Chapter 33 Nicholas
Nicholas
I open my eyes and the first thing I see is the bite on Wilson's lip. He's tucked against my chest, his face inches from mine on the same pillow, his body curved into the space my arms made sometime between the last cycle of the heat and whatever time it is now.
The nest around us is wrecked, blankets kicked to the edges, pillows displaced, the sheets beneath us holding every scent so deeply the fabric will never wash clean.
My arm is numb where his head has been resting.
My body aches in that specific way that says I've used every muscle I own for the past two days, and none of them are speaking to me.
The bite itself is swollen, dark against his lower lip, the broken skin scabbed over with a thin crust that catches the morning light filtering through the curtains.
I can see the impression of my teeth in the bruised flesh, resting on the most exposed part of his face.
His lips part slightly in sleep, and the bitten flesh rises and falls with each exhale.
The pad of my finger traces the outer edge of the bite, barely touching, following the curve of the swelling where it meets the undamaged skin of his upper lip.
The bond hums through that touch, a low vibration pulsing from my finger into my chest and back again.
The connection I've imagined for five years is alive beneath Wilson's skin, a living thing that breathes when he breathes, beats when his heart beats.
Wilson stirs. His brow creases. His mouth shifts against the pillow, his lashes flutter, and his brown eyes open, unfocused at first, blinking against the light. Then his gaze finds my face three inches from his. He doesn't flinch.
The absence of his flinch hits me harder than any touch we shared during the heat.
He opens his eyes with an Alpha's face filling his vision, and his body stays soft against mine, shoulders relaxed, hand still resting against my chest where it landed during the night.
His pupils don't dilate with fear. His jaw doesn't clench.
His hand doesn't shoot to cover his neck.
My throat closes around a sound I wasn't planning to make as Wilson sharpens his gaze on my face and his thumb traces a slow circle against my chest.
"Hey." His voice is rough, scraped raw from two days of use. "You okay?"
The laugh that comes out of me is wet, pulled from somewhere behind the pressure building in my sinuses. "You're asking me if I'm okay."
"You look like you're about to cry."
"I'm not."
"Your eyes are doing the thing."
"My eyes aren't doing anything."
His mouth curves up, the bite shifting with the movement and a wince flickers through his expression before the smile settles into place around it. He lifts his hand from my chest and finds my face, thumb catching the moisture at the corner of my eye.
"Liar," he says.
I press my mouth against the bite on his lip, gentle enough that the pressure barely registers against the swollen flesh.
He inhales through his nose, a soft catch of breath, and his body presses closer to mine.
The bond pulses between us where my mouth touches the mark, a warm hum that vibrates through both of us.
Fingers curl against my scalp and hold me there, his mouth soft against mine, the kiss careful around the wound. He tastes like sleep and the faint metallic remnant of blood and the amber that's seeped into his skin from two days spent pressed against me.
Oliver shifts behind Wilson. A sleepy sound, half-grumble, half-word, vibrates as Oliver's face burrows into the gap between Wilson's shoulder blades and his arm tightens around Wilson's waist. His breath has mellowed into something softer and sated, and I feel the warmth radiate through Wilson's spine into me.
"Mmph." Oliver's mouth presses against Wilson's back. "Stop kissing. I'm sleeping."
"Your mouth is forming sentences," Wilson murmurs against my lips. "That's the opposite of sleeping."
"Sentences don't count before coffee," Oliver grumbles. He hooks a leg over Wilson's hip, pulling him closer. I feel him settle, his body fitting against Wilson's with the ease of weeks' practice. Then his hand slides down Wilson's stomach to mine, our fingers lacing together over Wilson's chest.
From behind Oliver, Lorenzo's arm drapes across all three of us. His warmth settles on my shoulder, and when I look up through the knot of bodies, he's watching, pride flickering in his eyes.
My stomach growls, Wilson's following the instant after.
"Food," Oliver grumbles into Wilson's back. "Someone needs to make breakfast before I start eating this pillow."
"You'd eat a pillow regardless," Wilson mutters.
"True. But I'd prefer eggs."
Lorenzo withdraws his arm, the nest shifting as he rises. He slips out of the nest and pads into the kitchen without bothering with clothing.
Oliver whines at losing Lorenzo's warmth and burrows deeper against Wilson's back.
"I need to pee," Wilson murmurs.
"Absolutely not." Oliver tightens his arm around Wilson's waist. "You're a heat source and I'm cold. Peeing is canceled."
"Oliver."
"Canceled, Wilson."
I slide my hand down to Oliver's arm, pressing against him where it clamps across Wilson's stomach. "Let him up."
"You're supposed to be on my side." Oliver's eye cracks open, the blue iris peering at me over Wilson's shoulder. "Alpha solidarity or whatever."
"I'm going to solidarily carry you to the shower if you don't let Wilson use the bathroom."
Oliver groans with every ounce of drama in him and finally releases Wilson's waist. Wilson rolls out of the nest; his feet find the floor and he stands, stretching until his spine cracks audibly and his arms shoot above his head.
Wilson lingers for a few moments before heading to the bathroom, just as naked as Lorenzo was. His stride is more confident than I’ve ever seen it, pride rumbling through the new bond between us.
"He didn't cover it. His neck. He didn't pull his collar up." Oliver's murmurs as he decides to curl into me.
I chuckle. "I noticed."
"Nicholas, he's been covering that scar since before we met him. Every minute of every day. Even usually on the way to the shower or at breakfast and… I know he’s been doing better but he just..
." Oliver tilts his face up. His blue eyes are clear, the heat haze gone, leaving behind the sharpness that makes him the most perceptive person in any room he occupies. "That's not a small thing."
"I know."
Oliver's hand finds my face. "You gave him the lip because you knew he'd never be able to hide it."
"You should have seen his face when he understood.
" My voice comes out rough, cracked at the edges.
"He offered me his neck first. Tilted his chin up and bared the scar like that was all he thought he was worth.
And I just—" My thumb presses against my own lower lip.
"I turned his face back to mine and he looked at me and I watched it land.
What I was asking. Where I wanted to put it.
" Wilson allowing me to put it where everyone would be able to see means more to me than I can ever truly put in words.
Oliver's expression does something complicated. His scent sweetens against my chest and he presses his face into my throat and breathes there for a moment before pulling back. "I'm not crying," he says. His voice is thick.
"Your eyes are doing the thing."
"Shut up. That's Wilson's line."
Silence filters between us as Oliver melts against my chest, my arms easily moving to hold him against me. I never thought I would be this comfortable with a pack, especially one as unconventional as this.
“When are you going to bite me, Nicholas?” He tilts his head back.
He reads the shock on my face before laughing.
“I already know it’s going to happen. I’m not letting you get away.
Besides, Lorenzo might have mentioned something while you and Wilson were sleeping.
I didn’t get all of it but there was definitely something about a bite. ”
I drag my nose along his chest, the Omega letting out a soft sound. “I’d love you to bear my mark, Oliver.”
A whine follows before he pushes against my arms. “Tomorrow or maybe next week. If I sit on a cock right now, I’ll die.”
“Stop being dramatic, Oliver. Now, excuse me, I think I’m going to go shower with my Beta.” I push to my feet, Oliver grumbling about loss of warmth before propping himself on his elbows.
“Wait, which Beta?”
I twist back to look down at Oliver, who’s gaze has dropped to my cock before raising to my face again. He has absolutely no shame. “You know very well if I tried something like that with Lorenzo, he would hand my ass to me. You can go shower with Zo. I’ve got Wilson.”
I leave just as I hear Oliver mentioning he’d love to watch Lorenzo have my ass. Yeah, that’s not happening. Ever.