32. Kirill #2
He turned it off and stepped out of the shower. Kirill followed after him. Mikhail wrapped him in a towel and then rubbed him down. Kirill stood there patiently, letting him have his way.
Mikhail led him out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.
He pulled back the covers, and Kirill climbed into bed.
The sheets were cool, but Mikhail slid into bed after him, and he was so warm Kirill melted against him.
He sighed in contentment when Mikhail’s arms came around him, tucking him against his chest.
“Relax,” Mikhail said. “You’re thinking too loud.”
Kirill wanted to tell him to shut up, but he was already drifting off to sleep. He buried his face against Mikhail’s neck and let himself go under. He’d never slept so well in his life.
When he woke, Mikhail was gone. Kirill stretched and sat up, rubbing at his eyes. The sun was high in the sky, casting light through the window. He looked around, but he was alone. He slid out of bed and found his boxers on the floor. He stepped into them and shuffled out into the hallway.
He found Mikhail in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove. Kirill leaned against the doorway and watched him. Mikhail was cooking, and the smells made Kirill’s mouth water.
“Are you just going to stand there staring?” Mikhail asked without turning.
Kirill huffed out a laugh. “Yes,” he said, but he stepped into the kitchen. “Smells good.”
Mikhail nodded, flipping the food in the pan. “It’s just eggs and bacon,” he said. “Go sit down.”
Kirill rolled his eyes, but he did as he was told. He sat down at the table, and Mikhail served him. He set a plate in front of him, heaping it high with food. Kirill looked up at him.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” he asked.
Mikhail set a cup of coffee down in front of him. “I already ate,” he said. “But I’ll sit with you.”
Kirill watched as he got another cup down from the cabinet. He poured them both a cup of coffee and sat down across from Kirill. He leaned back in his chair, smiling at him over the rim of his mug.
“Are you going to eat that, or are you going to stare at it?” he asked.
Kirill flushed and dropped his eyes. He picked up his fork and took a bite. The food was good, but he hardly tasted it. He couldn’t stop looking at Mikhail.
Mikhail’s eyes were dark as he watched him eat. Kirill swallowed thickly.
“Mikhail,” he said, but he couldn’t think of what to say after that.
Mikhail’s lips quirked up into a smile, and he set his mug down. He stood up and circled the table, and Kirill turned in his seat to look up at him. Mikhail reached out, cupping Kirill’s face in his big hand.
“What is it?” he asked gently.
Kirill swallowed around the lump in his throat. He turned his face, kissing Mikhail’s palm. Mikhail’s thumb brushed over his cheekbone.
“I love you,” Kirill said again, because he could.
Mikhail’s smile softened. “I love you too,” he said, and Kirill felt his heart swell in his chest.
“Will you take me home with you?” Kirill blurted out. He wanted to take the words back as soon as they were out of his mouth, but it was too late.
Mikhail’s thumb brushed over his bottom lip. “Of course,” he said. “You’re coming home with me. I told you, I’m keeping you.”
Kirill felt his heart leap in his chest. He threw his arms around Mikhail’s neck and kissed him. Mikhail kissed him back, humming into his mouth. Kirill melted against him, sighing when Mikhail’s arms came around him.
He could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest, but it felt good. For once, it felt right.
“Eat,” Mikhail said, his lips brushing Kirill’s. “We have a lot to do today.”
Kirill nodded and let him go. He turned back to his food and finished it quickly. He wanted to get back to work. He had a new lead on the thefts, and he couldn’t wait to tell Mikhail about it. He thought about the case files he’d left at his apartment. He thought he’d need to go get them.
“Easy,” Mikhail said, from where he was leaning against the counter. “You’re thinking too hard.”
Kirill looked up at him and smiled. “I was just thinking,” he said. “About the case.”
Mikhail nodded. “We’ll get to it,” he said. “But we have other things to do first.”
Kirill raised an eyebrow at him. “Like what?” he asked.
Mikhail smiled at him. “Like moving your things into my place,” he said. “And then we need to go shopping. You need some things to wear.”
Kirill frowned at him. “I have things to wear,” he said.
Mikhail looked at him, and Kirill felt his face heat up. He looked away, fiddling with his fork.
“I suppose I could use some new things,” he said quietly.
