Chapter 14 #2
Rowan took a final, heaping bite of dessert before gingerly setting his bowl on the side table, which was actually just a moving box Milo had placed a piece of plywood on top of.
They thought it added to the charm of the place, and it reminded them of all they’d been through to get here.
Obviously, Rowan had no way of knowing the significance of it, and as he paused, casting the table a sideways look, Milo felt a clawing sensation start up the back of their neck.
They didn’t have matching dishes or glass and chrome furniture.
Their couch groaned in protest every time Rowan moved, and Milo could feel a spring digging into their left butt cheek.
They’d never felt ashamed when having Ray over, but they’d just hosted Rowan and his brother.
Anabelle had always taught them to be proud of who they were and where they’d come from. For the most part, they were, but Anabelle wasn’t here anymore. There was nothing but suffocating fog left in her wake.
Milo’s pony whinnied, but the fog continued to thicken.
If Milo somehow screwed this up, they now risked losing not just Rowan but Ruben and possibly even Ray. It would be just like their nightmares. They’d be alone.
Rowan turned away from the table, and his warm gaze landed on Milo, accompanied by a soft, genuine smile. It was as if a heavy wind blew through Milo’s mind, dispersing most of the fog.
Milo wasn’t alone. They had Ethel, and despite their worry, they did still have Ray and Rowan. The fog hadn’t taken over yet. It took Milo a moment to recover, but they were able to muster up a tiny smile in return.
Rowan’s eyes flashed yellow and dropped to Milo’s mouth. “Would you care to demonstrate that promise for me again? When you finish your ice cream, of course.”
Right. They were supposed to be flirting with their fated mate, not getting lost in childhood fears and very inconveniently timed fog. Their pony flicked their tail, as if they could scare it all away like a stubborn fly.
Milo decided to deploy their newfound superpower and stuffed the remaining half of a bowl of ice cream and strawberries into their mouth in one go. Rowan’s eyes widened, obviously impressed.
Honestly, Milo was pretty impressed, too…until they got brain freeze so bad their eyes crossed.
“Oh gods,” Milo groaned, pressing their thumb and forefinger into their nose. “Quick, lick the top of my mouth.”
Rowan didn’t exactly pull away, so much as he shrank back against the couch. “Uhm…what?”
“Have you never heard that?” Milo asked, squinting one eye to try to see through the pain. “If you lick the top of your mouth, it’s supposed to warm up your sinuses or brain cavity or whatever, and the pain stops.”
“I…don’t know if I can—”
Milo’s pony whinnied frantically, and Milo waved a hand in the air. “No, no, I’m just kidding.” They weren’t. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t, but Milo didn’t want to push. At least the brain freeze had scared away the last of the fog.
They continued rubbing their nose as Rowan’s frown deepened.
“Seriously, it’s almost gone,” Milo said, attempting to smile, but their lips seemed determined to stay in a grimace.
“Do you want some tea or something?” Rowan asked, looking somewhat desperately towards the kitchen.
Milo pressed the flat of their tongue against the top of their mouth and rubbed it back and forth. Surprisingly, the ache did begin to subside.
“I’m okay,” they said again, but this time they actually meant it. They kept one hand pressed against their nose and used the other to flash a thumbs up. “Seriously, it’s pretty much gone now.”
Rowan gently pressed his knee against Milo’s leg. “There’s no rush. Unless you have plans tonight, I’m free all evening.”
Was that an invitation? Milo would absolutely kill for another sleepover, even if all they did was sit on the couch and watch a movie.
“I am also wide open tonight.”
And their mouth and legs could be, too, if the need arose.
Milo shook their head, admonishing their pony for getting ahead of themself. Their pony flicked their ears impatiently.
“Good, so, no rush,” Rowan repeated, turning to lean his shoulder into the couch so he was fully facing Milo.
Milo scrambled to copy him, taking more care than the night before so they didn’t risk toppling into Rowan. “Totally no rush. We can take our time. Go suuuuuuuper slowwwwwwww,” Milo said, leaning forward towards Rowan at the speed of snail, their lips puckered and ready to go.
Rowan watched them, all the yellow gone from his eyes. “I don’t know if slow motion will help, baby.”
