by Noah Harris
Christopher scoffs, pulling Timothy's chair back and putting his hands under the man's arms to gently encourage him to stand. He does with little prompting. "You definitely are not."
"I can't do anything else like this. You might as well let me work," Timothy mumbles as Christopher herds him toward the bathroom to get ready for bed.
"I do let you do your work, and I enjoy watching how passionate you are about it. You're incredible," he says it casually and earnestly, but he sees the way Timothy's head ducks, a blush spreading out from his cheeks to the tip of his ears. He doesn't call attention to it, but he does smile. "But you also need to be relaxing. Stress isn't good for you or the baby. You can't work all day."
"I can try," Timothy mutters.
Christopher just chuckles, reaching up to ruffle the man's hair but ends up just running his fingers affectionately through his curls. "Guess that means I'll have to take time off from work to stay here and watch you. Wouldn't want you overworking yourself in my absence."
"Guess so." As they step into the bathroom, he can see the small smile on Timothy's lips in the mirror, even if he won't make eye contact.
They brush their teeth together before moving into their separate rooms to change for bed, only to reconvene at their nest downstairs. He's not sure when it became habit for him to share the nest with Timothy. He thinks it must have been gradual, several nights in a row where they fell asleep watching shows or movies turned into an expected habit that he sleep there with the omega.
It's all terribly domestic, and Christopher loves every second of it.
As he lays in their nest on his back, staring at the sheet that stretches over their space, he once again finds himself thinking about his mate.
His affection for him has grown even more, becoming so strong it sometimes hurts. Butterflies fill his gut whenever Timothy is around, and he feels lighter than air, smiles and warm affection are pulled out of him with ease. He can't remember a time when he's felt so relaxed. But there's also an ache in his chest, and he knows the root of it is because he can look but he can't touch.
And he burns to touch.
He can feel the electricity between them. It's like static on his skin, making his hair stand on end and his stomach tighten with anticipation. His wolf paces restlessly beneath his skin, calmed by having his mate so close but frustrated that Christopher won't take the extra step to close the space between them.
For his wolf, things are simple. His mate is here and in need. He needs to protect him and care for him. He wants to be with him, so he should. He wants to touch him, so he should. Timothy doesn't seem bothered by his presence anymore. In fact, the omega seems to enjoy having him around, especially if his clothes in his nest are any indication. So he has no reason to hold himself back.
Or so his wolf says.
Christopher, however, knows it's not so simple.
He wishes more than anything that he could go further and claim Timothy completely, to make them mates in full. But he feels blocked by their past. How can he dare to claim Timothy as his mate when he let him down so thoroughly four years ago? How can he call himself an alpha worthy of such an extraordinary omega? How can Timothy ever trust him again?
Once, he had allowed himself to believe that while he failed, his actions in the end were for a reason. He might have gone about it the wrong way, but he let himself believe his decisions were justified. He’d been trying to unite a pack and prove himself the alpha, after which he could protect Timothy, and he had sacrificed the omega's dignity to do so. What he once thought was the best decision he could have made now feels vain, foolish, and cowardly.
Especially now he knows how deeply he scarred Timothy. Especially when he didn't chase after his mate but instead let him continue with his self-destructive behavior.
He's not sure what he should do, and he's terrified of making the wrong decision again. He's paralyzed by it.
So instead he contents himself with watching Timothy bumble around the house, focused wholly on caring for him and keeping him happy. He can feel his heart expanding with every inch of Timothy's waist.
He wonders if the baby will be monstrously big given the size of Timothy's stomach, or if it simply looks that large because Timothy himself is so small. However big, he's certain the child will be absolutely adorable if he takes after Timothy even just a little. No matter who the father is.
The father…
Christopher has stopped wondering about the other man altogether. The closer he and Timothy get, the more he realizes that the other man doesn't matter. Timothy still hasn't told him who it is, but Christopher decided he won't be a problem unless he tries to take part in the baby's life. At which point, Christopher will step in.
Because it doesn't matter who the baby's biological father is. He's realized he's come to think of the child as his own. After all, Timothy is his mate, and he's going through the pregnancy with him. It doesn't matter who fathered the child because the fact remains, Christopher has already come to love them. And he will take care of them once they're born as if they were his own.
He hasn't brought it up for fear of the answer, which is perhaps cowardly on his part. But Christopher hopes Timothy will want to stay with him after the child is born. He hopes…he wants them to be a family.
His mate and his child.
Timothy sighs in his sleep, rolling over to press up against Christopher's side. He stiffens as the omega's head rests on his shoulder, nuzzling into his chest as he presses his body up against him. One leg drapes over Christopher's legs, and one arm wraps around his waist.
Christopher swallows hard, slowly wrapping an arm around the omega and willing his body to relax.
Despite Timothy's growing size, Christopher finds himself more attracted to his mate by the day. The tension of his affection has him wound tight as a bow string, the desire to touch and to claim like an insatiable itch beneath his skin. He wishes more than anything to touch him again, to be intimate like they were that first night in the barracks. Would that even be possible now, given Timothy's pregnancy? More importantly, would he even want to?
