by Willa Okati
“Left it is, then.” Ivoire penciled in a rough square. He hadn’t been wrong -- he couldn’t do straight lines -- but it didn’t matter so much to either of them. Holding the drawing up, he turned it this way and that in admiration, not of form but of content. Goats, chickens, woodshed, smokehouse, and even a sauna for when the plumbing froze, as was wont to happen during Alaskan winters. “Look at this. It’s amazing.”
Zachariah rubbed the back of his neck. “It’ll do.”
“It’ll do. Listen to him. Tch! All you’re missing is a good garden, and this place would be nearly self-supporting,” Ivoire marveled. He tickled Zachariah lightly in the side. “No green thumb?”
“Never met a plant I couldn’t kill.” Zachariah frowned at the drawing. “Shame. Would be handy to grow what I need.” He hesitated. “Where would you put a garden plot? If it was your land to plan as you pleased.”
Wistfulness tugged at Ivoire’s heart. He hadn’t had a really good garden in years, and the soil seemed beautifully rich on Zachariah’s land. Mint certainly thrived, but he could tell the previous owners had loved to grow other things, as well. If it was his, not just in daydreams, the things he could do there!
Zachariah took his silence the wrong way. “I might give it another try. Why not? Can’t do worse than salting the earth. Maybe I’ll do it right this time.” He poked at the paper, nearly jabbing a hole through it, and growled at himself. “Where would you put a garden? Go on. Show me.”
“You really want to know?” Yearning gave way to the excitement of a challenge. Ivoire drew an X over the barn that currently stood across the way, and then a circle around it. “Right here. You can gravity-feed a drip irrigation system. That’s how most people kill plants. Not enough water, or too much.”
He handed the paper triumphantly back to Zachariah for him to study, but almost dropped it. His pup had snoozed away most of their conference, but he must not have cared for jolts of adrenaline. He woke up now and delivered a stern kick to Ivoire’s kidney that made him yelp.
“Shit!” Zachariah tossed the paper to one side and reached out, stopping before he made contact with Ivoire. “The hell was that?”
Ivoire pressed both hands to his back. When he looked up, he saw that Zachariah had gone stiff as a board and alert as a hunting cat. It made him laugh, though slightly breathlessly. “Normal, Zachariah. That was normal. I think he’s going to be a soccer player. Or she.”
Zachariah didn’t look anywhere near convinced. His beard, neatly trimmed though it might be, nearly bristled with concern.
Bless his heart, the big -- Alpha, Ivoire thought, amused. He took Zachariah’s hand. “Come here and feel for yourself.” Ignoring Zachariah’s instinctive resistance, he called on his own wiry strength to get the man positioned. For heaven’s sake, they’d been far more intimate than this before. “There.”
“There what?” Zachariah eyed him warily. His palm barely made contact -- at first. Then, the magic of it drew him under its spell. Ivoire had seen it before. He brought his other hand around to hover just above the right side of Ivoire’s belly. “It’s… hard.”
If he kept looking at Ivoire like that, then yes, it certainly would be, but Ivoire thought he might want to keep that to himself for the moment. He didn’t dare break Zachariah’s concentration in any case. He moved Zachariah’s hand slightly, using it to nudge the contrary pup until it stirred and turned, gentler now.
“Oh, God,” Zachariah whispered. “Oh, God.”
Ivoire cradled both of Zachariah’s hands in his own, guiding him. “There. It’s all right. You see? It’s just fine.”
He wasn’t prepared for Zachariah’s abrupt lean forward, nor for the big Alpha to press his head hard against Ivoire’s chest. Quiet, almost choked-off breaths followed, and the shaking of Zachariah’s fists pressed against his hips.
This wasn’t repayment of thanks, or making each other feel good. This was affection. This was his heart, held in his hands.
“It’s all right,” was all Ivoire could say, stroking Zachariah’s back in confusion. “It’s all right. I promise.”
But it wasn’t. Holding the Alpha in his arms, the plans they’d drawn up for this place still fresh in his mind, Ivoire knew one thing suddenly and for certain.
He wanted to stay. To be Zachariah’s Omega.
Could he have that? He didn’t know. What did Zachariah think, behind his stoic bearing? What did he want?
