Chapter 12 #2
And Arden was the politest. Even so, Jack saw the very clear struggle he fought not to scoff at this.
“I thought this was a marriage of convenience,” Arden said. “I thought you were just doing it for my father’s sake. And a little for mine, because we were once friends.”
“I’m not as noble as you seem determined to paint me. I did it for my sake. Because I wanted you to be mine. I didn’t anticipate you having a heat. Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d want me in your bed. I didn’t expect it.”
“Of course I want you in my bed,” Arden said, and turned a dull shade of magenta.
“You do?” Jack lifted a hand to the base of Arden’s throat, brushing light fingertips along the delicate wing of his collarbone.
Arden shivered. “I’m happy to hear that.
I took the suppressants because I wanted to be there for you even if I couldn’t be with you.
You don’t know Beckett yet. I didn’t want you to be afraid.
Were you? No. Don’t answer. I know you were. ”
“Not once you were there. And before that, I was afraid, but mostly of myself. Of what was happening. What…what I wanted.”
“I am sorry, Arden. I will always be sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Arden said. He dropped his gaze as he shrugged his shoulders. They didn’t come all the way back down, remaining visibly higher with tension when he said, “It’s mine. For…for being like Lassit—”
“No,” Jack said sharply, making Arden jump. “No,” he said again. “Anything Lassit has ever had to say about you, or about omegas in general, can safely be disregarded. He is an idiot.”
“He is your friend.”
“He was, when we were young. A good friend, at that. But we were children then, and now we are men. We’ve had decades to form our opinions on matters.
Lassit and I do not share opinions on any number of things.
You, in particular. For instance, I think you should be the master of your own household.
I think you should be the master of your own time, and you should dispose of it as you see fit.
I think you should be the master of your own body, and have whomever you choose in your bed.
Or no one at all, if that’s your choice. Which I thought it was.”
Arden squirmed and muttered shyly, “It’s not.”
Jack leaned up, bringing him down for a light kiss. “I am glad, but if all you ever wanted from me was kissing, or simply to be held, I would be honoured to give you that. I would never ask for more.”
“You’d want it, though.”
“Yes. I won’t lie and pretend I wouldn’t. I want you, Arden. I’ll have you in any and every way I can. But only if you want me.”
Arden squirmed again. “I do.”
“And so you shall have me.”
“I am sorry, though,” Arden said, playing with the ends of Jack’s hair, twisting the short length around his fingers and tugging gently.
The innocent touch flashed Jack back to a hot summer decades ago. He and Lassit had been romping around in the woods behind Dalbryn Hall, doing gods knew what. Arden had tagged along and, like the little shits they were, they’d left him behind when he couldn’t keep up.
Aloys had joined them. Jack, who never did get on with Aloys, had soon left the brothers, telling them that he was hungry and heading home.
He didn’t go home.
He was fifteen and on the cusp of presenting.
Arden was eleven, and Jack had found him in the meadow that sat between the Hall and his own manor.
Arden had been nestled in the long, wildflower-studded grass like a little leveret, lying on his stomach and scritching away in one of his sketchbooks.
He was very into beetles back then, and there were plenty to be found.
Jack, tired and cross and in a mood to indulge the lonely little boy who’d followed him around every summer with big, beseeching eyes that said, Notice me.
Please notice me. Please love me, had thrown himself down and let Arden proudly show him his latest sketches.
He’d ended up with his head in Arden’s lap, napping in the sun for an hour or more.
Then, he’d viewed Arden as a sweet little creature, as gentle and childish as his younger siblings. Arden had played with Jack’s hair as if he couldn’t keep his hands off it, as if he was playing with one of his pets, or entertaining Dahli with her dolls.
Then, it had been innocent.
Now, it was not. At least not on Jack’s side.
Nausea rose alongside arousal in a bitter swell and he swallowed it down, unwilling to stop Arden. He never, ever wanted to turn Arden away when he’d reached out.
“Why are you sorry?” he asked roughly. “For going into heat?”
Arden nodded, avoiding his gaze even as he continued to play with a single lock of Jack’s hair, rubbing it between finger and thumb. “I didn’t know it could happen, or else…” He trailed off into an embarrassed silence.
“Or else?” Jack jostled him lightly.
“I wouldn’t have peeked at Beckett so much. If I’d known there was a risk.”