No, he tells himself. He shouldn't let himself even consider it. With everything going on, it has to be the last thing on Timothy's mind.
He's in the process of cleaning the kitchen after lunch when several loud, impatient knocks sound at the door, echoing ominously through the house. He freezes, glancing over to see Timothy sitting stiffly in his chair at the dining room table, turning to look at him curiously.
He tosses the towel aside, putting a comforting hand on Timothy's shoulder as he passes. "I'll get it."
He can hear the pack long before he opens the door. There’s a lot of them, but they move and writhe in a crowd, making it hard to count. He'd guess somewhere around two dozen. They're all his men, soldiers and excellent wolves. Men he trusts and who he's gone into battle with and on missions with on more than one occasion. These are men he trusts with his life, and men that trust him to lead them.
And they're visibly angry.
He knows their complaints even before they begin to voice them. Despite his continuous appeals to their superiors, their stance on ration portions hasn't changed. His pack needs more meat to stay healthy as wolves, but he hasn't been able to convince the government to give it to them.
They all speak at once, all trying to have their voices heard. It's a cacophony of complaints and pleas, and he only manages to gather bits and pieces from people. But it's enough to give him the big picture. They're worried about their health and that of their families. They're having to use their own wages to pay for the extra meat and that's cutting into their savings and their expenses for other necessities.
He stands there and listens, jaw clenched tight and arms tightly crossed over his chest. They say they don't blame him, but he feels like he's failing them as an alpha, nonetheless.
Then there's a hand on his lower-back, and a presence at his side. He turns to find Timothy standing next to him, one ha
nd on his back and the other resting on his swollen belly. He stands close, gathering strength from Christopher yet still standing half in his shadow.
Christopher's eyes widen and he stiffens, and when their gazes meet, he tries to silently communicate with the omega.
Go back inside.
They have been cruel to you and their patience is thin today.
Don't meddle in this.
But Timothy doesn't back down. He purses his lips and furrows his brow, squaring his shoulders as he lifts his chin and faces the pack that's already shunned him. The pack glares at him, wary and cautious, biting their tongues because of Christopher's orders, but he can see their restless agitation.
"What's going on here?" Timothy asks, and Christopher is surprised by the firmness of the question and the unwavering confidence.
A few of the pack members shift, exchanging glances. They look surprised, too, but apparently there's enough authority in Timothy's voice for them to respond.
"The government isn't giving us enough rations of meat with our supplies," one of them says, voice clipped with anger and stiff with indignation at answering an omega. But admitting their grievances aloud paves the way for the others to voice their complaints as well.
"We're having to use our own money to buy the extra, but it's cutting into our wages."
"It's not enough to live on! We're wolves! Not humans!"
"The government knows that, but they still won't feed us properly!"
"They use us for our strength, but they're treating us like dirt. We do so much and we deserve proper rations!"
"I've tried speaking with the higher ups, but no one listens to us," Christopher adds, voice a low, menacing rumble with his own frustration. "They give us the same rations as the other special wolf forces units. But those packs are located in areas where they're allowed to hunt, so they can make up for what the government doesn't provide. Hunting is also good for moral and keeping our wolves sharp. But we're not allowed to hunt in this area, so we have no other source of meat. But the government won't listen."
Timothy frowns, and Christopher is surprised to see that spark of determined fire in his eyes. When he looks back to the pack, his gaze is sharp and calculating, his words clipped and professional.
He comes up with solutions easily, slinging legal jargon and previous case names like gunfire, already building a case for them as he rambles through his thoughts with quick precision. The pack falls silent, all of them staring at Timothy with surprised awe. They fall into line easily after that, answering his questions quickly and posing new questions, but without the chaos and instead with organized passion.
Christopher watches, trying to remember how to breathe. His chest feels so full, tight as pride swells inside him. Not only is Timothy building a case for them, offering legal action to get them justice, but whether he realizes it or not, he's organizing the pack. He's forcing respect and commanding them, not unlike Christopher does himself.
His mate is taking control, and it's a beautiful thing to watch.
It makes heat surge through his veins, pooling low in his gut. The itch to touch and claim intensifies, practically burning with need beneath his skin.
By the time the pack leaves, they're still discontent, but far less so than when they arrived. There's a new fire in them, and it's a focused one that burns with hope.
"That was incredible," Christopher says, inadvertently slamming the door shut with a little too much force. He's far too wound up to care. He turns on Timothy and watches as a proud smile fades to something more shy and surprised.
"Really?" he asks, breathless like he can't believe it. Hopeful, but full of so much insecurity.
"Really," Christopher says firmly.
He turns to face the omega, stalking forward on slow, measured steps. He can feel how predatory his stance has become, body language graceful and dangerous as he stalks toward Timothy. Gaze burning with an intensity that feels like fire in his veins, eyes dark and lidded. His wolf prowls beneath his flesh, close to the surface, howling for his mate.
He stops in front of Timothy, reaching up to run his fingertips along the omega's jaw, relishing in the way the man shivers beneath his touch, eyes fluttering shut. "You're amazing. So clever and smart. You've worked so hard and done so much. You're so kind and so quick to defend others. You burn with the need to protect. Do you even realize how easily you corralled my pack? You commanded them without words, forcing them to listen and respect you. You're perfect."
