5. We Don’t Talk About Last Night
WE DON’T TALK ABOUT LAST NIGHT
Emre barely woke up, and only because Abbie wanted milk.
He moved his arm out of the way so she could crawl over and latch onto his chest; he fell back asleep with her warmth so close.
The next time he woke, he was jolting upright, his heart thumping. He didn’t know what had caused it.
Then he heard the sound: Heavy footsteps outside his apartment.
“Sorry,” Zenith said apologetically from the common hallway. “I tried asking a couple times earlier, but you weren’t awake. It’s just... This is fresh out of the oven; I thought you might like to have some while it’s still warm.”
Emre took two breaths to slow his racing pulse. “Oh. That’s... That’s nice of you. What is it?”
“Chocolate chip cookies. The chips are still a little melty.”
The sound that emerged from Emre’s throat was honestly quite embarrassing. But he was rolling off the mattress onto the floor, crawling for a few steps before he realized that he had dignity, and that he could walk like a regular human being.
Standing seemed like such a great effort, though.
Instead, Emre crawled the rest of the way to the door, then sat back on his heels and opened it.
From his position, Zenith looked really tall.
Zenith blinked at the empty air where Emre should’ve been. Then he looked down, and froze.
“You’re—on your knees,” Zenith said, strangled.
Emre opened and closed his mouth. “That sounds really questionable.”
Then, and only then, did he remember what he had spent all night doing. And what he had spent all night listening to.
“I didn’t hear anything!” he blurted.
He wanted to smash his face against the doorjamb.
High above, Zenith’s cheeks turned faintly pink. Oh gods, he knew what Emre was talking about.
“Uh,” Zenith said.
Hours of secret sex sounds hung between them like a giant rampaging elephant in the room.
In an attempt to escape it, Emre dropped his gaze.
Zenith was holding a plate in his hands.
“Cookies,” Emre remembered. “You said—You said you just made them?”
Zenith looked extremely relieved as he leaned forward and lowered the plate to Emre’s height, showing him the huge, chocolate-dotted cookies. They smelled buttery and amazing. They looked amazing too, and Emre whimpered.
“Can I have one?”
“This entire plate is for you, sweetheart,” Zenith murmured.
Emre’s heart skipped at the nickname. He took the plate and hugged it to his chest, filling his lungs with the scent of cookies. He carefully picked one up and bit into it—it was chewy in the middle, melty chocolate spreading over his tongue. It was heavenly.
Emre moaned, taking another bite. “It’s so good.”
“Yeah?” Zenith grinned, his eyes lighting up.
“Mm-hm.”
Before he knew it, the cookie was gone.
Emre knew he should save the rest for later. There were only four cookies left. But he wanted to feel a chewy cookie between his teeth again; he wanted melted chocolate all over his tongue.
“I have more where these came from,” Zenith said, like he knew what Emre was thinking.
Emre’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
Zenith nodded. “You could come over and help yourself to the rest. I’ll make another batch. And some tea too, if you’d like.”
“Is this the morning-after breakfast?” Emre blurted.
And froze.
No one’s acknowledging last night!
“Oh gods,” he whispered, his face on fire. “I did not say that. I said nothing at all. Please ignore me and carry on with your life.”
Zenith’s ears were entirely pink. “I heard nothing at all.”
“Good, good.” Emre stuffed another cookie into his mouth, chewing hard. The cookie was half-gone before he knew it, and he had been too distracted to savor its amazingness. Damn it.
“So. I’ll be over at my place.” Zenith said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Can Buttwheel come too?” Emre blurted.
“Of course. Besides, I said I would fix its wheel today. I’ll get on that after the cookies.”
Emre nodded. Zenith was glancing around his bare apartment again, a little crinkle on his forehead. Then he turned abruptly and hurried off, the back of his neck growing redder.
Emre shut the door and leaned against it, horrified at himself. Abbie was rolling around on the mattress as a wolf pup, completely unaware of her dad’s abject humiliation.
“Fuck me, fuck my hole, and my entire fucking life,” Emre muttered.
“Are you implying that your life has holes to be fucked?” came Zenith’s voice from two doors down.
Emre whined. He wanted to hide his face in his hands, but the cookies were in his way. “My life is full of holes. It’s a fuck-sack that only has holes for dicks to go in.”
“I’m sure you need a high-pressure hose to clean it out,” Zenith said very solemnly.
