like it was a discovery. When you tugged at his shirt, he fumbled it off, blushing as you ran your hands over his chest.

You kissed your way down his neck, and he shuddered, soft moans slipping from his lips.

When you laid back on the cot and guided his fingers between your thighs, he nearly lost it.

“You’re so wet already,” he whispered, dazed.

“For you.”

He swallowed hard, eyes locked on yours as he slipped one, then two fingers inside. His touch was slow, careful, as if memorizing the feel of you.

Your back arched slightly as he slid them in and out of you. He curled them and you had to cover your mouth to stifle the moan.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “I want to make you feel good. Let me.”

He kissed down your stomach, spreading your thighs gently. His breath fanned over your cunt before his tongue met you, and the gasp that tore from your throat made his hips jerk against the mattress.

He worshiped you like it was instinct, like he was born to. He moaned against you when you tangled your fingers in his hair, your thighs trembling around his head.

“H-Henry...please...oh, my god!”

He slid those same two fingers back inside you, finding your sweet spot as his tongue flicked over your clit.

You couldn't keep quiet, your cries of pleasure getting increasingly more urgent as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

When you came, crying his name, he looked up with raw awe in his eyes.

You pulled him up, kissed him deep, and reached for his belt. His hands covered yours.

“I won’t last long,” he warned, voice ragged. “Not when you look like this, not with you so beautiful beneath me…”

“Then don’t hold back,” you whispered. “I want all of you.”

He slid inside you with a broken groan, burying his face in your neck as he filled you. He stilled, breathing hard, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “You feel…so good.”

He moved slowly at first, hips rocking in gentle waves. But when you whimpered his name, digging your nails into his back, something snapped.

He kissed you hungrily, thrusting deeper, harder, whispering things you could barely understand. “So beautiful,” “Can’t believe you’re mine,” “I never want to leave.”

Henry slid his hand to your breast, squeezing your nipple as he kissed you deeply. He did the same to your other one before he reached between your bodies to find your clit.

You came again, and the way your walls pulsed around him undid him. He buried himself as deep as he could and spilled with a hoarse cry, trembling above you.

He was gentle when he pulled out of you, peppering kisses along your cheeks, jaw, and lips. The two of you fell asleep like that, curled against one another, the sounds of the jungle a soft lullaby.

The tent was quiet in the golden haze of the morning.

Birds chirped distantly in the canopy above, and somewhere nearby, the low bellow of a herbivore echoed through the trees, but inside your tent, everything was still. Still and warm. Warm from the heat of Henry’s body, his breath ghosting over your shoulder, his arms curled protectively around your waist.

The brilliant, shy, ridiculously sweet Henry slept with his face buried in your neck, one hand splayed gently across your stomach, the other tucked under your side like he needed to be as close as humanly possible.

You couldn’t stop smiling.

Every time he shifted in his sleep and unconsciously pulled you tighter, your heart fluttered. You remembered the way he’d looked at you the night before, awestruck, feral with need. You remembered the way his hands had trembled when he’d touched you. And now here he was, tangled in the sheets with you.

You brushed a hand through his hair.

He stirred with a soft groan, nuzzling your neck. Then his lips parted against your skin.

“…Did last night really happen?” he murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep.

You giggled. “It did.”

Henry opened his eyes slowly. And blushed instantly.

His gaze flicked from your bare legs to your lips, then to your fingers resting on his chest. “You’re, um…wearing my shirt.”

You sat up, the fabric falling loosely over your thighs. It was comically large on you, soft, slightly wrinkled, and completely saturated in his scent.

You grinned. “It’s comfy.”

He looked like he’d stopped breathing.

Something hit a pan just outside the tent, followed by a very loud, very fake cough.

Then...

CRASH

Zora.

You both froze.

“I know someone’s up in there,” she called. “And I brought pancakes. If I’m gonna suffer through your post-sex glow, I at least expect to see both of you at breakfast.”

Henry groaned into your pillow. “Oh god.”

You stepped out of the tent five minutes later, barefoot, legs bare, Henry’s shirt brushing just past your knees. You’d quickly combed your hair with your fingers and tried to play it cool, but Zora and Duncan were both waiting like lions spotting prey.

Duncan was lounging at the makeshift breakfast table with a smug grin and two plates in front of him. Zora leaned against a tent pole, arms crossed, biting back a grin as her gaze immediately dropped to the shirt.

“Well good morning, sunshine,” she said sweetly.

You tried not to laugh. “Morning.”

Henry stumbled out behind you, hair still tousled, face bright red as he adjusted his pants and put his glasses on. He didn’t even look at Zora or Duncan, just mumbled something about coffee and bolted toward the brewing pot like it might save his life.

Duncan tilted his head, grinning up at you.

“That his shirt?”

You nodded, holding your plate.

“Nice,” he said. “Very…possessive. You planning on giving it back?”

“Never,” you said with a smirk.

Zora slid a mug of tea across the table toward you. “You broke the poor man.”

You sat beside her, sipping and smiling as Henry nervously handed you a napkin and sat very carefully next to you, like any sudden movement might draw more attention.

You glanced over at him. His ears were so red.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

He cleared his throat. “I...yes. Just…warm.”

Zora grinned into her mug. “Bet it was.”

Henry choked on his coffee.

Duncan deadpanned. “Glad to see the tent didn’t collapse.”

You laughed as Henry buried his face in his hands.

Zora leaned closer, mock whispering, “Was he as shy in bed as he is in the field?”

Henry actually groaned, but you leaned into it, resting your hand on his thigh under the table.

“Nope,” you whispered. “Not even a little.”

Henry dropped his fork.

Duncan burst out laughing.

You all sat there a while longer, pancakes on paper plates, syrup passed back and forth, birds singing in the trees. Henry relaxed gradually, his hand finding yours beneath the table, thumb brushing gently along your knuckles. You leaned into him, his shirt warm and oversized on your body, his shoulder brushing yours.

And even though Zora and Duncan kept teasing, relentlessly, you could tell Henry was glowing beneath the nerves. Because every time you laughed, every time you touched his knee or smiled at him over your mug, he looked at you like he couldn’t believe this was his life now.

Like you were the most precious discovery he'd ever made.