Chapter Four
Zachariah
Finally, the flood of emotion eased. Though his bones ached like an old man’s, Zachariah found he was able to sit up and give Ivoire his shoulder back.
Ivoire made a small humming sound and pressed his cheek briefly to Zachariah’s. A small gesture, yet it encompassed so much more. Forgiveness -- understanding -- acceptance -- affection.
So strange that such a little thing could make such a big difference. But that was Ivoire, wasn’t it?
Zachariah rubbed tiredly at his face. He couldn’t remember how long it’d been since he cried. Probably not since just after he lost Jace. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be,” Ivoire said. He picked up the paper they’d cast aside and pretended to study his drawing. “I never have understood why Alphas aren’t supposed to have emotions. Aren’t you human, same as the rest of us?”
“It’s different.”
Ivoire snorted quietly. “I have a penis and a womb. That’s different, Zachariah.”
To his own surprise, Zachariah laughed. It sounded horrible, a sharp and ragged bark of a thing, but Ivoire crinkled his nose and grinned back.
Zachariah rubbed at his chest, wondering what the sensations there meant. They weren’t the familiar icy numbness he’d carried around with him since Jace’s passing. Nor were they hot like anger, or prickly with wariness. More… empty. Yes, empty, but not forlorn.
More like a sense of waiting for something to happen. But what?
Zachariah let out his air in a long, slow puff as he watched Ivoire fold the map they’d made in half, but when Ivoire started to struggle to his feet, the only thing he felt was a sudden surge of not wanting that to happen.
He pushed himself off the edge of the porch and held both arms out. “Don’t do that. I’ll help you down.”
“Are you sure? I’m pretty heavy.”
“You keep asking that. You don’t feel that heavy to me.”
“Hmm. Wait a couple of months.” Ivoire reached down to grasp Zachariah’s arms, and let Zachariah help him down. His feet touched the ground with still-light agility.
Only seven months? Less than Zachariah had thought -- but he remembered, with an inner chuckle, how unwise commenting aloud to an Omega about that kind of thing could be.
Ivoire gave him an unimpressed look, as if reading his mind, and swatted his arm. “After all that, I think I’ve earned a nap. Do you mind?”
No, Zachariah didn’t, and yet -- he couldn’t be certain, but he didn’t think Ivoire really wanted to sleep. Now that he’d composed himself, he thought Ivoire’s demeanor seemed the slightest bit off. Less cheerful, and more pensive.
It didn’t suit him.
It’d been a long, long time since Zachariah made any sort of impulse decision, but they seemed to come natural these days. He held out his hand. “Do you have any of those power bars left?”
Ivoire blinked at the non sequitur. “Sorry?”
This kept happening, too. Zachariah shrugged it off. “I was thinking if a power bar’s enough to keep you fueled for a while, you might go for a walk with me.”
Frowning, Ivoire gathered his hair together, pushing it over his shoulder and tucking wisps away from his face. “I might. Why are you asking?”
Zachariah shook his head slowly. He didn’t know. Could only take his best shot, and say what was in his heart. “You didn’t get to see much of the homestead before. If you’re going to live here, you ought to know the land. I can show you, and I can keep you safe.”
And he wante
d to see what Ivoire thought of his place. He wanted to be the one to introduce him to this world.
“I’m not dressed for it,” Ivoire said, biting at his lip.
“I’ll find you something.” Zachariah hadn’t opened any of the boxes with Jace’s old clothing, but he knew where they all were. They would do for Ivoire if he rolled up the sleeves and cuffs. It’d be hard to see them worn again, but the Jace he’d loved would have preferred to see them get some use instead of being left to molder.
Hand still out, he waited for Ivoire to take it or decline -- and knew he hoped, so much, that the answer would be yes. He smiled at the Omega. “Will you come?”
* * *
Ivoire would, and he did.
Zachariah stopped with one foot on the gentle rise leading them up from the creek that cut across one corner of his acreage. It ran low this time of year, easy enough to step across, but maybe not so easy for a pregnant Omega. “Need a hand?”
“No, but I’ll take one anyway.” Ivoire’s mouth quirked. He took Zachariah’s hand lightly, but even so his touch made Zachariah’s palm tingle. Once across the creek, he stopped to gauge the rise. A hooded, zipped sweatshirt that had once belonged to Jace hung tent-like on Ivoire’s smaller frame, except for across the belly, where it was almost too small.
