Episode 27 Blanket Forts and Broken Rules #2
The lights overhead flicker. The storm raging outside, battering at the windows and the walls of the little cabana. But inside its warm and cozy. Homey and safe.
These alphas make me feel safe, I realize. I think we could be in the middle of a firefight, with bullets flying and I’d still feel completely at ease, safe in the knowledge that they wouldn’t let anything touch me.
And isn’t that a shame?
A spike of grief hits. If they could smell me, I’m sure they would sense it, but as it is, they can’t.
This is for them, I remind myself. This is to show them how to be a real pack. This night isn’t for me. They need to see what it could be like. Piers needs to see what it could be like.
“I-uh, I made dinner too,” I say as a distraction. “And I had them bring in a gaming system.”
Thayer tilts his head. “So the plan for tonight is to eat food you cooked while wearing pajamas you sewed for us, and curl up in the ne- blanket fort you made while we play video games?”
I shrug again, feeling that creeping uncertainty. “Pretty much. We could watch a movie instead of video games, I just thought… Look, I know it's not fancy. I know it’s not what you’re used to-”
“No,” Thayer cuts me off. “It’s not what we’re used to, killer. But it's so much better.”
“Oh, fuck yes,” Grieves growls, drawing my attention to the kitchen where he’s got a mini slider in each hand. “You made our favorites.”
My cheeks flush pink but I smile and nod. “I did. Piers told me about your guilty pleasure foods and I have to say I’m thankful it wasn’t something like foie gras or sushi. I wouldn’t have been able to handle making that. But greasy cheesy comfort food? That speaks to my omega on a cellular level.”
Thayer joins Grieves, looking over the spread. “What’s with the salad?”
I giggle because it is so out of place amidst the absolute gut bombs of everything else. “You know health or whatever. Just in case someone,” I slide my eyes over to Forsythe, “wasn’t up for obliterating his royal nutritionist diet.”
It’s actually one of my own favorite salads. Baby greens, pears, pecans, dried cranberries, goat cheese and a poppyseed vinaigrette. A little fancy. But not too much.
The pack laughs while Forsythe scowls at me. “I’m capable of having a cheat day or two.”
I hum. “Not sure I believe you. Duty above all else, right?” In the kitchen Grieves and Thayer are busy piling food onto plates, Court and Piers are working out drinks, leaving me and Sythe relatively alone.
He frowns, almost like he wants to argue with me, but knows he can’t.
“Go easy on him, killer,” Thayer calls over. “He’s had the importance of duty pounded into him over and over again over the years.”
“Is that what you’re calling your cock these days? Duty?” Court quips, and I very nearly swallow my tongue.
Wait… what? Is he saying that Thayer and Forsythe…?
I look up at the prince with wide eyes and pink cheeks, as images of the two of them together invade my mind and if I wasn’t taking enough suppressants for an entire ballet troupe, I am one hundred percent sure I would have perfumed enough to fill the entire cabana, regardless of the descenter in the air.
I only come back to myself when Grieves presses a full plate into my hands. I blink down at it, then up at him. The smile he gives me is soft and tender as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ve clearly been working on this all day. Sit down and eat, bubbles.”
I swallow thickly, a protest on the tip of my tongue, but Court strolls by with a full plate of his own and catches my wrist, tugging me over with him to the fort. “Come on, Pixie. Let’s eat.”
But he hesitates at the edge of the fort, eyeing it with appreciation, before he looks at me. “Can I enter the nest, omega?”
My tongue suddenly feel thick and my plate wobbles as I take a shaky breath. “It-it’s not a nest,” I croak in protest. “It’s just a fort.”
“Could have fooled me,” he mutters before rephrasing. “Is it okay if I enter this very beautiful and perfect blanket fort, Pix?”
My inner omega preens at the compliment and I hadn’t realized until this moment—likely because I’ve been lying to myself—that I’d been worried that they wouldn’t like it, the fort. And apparently I also needed them to ask for permission, just like I would for my nest at home.
I swallow, nod, and try to sound entirely nonchalant. “Yeah, of course. I made it for you.”
Court beams, then drops down to nestle into the pillows.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Piers lingering by the food, waiting for the rest of his pack to serve themselves before he takes his turn, only for him to look just as shocked as I felt when Forsythe hands him the plate he’d been working on.
“Go sit with Ren, baby,” the prince murmurs, nudging him toward us, toward me.
Thank god it's working. This reminder of what it should be like to be a pack. That Piers should always be included and loved and cared for. I can only hope that this reminder sticks with them after I’m gone.