When Timothy opens his eyes, they remain lidded, dark depths swirling and burning, mirroring what Christopher feels building inside him. Timothy's hands lift, playing over Christopher's, his slim fingers squeezing his own like a lifeline. "Christopher…" he breathes, low and needy, a whine that hinges on desperation.
His name said like that, swirling with far too many emotions, torn with uncertainty and desire. It's too much. It pulls Christopher in and he's helpless to resist.
His hand slips behind Timothy's head, fingers carding through his hair to cup the back of his neck as he surges forward, capturing the omega's lips.
Timothy
The kiss is new and familiar at the same time.
It's nostalgic, calling back to a similar time four years ago, when everything was new and overwhelming. Christopher's scent fills him, warm and comforting, earthy and grounding. That scent drew him to the alpha four years ago, but it's only been in the past few months that it's become part of his daily life. Living in a place saturated in Christopher's scent, having it woven into the nest where he sleeps, he finds himself constantly surrounded by it. It brings him far more comfort than he realized, and in this moment, it's both overwhelming and calming. It fills his lungs, seeping into his pores and drives his instincts wild. But more than that, it wraps him in a warm embrace, soothing his frazzled nerves and easing the tension from his body, allowing him to melt into the alpha.
A soft sigh escapes his lips, contentment swirling in his chest as he leans into the other man. One of Christopher's hands continues to cradle Timothy's head, holding him in place while his other slides down his back. Timothy's own hands come up automatically, resting on Christopher's strong chest to stabilize himself, fingers curling into his shirt with a desperation that's new and almost frightening.
Because despite Christopher's embrace being distantly familiar, this experience is so, so different.
Four years ago, Timothy had been in the throes of his heat. He’d been burning from the inside out, and Christopher's touch had been a cooling balm to his over-sensitized nerves. Everything back then had been simultaneously too much and not enough. He’d been so wrapped up in every sensation that he hadn't had time to think about it. He hadn't had the time or the presence of mind to worry about his actions. He had simply acted, letting his heat take control. And while he’d enjoyed it, he hadn't realized until this moment just how much he missed while being heat crazed.
Here and now, he can really feel Christopher's lips. He can feel that they're smooth but chapped. He can feel how warm they are, how warm his touch is, now that his own body isn't burning. He tries to memorize the slide of their lips as each kiss presses a little differently, mapping out each other. He feels the shape of Christopher's mouth. He revels in the rough brush of his stubble.
Four years ago, their kisses had been frantic and desperate. Now, they're gentle. Enthusiastic, yes. Passionate, yes. But also with an edge of hesitation and reverence that makes Timothy's heart ache and body tremble.
Christopher is holding him like he's something precious, something he's desperate to hold onto but scared he might break, and he kisses Timothy like he'll drown if he doesn't.
Eyes drifting shut, Timothy kisses back with just as much enthusiasm. He melts into Christopher, rising up onto his toes to push back against him. Their lips slide together, firm but slow as they feel each other out. Neither of them have much experience, but they have passion, and they're creatures of instinct. It doesn't take long for them to fall into
it. To fall into each other.
His neck aches at this angle, tilted so far back to kiss the man towering over him, but he doesn't care. Not when Christopher is cradling his head to take some of the tension away. The hand at his lower back is strong and firm, but incredibly gentle. Even as he pushes against Timothy's spine, pressing them closer together, there’s a conscious attentiveness about it.
As Christopher's tongue licks the seam of Timothy's lips, his breath hitches, lips parting just enough for Christopher to take it as a hesitant invitation. He pushes into Timothy's mouth, slow and easy, but firm and practically radiating desperation as he deepens their kiss. Timothy opens himself up to it, trying to keep up as best he can, relying on instinct and the encouraging touch of Christopher's tongue.
A soft noise escapes the back of his throat, sounding like a needy whine. He feels Christopher's hand curl at his lower back, fingers pressing into his skin. He doesn't remember that hand slipping beneath his shirt, but suddenly there's a large calloused hand on his back, hot to the touch and setting his nerves ablaze.
And suddenly he wants to touch, too. He can't imagine not touching. He needs it the same way he needs air. The same way he needs this kiss with Christopher to never end.
His hands slip down Christopher's chest, fingers splayed wide to feel every dip and line of muscle as the fabric stretches beneath his touch. Then he reaches Christopher's waist, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, pushing back up. He wants to say the alpha is just as he remembers, but in truth, he thinks it's so much better. He can feel every outline of corded muscle as his hands make their way slowly up his stomach to his chest, dwelling on his abs and his pecs. Christopher's muscles twitch and flex beneath Timothy's eager hands, rolling with strength. Timothy shudders, another soft sound swallowed by their kiss as he pushes himself against Christopher.
They can't quite get flush. Not in the way they could four years ago. Not with Timothy's belly as big as it is. It gets in the way, and for a moment, he lets out a frustrated whine, wanting, no aching, to feel his chest pressed flat against Christopher's, so broad, wide and strong.