Zachariah could barely keep his eyes off the Omega. “It’s not much further.”
“So you keep saying.”
Despite his teasing, Ivoire wasn’t even winded. He managed the rise and fell into place at Zachariah’s side easily, naturally, as if he had always walked there. Ivoire was just the right height for Zachariah to rest an arm across the Omega’s shoulders if he wanted.
Maybe. Maybe someday.
He eyed Ivoire in silence as they walked. Ivoire had a nice color to his cheeks from the exertion, but his muscles were lithe and capable. A walk like this would have been more than Jace could handle. Before he’d been half this far along, his ankles had swollen terribly and his blood pressure risen too high for doing much. Their pup hadn’t been nearly as active either.
Jace hadn’t been well all along, had he? Only neither of them knew enough to understand it.
Ivoire, though. Ivoire glowed with health. With happiness, too, under the thin layer of pensiveness -- and with hope that peeked out every now and then.
Hope for what? There was the question.
Zachariah lifted a low-hanging branch for Ivoire to slip under. “If this hadn’t happened to you,” he started suddenly, needing a second then for his mind to catch up with his mouth. “What would you be doing with yourself now?”
Ivoire drew his eyebrows together in a delicate point. “There’s no sense in asking that. I can’t change things.”
“Humor me.”
“I don’t know.” Ivoire rubbed at his belly. “I wish I’d made a better choice for my pup’s father, but… I’d probably be doing the same thing, Zachariah. I wanted this. It’s what I was made for.”
“No regrets?”
Ivoire took the question seriously and mulled it over for a few minutes, keeping pace with Zachariah as he did. “I don’t think so,” he said at last. “Because I don’t mind the consequences. I welcome them. I’m capable, Zachariah, and I’m willing. I might be small, but I’m strong. I can do this. I know it. So how can I be sorry?”
He meant every word of that. Zachariah could hear the truth in Ivoire’s voice, and it made his heart squeeze tight in his chest. He cleared his throat and lay his hand on Ivoire’s shoulder -- slight, slim, and so very strong. “You’re a fine wolf, Ivoire.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” Ivoire replied. He stopped to smile up at Zachariah. “And you’re getting better.”
Zachariah thought Ivoire meant that, too. And more, that he was right. The emptiness that’d filled his chest after he’d poured out all that old grief seemed to change as he drank in the Omega. His heart grew warmer, and fuller.
Slowly, he brought his hand up to cradle Ivoire’s face, his thumb tickling lightly at Ivoire’s mouth. Ivoire’s pupils dilated, and his lips parted a fraction.
“You are so beautiful,” Zachariah whispered. “How are you so beautiful?”
“I…” Ivoire shook his head, seemingly lost for words. He covered Zachariah’s hand and let his eyes fall closed.
The urge to kiss him nearly overcame Zachariah, but -- no, not just yet. He glanced up to confirm what muscle memory of his land’s boundaries told him, and nodded in satisfaction.
Brushing the pad of his thumb just under Ivoire’s eyes, he said, “Keep them closed for a minute. Can you turn around? I’ll help you if you need.”
Ivoire’s mouth curved into a smile and he didn’t speak, but he allowed Zachariah to manhandle him as gently as possible. Zachariah turned him in a half circle, facing outward, moved in close behind him, his chest to Ivoire’s back. They fit as if they’d been made for each other.
“Now,” he said, hushed. “Look, Ivoire. This is what I wanted you to see.”
* * *
Ivoire
Ivoire opened his eyes.
“Zachariah.” His hand flew to his mouth. “Oh, Zachariah.”
Behind him, Zachariah’s chuckle vibrated gently against Ivoire’s back. “You like what you see?”
Ivoire shook his head in silent amazement. Like it? How could anyone not?
Zachariah had brought him to the very edge of a precipice. Three feet forward and they’d have tumbled off the side of the cliff, but Ivoire didn’t feel the slightest chill of fear. Zachariah’s arms were warm and steady around him. Zachariah wouldn’t let him fall. And if they hadn’t come so close, the view would have been lost.
A little risk was worth a great reward.
