The warmth was suffocating.
Skyy drifted upward through layers of sleep, consciousness returning in slow, heavy waves.
The first thing he registered was heat—an almost oppressive warmth that seemed to wrap around him from all sides.
The second was the solid weight of an arm banded across his waist, holding him flush against something firm and unyielding.
He blinked, eyes adjusting to the dimness of the storage room. His head was pillowed against Chen's chest, he realized, rising and falling with steady breaths.
Chen's other arm was tucked beneath him, cradling him close, and Skyy's own leg had somehow found its way across Chen's hips, his thigh draped over—
He froze.
There was something hard there. Something that radiated heat even through the layers of fabric separating them, something that pulsed with a life of its own.
Skyy's breath hitched as understanding crashed over him.
He knew enough, had seen enough, to recognize the rigid shape pressing against his thigh.
