Chapter 19: Theodore - Marked By Love

Royce was in a knotted mess of blankets, the pillow somehow discarded across the room. He must have fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning because he’d been wide awake the three times Theodore got up to get a drink and a snack. Now Theodore was slowly extracting himself from his blanket cocoon, carefully stepping around Royce’s halo of messy waves splayed across the floor.

The last thing Theodore wanted to do was wake the alpha, especially when it seemed ignoring the mate bond was making it difficult for the man to sleep. After all, he’d been sitting at Theodore’s bedside tirelessly for days, letting him sleep in was the least Theodore could do in return. But he really had to pee. Which meant he was tiptoeing as gently as possible so as not to rouse Royce.

At long last his efforts were rewarded, and he was safely past the alpha sprawled across the floor. After finishing up the most pressing matter in the bathroom, Theodore noticed three things.

First, his stomach was rumbling with a fury. Second, he had an uncomfortable amount of slick leaking from him. Third, for some unfathomable reason, one of Royce’s shirts was sopping wet and hastily hung on a towel rack. He must not have noticed it in the dark last night.

Theodore straightened the shirt. He couldn’t help it; it would take five times longer to dry the way it was crumpled on the hanger. Next, he deliberated: a hearty snack or a shower?

Theodore absently straightened his glasses while he thought, and Royce’s alpha musk mixed with oranges and rain hit him like a train. Unbidden, Theodore leaned forward and huffed the wet shirt. His brain went hazy, and his skin flushed. Before he was aware of what he was doing, Theodore was licking the wet shirt and jizzing in his pants.

He groaned as an embarrassing amount of slick leaked out. Gush might have been a more accurate word, but seeing as Theodore couldn’t see what happened, he opted to think the less disgusting term ‘leak.’

Rubbing his face against the shirt, he shuddered.

Theodore hadn’t gone into a full, untampered heat in years. Even before he was taking the alpha birth control, he used suppressors to keep his heats dampened. Now here he was, making a mess in his pajamas and licking a dirty shirt. What the heck was wrong with him?

Heats were always more annoying to Theodore than anything. But now he was not only coming off a long stretch without one, but he was in the presence of his mate. It was going to be utterly unbearable when it started. Of course there were some couples who humped it out of their systems without biting and sealing the mating. Then when the omega’s heat was over, they talked it out with the rational parts of their brains.

Would that work? Theodore wasn’t positive. He’d heard stories of omegas who got stuck in mate bonds because they’d gotten bitten before they’d agreed. Not to mention the mating frenzy that took hold of alphas. They just couldn’t control themselves; looking at the front of his gooey pajamas, Theodore rather thought he was the one out of control.

After an uncomfortable and sticky deliberation, he turned the shower on. He mopped up some of the jizz he’d gotten on the floor with Royce’s already sodden shirt. It would need to be washed anyways since Theodore had been licking it like a maniac. He rinsed the henley, squeezed it out, then tossed it in the hamper.

Theodore’s stomach rumbled, but he ignored it. He’d eaten three times last night so snacks could wait until after he was clean. That was one thing he never grew out of, even when he had to sleep in his car or grimy hotels. He despised being dirty.

Or sticky, or sweaty. Anything unpleasant in that general vein made him miserable. Honestly, it was a terrible quality for him to have in his chosen line of work, but there was nothing to be done for it.

Under the stream of water, Theodore—again—thanked the fates that Royce knew how to operate the stupid heating mechanisms in this cabin. He was bound to turn into a popsicle if he’d been forced to survive the winter here alone.

Wetting the washcloth, Theodore ran it over himself, eventually moving to his backside. He fell against the shower wall with a startled yelp. He blinked at the shower floor stupidly, watching the stream of cum wash down the drain. The brush of a washcloth over his ass was enough to make him explode, and his knees go weak.

To say that was unexpected was an understatement. He was always more sensitive during his heats, but this was absurd. Mildly confused and a little disturbed, Theodore hastened through his shower. His head started to pound, the type of headache that radiated from the forehead down behind the ears and through the neck and jaw. It was as sudden as it was unrelenting. In the midst of this assault, an unfathomable brain fog took over, where was he? Why was he wet?

Oh fate, why was the room spinning and his chest tightening? Despite standing under a stream of water, his skin started to sweat, yet he felt cold. Harsh tingles shot through him as he groaned, his hips not meeting any friction or resistance.

Why was that?

Why did he care?