Below them, the entirety of the valley spread out like a picture in an expensive photography book, casually turned open to just the right page. Mountains jutted up tall and proud and eternal, sloping gradually down. Fluffy white dots of sheep wandered those precarious slopes as casually as if they were on flat land, weathered evergreens keeping watch. The dark slate blue of Wasp Lake cut through the bottom, winding in and out between homesteads that were no more than colored squares from this height.
Ivoire breathed in greedily. The air was clean and sweet, if thin, and tasted wild. “Oh, Zachariah.”
Zachariah hadn’t moved away. He kept a secure hold around Ivoire, careful of his hands -- perhaps a little too careful -- but becoming less so. One warm palm cupped Ivoire’s hip, and he nestled his chin in the crook of Ivoire’s shoulder. “Guess you didn’t get to see this side of the place, running from the deputies.”
“Not half.” Ivoire reached out toward the clouds. They looked close enough to touch. “It’s… I don’t have the words, Zachariah. Whittier is beautiful, when you know it, but not like this.”
Zachariah’s warm breath tickled the back of Ivoire’s neck, making him shiver deliciously at the sensation. He smoothed his hand down Ivoire’s arm, stopping when he braceleted Ivoire’s wrist. “Thought you’d like it. Hoped you would.”
Ivoire was drunk on it, and on the hard line of Zachariah’s body nestled against his. “I could fall in love with it.”
“Ah,” Zachariah breathed against Ivoire’s ear. Slowly, almost shyly, he trailed his hand back up to rest over Ivoire’s belly. “Could you, now?”
Did he mean… Ivoire swallowed. Warning chimes pealed in his ears, but they seemed distant, far away, not mattering. Recklessness fueled his blood instead. He covered Zachariah’s hand with his own. “I could, if I chose to.”
“Mmm.” Zachariah nosed behind Ivoire’s ear. His lips brushed the soft skin there; when he spoke, his voice had dropped into a deep bass. “Would you choose?”
Definitely dizzy, and utterly drunk, and Ivoire didn’t care. He stretched his arm up and back to brush his fingertips along Zachariah’s jaw. “I might. I… Oh, Zachariah.” The Alpha had slipped his hand beneath the hem of the voluminous sweatshirt he’d loaned Ivoire, and stroked him slowly, skin
against skin. “Zachariah.”
“Shh, now, shh.” Zachariah pressed his head briefly and hard against Ivoire’s. “Trust me?”
Though he trembled, Ivoire nodded. Zachariah’s body ignited his, lighting him up from the inside. He didn’t know precisely what Zachariah had in mind -- well, he hoped, and he could make a good guess -- but if he was wrong, he didn’t care. He could trust this sweet, gruff Alpha.
And if that Alpha was falling in love with him, too…
Wanting him, for certain. Ivoire rolled his hips curiously, gratified when he rubbed against the evidence of that desire. Zachariah grunted, but brought his own pressure to bear with shallow grinds and easy thrusting. He held Ivoire close to him so he couldn’t move, and stroked harder.
Ivoire’s cock filled more slowly, but no less surely. His lips parted on a moan of anticipation. “Zachariah. Please…”
“I’ve got you.” Zachariah applied pressure to Ivoire’s hip, as if he meant for Ivoire to turn around.
Ivoire resisted the motion. “Don’t. You won’t be able to reach if I’m facing you.”
“I’ll think of something.” Zachariah nudged him gently. “Please.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
Zachariah kissed Ivoire’s temple. “You already did.”
Ivoire’s face warmed. He pressed a hand to his cheek, not knowing what to say.
Zachariah’s low chuckle made his skin sing. He tugged again, gentle but inexorable. “Turn, Ivoire.”
Curiosity and hunger both made Ivoire do as he asked -- and once he had, Zachariah moved quickly, if still with that all-consuming gentleness. He lifted Ivoire across the rough footpath and put him with his back to a strong young tree away from the cliff’s edge. Reverent, he drew down the zipper of Ivoire’s borrowed hoodie and pushed the fabric aside to expose his belly and chest.
Slowly, he went to his knees.
“Zachariah?” Ivoire slid his fingers through Zachariah’s hair, hoping.
Zachariah’s eyes glittered up at him as he undid the tie on Ivoire’s borrowed sweatpants. His calluses brushed against the so-sensitive skin inside and made Ivoire gasp. “Told you I could reach.”