Jack relaxed back in the chair, smiling wide. “Ah, yes. Arden the voyeuristic rodent.” He laughed when Arden pushed at him. “Did you peek at Beckett a lot?”
Arden’s cheeks had gone that fierce pink again. “Yes.” He collapsed against Jack and buried his face in Jack’s neck, sending a pulse of delight through him. Quickly followed by arousal. Quickly followed by the nausea. Jack stiffened.
Arden noticed, of course.
Jack rubbed his sides soothingly. “Just the suppressants, sweetheart,” he said. “That’s all.” He caught Arden when he would have climbed off his lap, and kept him where he was. “How much did you peek at Beckett?” he said teasingly.
Arden moaned with embarrassment and put his hands to his cheeks.
“So much,” he said. “He is very…isn’t he?
…and I didn’t know…and of course I never imagined that we’d…
that wasn’t why I was looking at him. Not once did I think we’d…
” His words were tumbling over each other, and he sucked in a quick breath before continuing, “I just liked the way he looked and m-moved. And I like his voice. He’s interesting! ”
“I feel the same.”
“I never registered that the only other man I’ve ever thought of that way is you.” He snapped his mouth shut and looked appalled, as if he’d revealed something Jack hadn’t been aware of for a long time.
“I am happy that you like the way Beckett looks and that he interests you,” was all he said.
“But you will please tell him that I won’t put him in this terrible position again, won’t you?”
“Ah,” Jack said. “No. I shan’t do that.”
“No, of course. I am perfectly capable of telling him myself, however awkward it might be.” He patted Jack’s chest.
Jack covered his hand and held it there, over his racing heart.
“I mean,” he said apologetically, “that you will need him again by nightfall.” Perhaps he should have added that, with the pair of them living here and the attraction between them all so deliciously strong, it was likely that Arden’s heats would be regular, if not as violent as the first, long-repressed one.
He was glad he didn’t—Arden’s face paled.
“No,” he whispered. “Not again. Please, not again.”
Jack was startled at his vehemence.
“I’ll…if you insist, I’ll do it again—” he looked as if he’d rather die, “—but surely, now that I’ve been knotted, I can muddle through without inconveniencing him?”
“Arden,” Jack replied, exasperated. “Beckett would neither want nor expect you to muddle through alone.”
Arden blinked at him.
“You’re his omega,” Jack said.
The room was silent. Jack waited.
“But…I’m yours,” Arden whispered. “Aren’t I yours?”
“Never doubt it, sweetheart.”
Arden’s’ fingers plucked at the front of Jack’s shirt. “And…?”
“And Beckett’s. Permanently, if you choose to accept him that way. If you choose it.”
As for Beckett, he’d already chosen Arden. Every protective, possessive thing he’d done from the moment that Jack walked in on them screamed it loud and clear.
Arden looked thoughtful. “A husband and a lover. Should I be shocked at the idea of it? Because I don’t think I am. It seems no more outlandish than finding myself married to you, after all. To having a heat, despite being so old.”
“You’re in your thirties, Arden,” Jack said dryly. “That’s hardly old.”
“Next to Beckett I must look—”
“Next to Beckett, you look wonderful. Like everything I could possibly want.”
He kept his tone light. Let Arden take it as playfulness, as hyperbole, as flirting. It was the truth. Jack needed to say it out loud, whether Arden believed it or not.
Going on the rude scoffing sound he made, he did not.
Jack chucked his chin and lifted him up and off his lap as he stood.
“Will you give me one more kiss before I have to get back to my correspondence?” He set Arden down.
The correspondence could wait. He needed Arden out of the room before he gave way to the waves of sickness that had begun to batter him.
Arden nodded with enthusiasm and reached up. Grabbing hold of Jack’s cheeks, he squashed their lips together.
Jack puffed a breath of amusement through his nose and tried to gentle it, but Arden was enjoying himself so he didn’t push.
He was messily and awkwardly kissed, he gravely thanked his beaming husband for it, and he managed to wait until the door had shut behind Arden before he collapsed into his chair, heart thrashing and sweat popping on his brow. His spine felt like a column of ice; his abdomen was on fire.
He’d truly underestimated how badly he wanted to claim Arden. He should have kept his distance.
This was…alarming.
Unease as well as nausea roiled in his gut. He rested his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands, trying to breathe through it.
It didn’t help.
He stayed conscious just long enough to hear Beckett’s exclamation of dismay when he let himself into Jack’s study a few minutes later, and then all was blessed peace.