Minutes pass, or maybe hours. The room has darkened, the only light coming from the flickering streetlamps outside. Asa is breathing softly, his head tucked under my chin. He’s drifting, the immediate edge of the pain dulled by the knotting, but the heat is far from over. I can feel the next wave building in the wayhis skin is still fever-hot, the way his fingers twitch against my arm.
I carefully disengage, despite the protest from my own body. He moans, his hand immediately searching for me in the dark. "Don't go."
"I'm just getting water, Asa. I'm not leaving you," I say, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Stay in the nest."
I move through the condo, my naked skin cold against the air. I grab a bottle of water and a clean cloth, my mind already calculating the time. Mercer will notice I’m missing soon. The trackers in my skin are suppressed for now, but the ESA doesn't leave its primary assets unaccounted for long. Especially not when those assets are bonded to the only person who can stop them from going nuclear.
I return to the bed and help him drink. He’s sluggish, his eyes half-closed as I wipe the sweat from his face and chest. I want him to know that he is cared for, not just used.
"You’re so quiet," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking about how much I hate that I have to leave this room eventually," I say, pulling him back into my arms and letting the scent of vanilla and black cedar weave together until the air is a shield.
The second wave hits just before dawn. It’s more violent than the first, a sharp, spiking fever that has Asa arching off the blankets, his nails raking down my back as he begs for more. I roll over to find his ass perched in my face, those beautiful slick thighs calling me in.
Unable to help myself, I press my face forward, running my tongue along his skin before slipping into his hole. Asa lets out a yelp, his back arching further. “Knot, Eni.Knot.”
I chuckle at his inability to say more than that, even as his hips move back to meet my tongue. He tastes sweet, like heaven,something I’m going to enjoy time and time again. When he lets out a distressed whine, I decide to give him a reprieve and move to my knees to drive into him with one thrust.
I take him again, this time slower, more thorough. I want to memorize the way he sounds when he loses his mind. I want to feel every tremor of his muscles as I drive into him. He’s louder this time, his sarcasm stripped away until he’s nothing but raw, beautiful truth.
Eventually, the sun begins to bleed through the curtains, casting long, pale shadows across the nest. Asa is finally, truly asleep, his body limp and satisfied. He’s tucked against my side, his hand curled into the hem of my discarded shirt. He looks younger like this, the lines of worry and academic stress smoothed away by the exhaustion of the heat.
Asa's skin is still too warm, though. I reach out, my fingers tracing the delicate curve of his shoulder, feeling the way the heat thrums just beneath the surface like an underground river. I can feel the next surge gathering, a low-frequency vibration in the bond that makes my own teeth ache with the need to bite, to mark, to claim him so deeply the ESA could never scrub my scent from his marrow.
"Jorak?" His voice is a ghost of a sound, barely more than a breath. He doesn't open his eyes, but his head rolls toward my touch, seeking the friction.
"I'm here, baby," I whisper, shifting so I can pull closer. "Go back to sleep, Asa. You need the rest."
"Can't. It's... thick. The air is too thick." He fumbles for my hand, interlacing our fingers over his stomach. His palm is damp with fresh slick, the sweet, heavy scent of it blooming again. My knot hasn't fully subsided from the last round, and the contact sends a fresh jolt of Black Current through my system, sparking like a live wire in a puddle.
I press my nose into the nape of his neck, the light mark I left there earlier angry and red, a beautiful brand that tells the world who he belongs to. One day, it’ll be permanent. I lick over the bruised skin, my tongue catching on the salt of his sweat. He lets out a low, melodic whine, the sound of an Omega who is finally, after a lifetime of hiding, allowing himself to be seen.
"Does it still hurt?" I ask, my voice vibrating against his spine.
"No," he murmurs, his breathing hitching as the fever spikes again. "It's just... more. I want more. Please, Jorak. Don't let me go yet. I feel like if you stop touching me, I'll just... fall apart. I'll turn back into that ghost in the library."
I hum against his skin, tugging at the bruise with my teeth, a silent question he doesn’t answer. “Rest a little. I’ll knot you again when the next wave comes, okay?”
He nods a little, his snores permeating the air in the next few seconds. I relax a little before feeling around my phone, grimacing at the message on the screen.
Inquiry: Asset 01-Thorn. Status required. Deploying retrieval unit in 30:00.
That was five minutes ago. Unfortunately, Mercer is just going to have to wait.
Asa
The fever is gone, but the ghost of it still hums in my marrow. I wake in the center of the nest we’ve spent the last forty-eight hours destroying, and for a few seconds, I don’t know where the blankets end and I begin. The air in the room is heavy, saturated with the thick, cloying scent of pear and vanilla tangled in the dark, woodsy bite of black cedar.
I shift, and my body immediately registers the protests of every muscle I own. I’m sore in places I didn't know had a purpose beyond basic anatomy. My skin feels tight, coated in the salt of dried sweat and the slick, tacky residue of a heat that took everything I had and then asked for more. I’m a wreck.
Jorak is there, braced on one elbow, watching me with a steady, unblinking intensity that makes my heart do a clumsy trip-step. He looks like he hasn’t closed his eyes once since the world narrowed down to this bed. There’s a shadow of stubble along his jaw and his eyes are dark, tracking the way my chestrises with a shaky breath. He looks like a man who has decided that leaving was never an option on the table.
"You're back," he says. His voice is a low rumble that vibrates through the mattress and straight into my spine.
"I think so," I manage. My throat is dry, tasting of whiskey and the metallic afterburn of his Black Current. I try to sit up, but my limbs have the structural integrity of overcooked noodles. The room tilts, the bookshelves on the far wall doing a slow, dizzying dance.
Before I can even think about falling, Jorak’s hands are on me. He doesn't just steady me; he gathers me up like I weigh nothing at all, his arms sliding under my knees and back with a terrifyingly easy strength. I’m suddenly airborne, my head lolling against the hard muscle of his chest.
