20. Idris #2
I move closer, letting Theo track every step.
Garrett eases back carefully, withdrawing from Theo with deliberate care so the loss doesn’t startle him.
Theo makes a soft, distressed sound at the emptiness.
I slide my hand under Garrett’s before he fully takes his weight away, replacing the contact so Theo never feels the gap for more than a breath.
Garrett’s eyes flick to Sloane. “Follow Idris.”
Sloane’s nostrils flare, but he nods. “Yeah.”
Garrett kisses him once more, then eases away only once his body can let Theo go without hurting him.
The loss still hits Theo hard, a sharp break in his breathing that has Sloane shifting beside me and my hand sliding into the space Garrett leaves behind.
I don't try to become Garrett. I give Theo another anchor before panic can turn the absence into being left.
Garrett answers the call at the door with his shirt still half-open and his scent thick in the room. His eyes stay on Theo until the last possible second. Then he leaves, and Theo reaches after him.
Then his hand finds me, and I close my fingers around his before his panic can decide Garrett’s absence means he’s been left.
I keep one hand flat on Theo’s chest, feeling the rapid beat under my palm, and the other steady at his hip. His body is still open, still slick and trembling from Garrett, the spike sharp in the air around us.
“Color,” I say, quiet and clear.
Theo’s eyes find mine. “Green.”
“Idris,” he adds, like he needs the name as much as the word.
“I’m here.” I settle between his thighs carefully, letting him feel the shift of my weight without crowding him.
Sloane is already at the side of the bed, visibly fighting the rut-edge, his scent heavy and smoked-dark, but he stays where I need him.
I glance at him once. He nods, jaw tight, and takes Theo’s hand when Theo reaches for him.
Theo’s fingers close around Sloane’s. “Sloane.”
“Right here,” Sloane answers, voice low and soft. He brings Theo’s hand to his mouth and kisses the knuckles, then the inside of his wrist. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
I lean down and press my forehead briefly to Theo’s. “Still green?”
“Green,” he whispers. “Please.”
I free myself and guide the head of my cock to him, moving slowly enough that he can feel every inch of the stretch as I push inside.
Theo’s breath stutters. His free hand finds my forearm and holds on.
I sink deeper in careful increments, watching his face the entire time, until I’m fully seated and the heat of him closes around me.
“Idris,” he says again, small and certain.
“I’ve got you.” I begin to move—slow, steady rolls of my hips that keep the pressure even and controlled. No urgency. No edge. Just the rhythm he needs to ride the spike without drowning in it. Sloane stays close, one hand still laced with Theo’s, the other stroking gently through his damp hair.
Theo’s eyes flutter. “Sloane.”
Sloane leans in and kisses him when Theo turns toward the sound of his name—soft, open-mouthed, careful. “I’m here. You’re doing so well. Just breathe with us.”
I keep the pace exactly the same, feeling the way Theo’s body gradually opens further around me.
Another wave is already building under his skin.
I can feel it in the way he clenches and the soft, broken sounds he makes every time I bottom out.
Sloane talks him through it in the same quiet register, never raising his voice, never pushing.
“You’re safe,” Sloane murmurs against Theo’s temple. “We’ve got you. Stay with us.”
“Stay,” Theo echoes.
“We’re staying,” I tell him.
When the worst of the spike tightens around him, Theo’s back arches and his free hand fists in the sheets. I don’t speed up. I hold the same steady rhythm and let him feel that nothing is going to rush or overwhelm him. Sloane presses closer, forehead to Theo’s, still holding his hand.
“Green?” I ask.
“Green,” Theo answers, voice frayed but clear. “Please—Idris—”
I let my knot begin to swell. The stretch is gradual.
I watch his face for any sign of too much and find only acceptance.
Theo’s legs tighten around my hips, drawing me deeper as the knot locks into place with a final, careful push.
He makes a soft, punched-out sound and goes still, breathing hard, eyes glassy.
“Color,” I say again, quiet.
“Green.” His fingers tighten in Sloane’s. “Stay.”
