Chapter 11 #3
"Right." Mick fought to keep his face neutral. "Very thorough check, was it? The sort that requires scenting each other's necks? Is that standard Dabney first aid protocol now? Because I must have missed that memo."
"I was assessing for signs of shock," Ryland said stiffly, helping the omega to his feet. "Physical trauma can trigger vasovagal responses that present with similar symptoms to designation-based reactions."
Mick bit the inside of his cheek. He'd never heard someone try to technobabble their way out of being caught scent-marking a colleague before. It was like watching a nature documentary where the narrator was desperately trying to pretend the animals weren't shagging.
"Course you were," Mick said, moving toward the server bank. "Just doing a bit of medical diagnosis that required pressing your nose against his carotid artery. Very scientific. Let's have a look at what's actually broken here, shall we? Other than professional boundaries."
He crouched down, examining the displaced cable.
"Ah, yes. Classic case of someone giving the server a bit of footsie.
No permanent damage, just needs to be reseated properly.
" He glanced up at the pair, who were now standing at a carefully calibrated distance from each other.
"Though I think there might be some swelling that needs attention. "
The omega's face went a spectacular shade of pink. "My wrist," he said quickly, holding it up. "It's sprained. Possibly. Probably should get it looked at."
"That would be advisable," Ryland agreed, his voice back to clinical precision, though his scent was still broadcasting alpha interest at a volume detectable from the International Space Station. "I should accompany you to ensure you receive proper medical attention."
"Very gallant," Mick murmured, reconnecting the cable with a decisive click. The server lights blinked back to normal. "There we go. All fixed. Don't suppose either of you fancy explaining what you were doing in my server room at half nine on a Monday?"
"Working," they said simultaneously, then glanced at each other.
"Right, working." Mick straightened up. "Lot of that going around lately. Especially in this particular server room. Between you two." He gestured between them. "Funny thing, I've noticed you both seem to 'work' in here quite often. Together. Despite neither of you being in IT."
"The ambient temperature and lighting provide optimal conditions for sustained cognitive focus," Ryland said, as if reading from an internal manual titled Excuses For When You're Caught Almost Kissing Your Colleague.
"And the privacy," Mick added. "Don't forget the privacy. Very private in here. Soundproof walls. Secure door." He waggled his eyebrows.
"We should go," the omega said quickly, gathering his laptop with his good hand. "Thank you for fixing the server. Won't happen again."
"I'm sure it won't," Mick agreed cheerfully. "At least not in here. Maybe try a nice conference room next time? Or better yet, an actual bedroom?"
Ryland's expression could have flash-frozen magma. "Your assistance with the technical issue is appreciated, Mick. Your commentary on interpersonal matters is neither required nor welcome."
Mick raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just doing my job. Making sure all the... connections are secure."
He watched as they gathered their things and left, Ryland's hand hovering near the small of the omega's back without quite touching him. The door closed behind them with a soft click.
Mick waited precisely three seconds before pulling out his phone.
To: Mo (Facilities) Mate, you will not BELIEVE what I just walked in on. Dr Ryland and that fit male omega from Legal were having a proper moment on the server room floor!!
From: Mo (Facilities) No way. The robot and Huxley? Pics or it didn't happen
To: Mo (Facilities) Didn't get pics but I swear on my PS5, Ryland actually GROWLED at me. Like full-on alpha territorial display. Nearly shat myself
From: Mo (Facilities) Fuck off. Ryland? The same bloke who told Janet her baby was "aesthetically suboptimal" when she showed him photos?
To: Mo (Facilities) The very same. Looked about ready to tear my throat out for interrupting them. And get this... Huxley was LOVING it
From: Mo (Facilities) Holy shit. Tell me EVERYTHING. I'm buying you a pint tomorrow
Mick grinned as he pocketed his mobile, already mentally composing the detailed account he'd share over drinks.
By tomorrow morning, the night cleaning crew would have a version.
By lunch, reception would be discussing how Dr Ryland had been found knotting the omega against the server banks.
By end of day, HR would probably be drafting new policies specifically because of whatever Chinese whispers version eventually reached the executive floor.
He took one last look around the server room, making sure everything was in order. As he turned to leave, he noticed something on the floor where the pair had been entangled. A monogrammed handkerchief with the initials DR.
"Oh, that's just too perfect," he murmured, pocketing the evidence with a grin that would have made the Cheshire Cat proud. This story just kept getting better.