Mikhail’s smile widened, and he pushed off the counter. He walked over to Kirill and pulled him up into his arms. Kirill wrapped his arms around Mikhail’s neck, and he lifted him up onto the counter. Kirill spread his legs, and Mikhail stepped between them.
“You worry too much,” Mikhail said, kissing him.
Kirill sighed and melted against him. He wrapped his legs around Mikhail’s waist, and Mikhail’s hands slid up his thighs, under his shirt. Kirill shivered at the feel of his calloused hands on his skin.
“I do not,” he said, but he knew it was a lie.
Mikhail chuckled and kissed him again. Kirill gave himself over to it. He knew he should be thinking about work, about the case, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to care. For the first time in his life, he had something else he wanted to do.
“Come on,” Mikhail said, pulling away from him. “Get dressed. We have a lot to do today.”
Kirill nodded and let him go. He slid off the counter and followed Mikhail out of the kitchen. He went into the bedroom and found his clothes folded neatly on the edge of the bed. He pulled them on, and then he and Mikhail left the house.
Mikhail drove them to Kirill’s apartment, and Kirill directed him to the parking garage. He led Mikhail up to his floor and unlocked his door. Mikhail followed him inside, looking around with interest.
Kirill went into his bedroom and started packing a bag.
He didn't have much he wanted to take with him. Mikhail followed him in, his massive frame shifting the air in the small room, and sat down on the edge of the mattress. The bed creaked under his weight. Kirill could feel the Alpha’s eyes tracking him, a constant, heavy warmth on his skin as he moved back and forth.
“Pack enough for a few days,” Mikhail said, his voice a low, grounding rumble. “We’ll come back for the rest later.”
Kirill nodded and kept packing. The sensory reality of his old life felt distant now.
He folded enough clothes for a week, the scent of his own unbonded laundry detergent faint and synthetic.
He packed his toiletries, the sharp sting of his cologne, and his laptop alongside thick leather case files.
Then came the cold, heavy iron of his service gun and the metallic clink of his badge.
He reached for the small velvet jewelry box, the silver frame holding a picture of his family, and his favorite worn book.
He packed everything that held actual weight.
When he was done, he zipped up the heavy canvas bag with a harsh, tearing slide of metal teeth and set it by the door.
He went into the living room and looked around. The space smelled of dust and old paper. He had furniture, but nothing he really cared about. He had art on the walls, but it was just paint on canvas; it didn't belong to him anymore.
He moved into the kitchen, the linoleum cold beneath his socks.
He packed his coffee maker and his favorite ceramic mug, feeling the rough glaze beneath his fingers.
He wrapped his cast-iron skillet, heavy and smelling faintly of old oil, and his favorite kitchen knife.
Finally, he reached into the back of the closet, pulling out the discrete, locked leather case containing his gear—the heavy leather of his collar, the cold steel of the buckles, and the soft rope.
It was a private inventory, smelling faintly of vanilla-slick and old leather, packed away with the absolute discipline of an Omega preparing for a new nest.
Kirill looked around the empty room. It felt stripped, the ambient noise of the street outside muffled and distant. He was ready.
"No," Mikhail agreed, his deep voice cutting through the stillness.
"It is accurate. I was running the secondary investigation because I was already invested in the outcome, and the secondary investigation was the most operationally appropriate expression of that investment available to me at the time. "
The room was very quiet. The scent of ozone and Mikhail’s dark, sandalwood pheromones filled the small space, wrapping around Kirill like an unspoken claim.
Kirill sat with the word that had been sitting in his internal catalog for three days.
It was fully formed, verified against the accumulated evidence of their entire assignment: the supply arranged before any exchange, the terms agreed without negotiation, the forty-eight hours refused, the uncle named in a family session without apology or calculation. The word, and everything behind it.
"I know what you are to me," Kirill said, his eyes meeting the Alpha’s steady green gaze. "I have had the word for three days. I have been waiting for the correct moment to say it, which is a characteristic approach that you are by now familiar with."
"Yes," Mikhail said. Waiting. The patience that had been present since week three was palpable, thick and unhurried in the quiet apartment.
"I love you," Kirill said.
He said it in the flat, unembellished register he used for things he meant completely: no softening at the edges, no performance, the direct delivery of an accurate statement.
It was the same way he had said I know what he was doing, the same way he had said I know you were, the same way he had said I know to every piece of the accounting that had been confirmed over three months.
Mikhail was entirely still for a moment, his breathing pausing.
Then: "I know."