“You planning on sitting at any time soon, Pix?”
With a huff I drop next to him, sitting crossed legged and straight backed, and shoving half a slider into my mouth.
Piers lingers at the edge of the floor cushions, waiting like Court had, until I invite him in. Thayer, Grieves and Forsythe do the same. “What a pretty fort you’ve made for us, cor mea,” Forsythe murmurs as he kneels, balancing a plate and a glass of bourbon.
I think I’m going to blush for the rest of the night.
“It’s just a blanket fort,” I lie. “You all are acting like it's something else entirely.” Which it is. But the embarrassment of realizing I built a nest for a pack that doesn’t actually want me is too much, so I’ll lie my ass off to save face.
“It just like what I said I’d be doing on a lazy Sunday, right? ”
Besides, tonight isn’t about me. It's about them. It's about Piers. It's about leaving them better than I found them.
I need to remember that.
No matter what happens—or doesn’t happen—between us, I care about these men. I want them to be happy. To feel loved. To feel free to show their love to each other.
And that starts with this.
Spending time together in a pressure free space.
Of course that's an illusion at the moment, seeing as there are no less than six cameras recording us right now. Though I’m not sure how much footage they’ll be able to use, seeing as they’ve made a point to exclude Piers as much as they can.
But that’s none of my concern.
Thayer nudges my plate and I take it as the gentle suggestion it is to continue eating. We devour almost every crumb of food I made. Well, the alphas do. I nibble on my first plate as they go back for seconds and thirds.
Until we’re too stuffed to swallow another bite.
Plates are abandoned in favor of drinks, blankets are draped overlaps. Rain lashes against the windows, thunder rattling the glass, but inside the cabana it’s warm and golden and smells like grease and sugar and something dangerously close to home.
Court drags the console closer to the TV with his foot. “All right,” he says, already reaching for controllers. “Winner picks the next game.”
“Absolutely not,” I say instantly, grabbing my own controller and selecting Mario Kart before anyone can argue.. “Winner brags for the rest of the night.”
Grieves lets out a bark of laughter. “Oh, she’s one of those.”
“I warned you,” Piers murmurs fondly.
“She’s a killer,” Thayer adds. “Competitive to a fault.”
The game loads, bright and cheerful, wildly at odds with the storm outside. I don’t even realize how focused I’ve become as I choose my racer and my cart, until Forsythe chuckles. “You’re leaning forward.”
“I am not,” I snap, immediately leaning forward more.
“And your tongue is poking out the corner of your mouth,” Piers teases.
It totally is. Can’t help it. It helps me concentrate, strange as it sounds.
Court shifts behind me, then tugs me back so I’m sitting between his bent knees, my back against his chest. His arms come around me easily, hands overlapping mine on the controller like this is something we’ve done a hundred times before.
“Relax, pixie,” he murmurs near my ear. “Let me help.”
“Oh no,” I say sweetly, shaking him off and thrusting a free controller at him. “You are not stealing my glory.”
He chuckles but takes the controller, keeping his arms wrapped around me.
The race starts. My focus narrows on the game, tongue poking out the side of my mouth. Thayer makes a comment about how I’m one of those players that tilts my controller in the direction I want my cart to go, but I ignore his attempt to distract me.
I am going to win this game.
I hit a boost at the exact right moment, my kart sailing past Grieves’ just before the finish line.
“Yes!” I shout, pumping a fist in the air. Celebrating like the bad winner I am.
The pack stares at me for half a second—then all hell breaks loose.
“That was dirty,” Thayer accuses.
“She absolutely cheated,” Grieves adds, sounding like a sore loser.
“I did not cheat,” I protest, primly. “I used skill. Precision. Years of experience. I can’t help it if you’ve all been too busy being royal to master Mario Kart.”
Court laughs, low and warm, his chin brushing my shoulder. “She’s adorable when she’s feral.”
“I heard that!”
“I meant you to,” he says against the side of my head.
Another race starts. I lose the next one because Forsythe very deliberately rams me into a wall, then has the audacity to look smug about it.
“Oh, that’s how it is?” I twist around to glare at him. He arches a brow in challenge. “Fine. Gloves off.”
By the third race my omega is buzzing, my focus razor sharp, my trash talk unhinged.
Somewhere between knocking Thayer off Rainbow Road and shouting “Eat my shell!”, I become acutely aware of how close Court is, how warm, how his thighs are solid on either side of me and his arms are steady and his cock—
Okay. Too much.