“I’m here. We’re both here.”
I hold him through the lock, keeping the pressure calm and close, rolling my hips in the smallest possible movements so the knot works him without overwhelming.
Sloane stays pressed against Theo’s side, one hand stroking his hair, the other still holding on.
Theo’s release builds slowly under the steady pressure.
When it comes, it is quiet and full-body—his back arching, a broken little sound leaving his throat, his body clenching hard around the knot as pleasure rolls through him in waves.
Sloane holds him through it, murmuring soft reassurances against his hair while I keep him grounded and full.
Only when Theo has gone loose and trembling in the aftermath do I let myself follow. The orgasm is controlled, deep, the kind that stays close instead of sharp. I keep my weight braced so I don’t crush him, forehead resting lightly against his, breathing with him until the last of it settles.
Sloane is still hard, still fighting the rut-edge, but he hasn’t moved to take anything for himself. He waits.
I look at him over Theo’s shoulder. “You can let go. Carefully.”
Sloane exhales like he’s been holding the breath for minutes.
He stays right where he is—pressed close along Theo’s side—and takes himself in hand with short, controlled strokes, eyes never leaving Theo’s face.
When he comes it is quiet, almost silent, his forehead dropping to Theo’s shoulder as the tension finally leaves his body.
He doesn’t ask for more. He simply stays, one arm draped carefully across Theo’s waist, breathing hard but steady.
By the time the knot eases, Theo is loose and glassy-eyed against me, one hand still twisted in Sloane’s shirt.
Sloane has his forehead against Theo’s shoulder, breathing like he’s run miles without moving.
His scent is heavy in the room, smoked cedar darkened by the rut-edge he’s still fighting down, but his hands are careful where they hold Theo.
He did well. Better than he thinks he did.
Theo makes a small sound when I shift, and I press my mouth to his damp hair before the sound can turn fearful. “I’m here,” I tell him. “We’re getting you cleaned up.”
His fingers tighten in Sloane’s shirt. “Don’t move.”
Sloane’s eyes close. “I’m not moving.”
Theo turns his face enough to find me. “Warm.”
“We’ll keep you warm.” I sit up slowly, taking him with me when he refuses to release my arm. His body is worn out in the aftermath, but the panic that lived under his skin when we first entered the room is gone. “Can you stand for a shower?”
Theo thinks about that for a moment with great seriousness, then shakes his head.
Sloane’s mouth curves against his shoulder, soft and wrecked. “That’s honest.”
“Sloane,” I warn, though there’s no heat in it.
He lifts both hands. “I’m getting towels.”
“You’re also getting water.” I gather Theo carefully and stand with him in my arms, letting him tuck his face against my neck while Sloane strips the bed and opens the bathroom door. “And you’re going to breathe before you make yourself sick.”
Sloane pauses in the doorway, his gaze moving over Theo like leaving the room for thirty seconds might cost him something. Theo notices and lifts one hand toward him, his fingers opening and closing once in a small, tired request.
“Sloane,” Theo says.
That one word nearly undoes him.
Sloane crosses back, catches Theo’s hand, and kisses his knuckles. “Water, then right back. I promise.”
Theo lets him go.
In the shower, I hold most of Theo’s weight while he leans against me and lets the hot water run over his back.
He answers green when I wash him. He answers yellow when the water hits too sharply at the back of his neck, and I change the angle until he sighs.
When Sloane returns, he sits on the closed toilet lid with a glass of water and a clean towel across his lap, watching us like he’s memorizing every breath Theo takes.
Theo drinks with both hands around the glass.
“Callie home?” he asks after the third sip.
Sloane’s expression changes before he can hide it.
“She had to go to campus,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Early meeting. She’ll be back.”
Theo nods, but his lashes lower. He’s clean, safe, scented by all three of us, and still the first name he reaches for in the quiet afterward is hers.
I hold that information without turning it into rejection.
Alpha care worked because he trusted us; Calliope’s absence still mattered because she matters.