He shook his head, startled to find himself rocking his naked hips into nothing.

His hands shook, and his knees went unstable. He needed … he needed something. But he hadn’t the faintest idea what. The water stopped. Had he turned it off? He was acutely aware of being too warm, the water coating his skin made him muggy, and the room tilted on its axis.

He hastened to dry off and get out of the confined, too warm space. Yes, that’s what he needed.

Theodore opened the door and promptly smacked into Royce.

“Jeesh, couldn’t you tell I was inside?” Theodore’s complaints died in his throat as he looked up, then he instinctively curled into himself. Royce’s eyes were solid gold, his nostrils flared as he panted, his mouth hanging open. He looked like a rabid raccoon.

“Theo,” he rasped. “Did you …” He inhaled violently as he looked at the shower with murderous intent.

“Oh no, you could smell that?” Horror struck Theodore, and for a moment, the brain haze vanished. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“My mate is going into heat, of course I could smell that.”

“Maybe I should go.”

Theodore went to sneak by Royce. His arm shot out, blocking him in.

“Please,” he rasped. The hand gripping the doorjamb flexed and a cracking splinter rang in Theodore’s ears. “Don’t hurt me.”

Theodore’s whimper snapped Royce into focus. He removed his arm instantly and took a step back.

“Don’t leave,” Royce pleaded. “If you leave, it will only make it worse for me. But I won’t—I wouldn’t hurt you, Theo. Hurting you is the last thing I’d—I can’t even fathom you in pain.”

“But we don’t have a mate bond. You can’t feel what I’m feeling.”

“It doesn’t matter if we’ve formed the bond or not, I still don’t want you hurting,” Royce said. “I know your scent. I know your face. I know you care about your patients, and doing what’s right no matter the repercussions to yourself. I know you’re strong and brave, yet lonely. I know you’re mine.”

Theodore gazed into the liquid gold glowing out from Royce’s face. He missed the storm gray, yet there was something about the gold; it was warm. And knowing its brilliant shimmer was glowing in an alpha’s eyes just for Theodore, it made something inside him all fuzzy and melty.

In the past when he’d witnessed an omega turn to a docile pile of mush for an alpha, Theodore had scoffed and rolled his eyes. He vowed that would never be him. But now Royce was here, smelling like oranges, storms, and raw alpha musk, and he’d been so attentive and kind. Kind and genuine, more so than any alpha Theodore had ever known. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

“Royce.” Theodore licked his lips. He got the urge to climb him like a tree and dry hump Royce’s leg. “I-I was going to make pancakes. Do you like pancakes?”

Royce gave a stiff nod.

“Do you want to help?”

He nodded again.

“Why don’t I start while you clean up?”

After some more staring and awkward shuffling, Royce shut himself in the bathroom. Theodore tried to focus on the pancakes, locating the applesauce, flour, sugar … He kept getting turned around and forgetting what he’d already placed on the counter. Was it hot in the cabin? He flapped his shirt to make a breeze. Why did his body feel like it was on fire?

When at last Royce reappeared, Theodore about jumped out of his skin. Royce grabbed him to keep him from toppling over. Unbidden, Theodore leaned into Royce’s chest and sniffed. Royce’s hands flexed on his biceps.

“Nutmeg.”

“Wha—?” Theodore couldn’t form whole words, slick was leaking out of him at an uncomfortable rate, and he had the oddest sensation that he could feel the vibration of his every molecule.

“Nutmeg. Pancakes. Nutmeg is good in them. Cinnamon too.”

“Oh.”

“Especially … applesauce pancakes.”

Theodore whimpered. He couldn’t believe these sounds were coming from his body, yet here he was. Not only whimpering, he was noticeably leaning into Royce, as in full-body pressing every hard edge of the alpha into his own small, soft omega body. And oh boy, was Royce hard.

Emboldened by the combination of stupidity and hormones, Theodore straddled Royce’s forward leg. Rocking his hips, he ground against the alpha. A torrent of slick made Theodore’s briefs wet and his skin slippery. He gripped the front of Royce’s shirt and did it again.

Theodore tilted his head upward, reaching on the tips of his toes. He was too short to reach, so he brushed his lips against Royce’s throat. The reaction was instantaneous.

Royce growled, his grip on Theodore became biting. His body jerked and twitched, and the scent of alpha musk intensified. Had Royce just cum in his pants?

“What are you doing?”

“I think I want to kiss you,” Theodore said.