Chapter Twenty-Five
Brooks
It's been about eight weeks since Laz's appointment.
He's looking healthier than I've ever seen him, even when we were younger.
He's even put on a little weight. Laz will never be heavy; he isn't built for it.
He's entirely too tall to ever be stocky, and his version of being muscular is length as opposed to bulk.
He's tall and lanky, but after a few months of actually being cared for, his sharp angles have softened.
He's softer in general, not just his appearance.
Laz has always been so easygoing. He never got worked up over anything.
He was always so calm and could find humor anywhere.
Even on my worst days, Laz was always there to find something to smile about.
Every day he becomes more and more of his old self.
He's worked so hard to get well again. I'm so proud of him.
We've settled into a new routine. Mrs. Richards only makes us dinner three times a week now.
Laz has discovered that he is very good at operating the kitchen, and Mrs. Richards has helped him to learn enough that he has all but taken over our meals.
Laz even doubles recipes most nights so he can send meals home with Mrs. Richards.
I'm still not allowed to do much, and I did get in trouble for fucking with the slicer.
It's much better for everyone if I stick to easy sandwiches and heating up leftovers.
Laz is kneading pizza dough right now. He hasn't made a quarter of the mess I would have.
He has a smudge or two of flour on his shirt and forehead, which is sexy in an adorable way.
His hands working the dough and the bunching muscles of his forearms, though?
I've never been aroused by watching someone cook before, but I've had several thoughts about lifting him up onto the counter.
My phone dings with a text notification and I dig it out of my pocket to check it.
It's Grady. He just wanted to check in on me, and also my Omega.
I'm not used to people caring about me on a personal level.
Mrs. Richards cares, but her caring came by way of proximity.
I suppose the same could be said about Grady, but I haven't spent all that much time with him, nor have I spoken to him very much.
I don't have many friends, and I don't know if that's something I'm ready to explore with Grady, but it feels nice to be thought about.
“Oh,” Laz says, his hands stilling in the raw dough.
My eyes shoot to his wide ones. “What? What's wrong?”
“I don't know,” he stutters. “Um, nothing's wrong. I just thought—“ A pink flush starts climbing up his neck. “Oh...”
“What's going on?” I bark. “What happened?”
He was fine just a moment ago.
His teeth sink into his lip, and he blinks rapidly.
“Laz,” I bark again.
He releases his lip and stares at me, still wide-eyed. “I think... oh. Oh fuck.”
“Lazarus, so help me, tell me what— “
My clipped words cut off abruptly as I catch the faint scent of slick. My mouth spreads in a feral grin. “Is that what I think it is?”
He closes his eyes, nodding and pressing his lips together.
“Well, let's get your hands out of that and get you to the bedroom.
His eyes fly open. “Absolutely not. I've worked hard on this dinner. I won't let—” He sighs as the heat rises from his neck to his cheeks. “I want to finish dinner.”
“How bad is it?”
He shakes his head and presses on the dough again. “It isn't. I kind of want to feel it. I don't want to do anything yet. It's been so long since I've felt a natural spike. Is that stupid?”
“Not at all,” I say, still grinning. “You just let me know when you're ready.”
I am more than happy to sit right here in this kitchen and watch him heat up while he cooks if that's what he wants. I understand why he'd want to fully experience the first spike he's had on his own in a very long time.
He goes back to kneading for a few minutes, then puts the dough into a bowl and covers it with a cloth.
There aren't many dishes to wash right now, and he doesn't usually make a huge mess when he's cooking, not anymore, but he's taking his time to do everything.
Every movement is very intentional, and he pauses every so often to close his eyes for a few seconds.
Sometimes he glances at me with heated cheeks.
I'm not sure how much interaction he wants from me right now, so I've been returning his blushing glances with indulgent smiles that I hope don't make me look like I'm just waiting for him to give me the green light to help him work through the spike.
I doubt it will last long, and it isn't about me, but I still have the urge to ease his discomfort regardless that he wants to feel it without interference.
I won't go to him until he beckons me. This time.
Next time, I doubt I'll be able to stop myself from taking care of him.
By the time Laz gets the dough turned into pizza and into the oven, the spike seems to be over. He sits down across from me and props his chin up in his hands. “I missed that.”
I nod and keep quiet to let him continue processing.
“It was different than with... It wasn't as fast or hot.”
I nod again.
“It felt good.”
I smile and mirror his position, propping up my own chin. “It did?”
“Yeah. I've always thought the smaller spikes felt good. Less burn, more warmth. The bigger ones hurt, but I like how the smaller ones feel.”
I suddenly remember a conversation we had years ago.
We were on our way somewhere, and he had a spike.
I remember being so irritated with him because he was so unbothered to be having a spike while he was out in public and away from the safety of his place or mine.
I remember being angry with myself for not turning the car around and taking him back home, but I allowed him to convince me that he was alright.
He had a natural cycle then, and by the time we got home, he was having the more intense spikes that precede true heat.
It was only then that he grabbed my hand and dragged me close to him so he could rub against me like a cat.
“I remember,” I tell him. “You just have to let me know what you need and when you need it.”
He smiles. “You've always been wonderful about that.”
“What?”
“Letting me decide what I need,” he answers. “You only ever made decisions for me if you had to. It's been necessary a few times.”
I smile back. “It has. But I trust you to know what you need.”
“I trust you to give it to me.”