“You may as well,” Emre said sadly. “Shoot water into one hole, and all of the other holes will start gushing with the terrible jizz my life has been fucked over with. It’ll be a disgusting mess.”
“You’ll come out of it with your life squeaky-clean.”
“I’m sure you can start a fuckhole life cleaning business,” Emre said. “You can even make a business card for it.”
“I’ll pass it along to my brothers. They will really appreciate it.”
His mouth twitching into an unwilling smile, Emre climbed to his feet and set the cookies on the kitchen table. Maybe Zenith had a box he could store them in?
He gathered Abbie’s few things—blanket, toys, and diapers, and tucked them into Buttwheel’s cargo basket.
As he was placing Abbie into the cart, she gave a strange little burp.
A tiny wisp escaped her snout. Smoke?
It smelled like smoke.
It was gone the next instant, like it was never there at all.
“Maybe I’m hallucinating,” Emre said to her. After all, he had stayed up all night giving himself several disappointing orgasms.
She gnawed on his finger and wriggled her furry little body, before pouncing on her squeaky toys.
Emre checked that he was decently dressed—a T-shirt and sweatpants—before listening for strangers in the hallway. When he was satisfied that no one would see them, he left the apartment and pushed Buttwheel over to Zenith’s place, knocking quietly on the door.
Zenith opened it almost immediately, his eyes bright. “You came!”
Emre stared. Zenith stared back, his words hanging in the air between them.
The alpha froze, his cheeks turning pink.
“I... did,” Emre said awkwardly.
Zenith cleared his throat. “I’m... very glad that you did.”
“It’s my pleasure,” said Emre’s mouth. “Oh gods.”
Zenith huffed. “I don’t suppose we could start over?”
“We should,” Emre said gratefully. “Hi, my name is Emre. I suck at life. And other things.”
Before he could cringe, Zenith met his gaze. “My name is Zenith. I also suck at things.”
Emre buried his face in his hands. “We’re never going to be smooth, are we?”
Zenith sighed. “I suspect not. Come on in.”
Emre nudged Buttwheel into Zenith’s apartment, looking around.
Two days ago, his first peek had revealed a cozy living room with a beautiful leather couch.
But now that he was properly in here, he discovered so many other things: The stack of pristine notebooks on a shelf, the golden dragon mug with an assortment of mismatched pens, the box of various computer and TV cables, some of which looked ancient.
A tall bookcase stood in the corner. Half of its books looked like they belonged to one author, and the rest were a jumbled mix. There was no TV. The kitchen was small and clean, warm and homey. The bedroom door was ajar, but it wasn’t open enough for Emre to see past it.
The entire apartment smelled like delicious food. Chocolate, flour, butter, and sugar, and more faintly, the steak and potatoes from last night. Then there was Zenith’s heady smoky scent, along with the muskiness of his cum.
Gods, the scent of his cum was so strong, it smelled like he had orgasmed several times. Which Emre knew was true, because he’d heard them all as they happened.
His ears burned. Zenith doesn’t know this place smells like his cum, he reminded himself. He can’t smell it.
All the same, he couldn’t help peeking at the bedroom door, where that musky scent was the strongest.
Mother Moon, I need to stop thinking before I say something horrible again.
Emre opened and closed his mouth, trying to think of a good line.
“More cookies?” Zenith said like a knight in shining armor.
“All of them, please and thank you,” Emre said hurriedly. “But you should have some before I eat them all and lick the crumbs.”
“Some licking is fine,” Zenith murmured.
Desperately, Emre grabbed a chocolate chip cookie off the cooling rack and bit into it, moaning at its rich, buttery flavor. “Oh gods, this is amazing.”
Zenith’s smile grew. “These are all yours, if you want them.”
He brought out a plastic container and handed it to Emre; Emre carefully stashed the cookies in there, handing one back.
Their fingers brushed when Zenith accepted the cookie. He ate it in a few quick bites, still watching Emre. “You like my food.”
“You can cook for me forever,” Emre blurted.
Something flickered in Zenith’s eyes; his smile grew.
“I’ll make another batch of cookies,” Zenith said. “I had the ingredients out, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted more.”
Emre nodded. “I want all the cookies.”
Zenith’s gaze dipped to Emre’s belly, and for a second, he seemed... yearning.
“Do you want to touch my belly?” said Emre’s mouth.
Zenith looked up, hope flickering through his face. “Are you offering?”