Milo paused their lean. “Is there anything that does help? Anabelle always preferred touch to be well telegraphed, like in those cartoons where a boxer winds up his arm before punching, or the way pitchers sort of turn into flamingos before making their throw.”
A grin flashed across Rowan’s face, only to be replaced by a thoughtful expression. “I don’t think telegraphing helps me. If anything, I think it might actually make it worse.”
Milo quickly pulled back, and Rowan pressed his knee even firmer against Milo’s leg.
“Growing up,” Rowan began, “I had a therapist tell me that touch coupled with demand can feel like a double attack on my nervous system. For a long time, I didn’t believe her.
I thought all touch was equally as stressful, but looking back, I can remember having some really nice, well-padded cuddle sessions with my parents and siblings, and it was always touch or contact that I initiated. ”
“Oh, well, that’s really good to know. Anabelle hated initiating touch, but as long as I asked first, she could usually handle the sleeve grabs, elbow bumps, arm presses, etcetera.”
Rowan’s cheek dimpled briefly. “I definitely wouldn’t mind you asking, but it might be better if it's asking me to initiate instead of the other way around? If that’s okay, of course, and not utterly laborious, which is how that sounds to me, and—”
“Will you kiss me?” Milo asked, interrupting what appeared to be one of Rowan’s superpowers: worrying too much.
Rowan’s gaze landed on Milo’s lips. Milo held very still, except for their tongue, which they gently swiped over their bottom lip. It had the desired effect, which was getting Rowan’s eyes to flash yellow again.
“I think,” Rowan breathed out, only slightly above a whisper, “to start, it might be good if we kept our hands to ourselves. My hawk is a bit excitable right now. I wouldn’t want you to reach for me and him to shift. You might end up with a beak to the eye.”
Milo nodded, even as their pony nickered in excitement. They would love nothing more than to see Rowan’s hawk again. It was their apartment, after all. They could shift into a pony right here on the couch, and they could hang out all afternoon in their shifted forms, eating strawberries and—
All their pony’s musings and Milo’s thoughts came to a screeching halt as Rowan leaned forward and brushed their lips together. The contact made Milo’s lips tingle, like they’d bitten into a hot pepper.
Rowan’s breath fanned across Milo’s face, smelling of strawberries and sunshine, and Milo inched forward so that when Rowan leaned back in, their lips pressed firmly together. Heat licked across Milo’s cheeks, spreading down their neck and onto their chest.
“Milo,” Rowan murmured, his lips vibrating against Milo’s.
“More… Please, more,” Milo whispered back.
Rowan scooted closer, so his upper thigh pressed all along Milo’s legs, and their lips met for a fifth, smoldering kiss.
Milo shouldn’t have been surprised that Rowan’s kisses were as fiery as his hair. As five kisses turned to six, and then seven and eight, Rowan’s tongue flicked against their lips, and that hot pepper feeling spread throughout their body.
“Is… Are…tongues…yes?” Milo gasped, and Rowan chuckled, the sound vibrating through Milo’s chest and down to their groin.
“Yes, baby,” Rowan all but growled, running his tongue more purposefully against the seam in Milo’s lips. “For right now at least, tongues are great.”
The moment their tongues met, Milo’s head went all fuzzy, but unlike the fog, it was a soft, comforting gray. It reminded them of the one time they’d gone to a sauna with Anabelle, and everything had appeared blurred around the edges.
Their pony trotted around, not struggling against the mist or steam or whatever it was.
Actually, it probably was steam, like the way they were steaming up the window next to them.
Betas didn’t produce slick, so Milo didn’t have to worry about that giving them away, but the tenting in their dress was probably going to be noticeable pretty soon. They couldn’t help it, though. Rowan’s scent was all around them, encasing them in a soft, steamy cocoon.
Another thing betas lacked was the omega instinct to roll over and display their scent gland to their alphas. Rowan was their alpha, though, and they wouldn’t mind being on the receiving end of his teeth or claws or whatever it was he would use to mate with them.
Because Milo wanted to mate with him. They wanted to be his and for him to be theirs.
It had been such a long time since they had someone to call their own.
They knew they had Ray, their best friend, and Ethel, their confidant, but right now, they could finally admit to themself that they wanted something more.
They could never replace Anabelle, but they wanted one person who would always be there and always put them first, like a mate.
And that mate was Rowan.