New Blog, Kin List Still A Red Flag

Jack does most of his jerking off in the shower; not that he does much of that anymore between getting laid at parties and whatever mutual understanding he's come to with Robby.

He figures Robby is in a similar situation, except he's probably not having as much real sex as Jack is, considering he hardly leaves their dorm for anything other than class.

Until one night, the lights are out, and Jack is lying in bed trying to ignore the impending doom of an exam he didn't study enough for when a little noise rolls over to his side of the room.

Jack knows that sound. He's had the privilege of hearing it only centimeters from his ear, and for the past four months, it's made frequent appearances in his shower-time fantasies.

He hears it again, then a third time, more strangled, desperate.

Jack leaps out of bed and turns the overhead light on. When he turns the short corner of the half-wall, Robby is stuffed under his covers with wide eyes.

"Uh..."

"What're you doing?" Jack asks. As if he doesn't know exactly what Robby was doing, and even if he didn't, that pitiful tent under the bedding would tell him.

"Well, I..."

"Am I no good or something?"

Robby's eyebrows knit together. "What?"

"Looked like you were having a good time when I made you cum your panties before," Jack taunts.

The pretty glow on Robby's cheeks brightens. "They're not panties."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night. You don't want me to get off or something? You want me to lose sleep and fail that fucking test because you're too selfish to help me out?"

Robby's eyes get impossibly wider. He sputters and shifts. "I thought you were already asleep."

Jack hums. Sure, he did. "Do you want help?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure. Just let me--" He reaches for his discarded panties on the floor, but before he can grab them, Jack yanks the duvet back.

The sharp gasp Robby lets out is almost like a bark. He tries to cover himself, but Jack has already taken everything in.

One, Robby is not impressive. It isn't laughably small, but he's on the lower end of average. Two, his dick is dry. There's a bottle of lube lying on the mattress by Robby's hip, and from what Jack was hearing, it's been used.

"Jack—"

He hooks a hand under one of Robby's knees and lifts. Robby yelps and grabs at the mattress. He tries to close his legs, but Jack is too strong and enamored with the sight he's met with.

Robby's wet, winking asshole. Jack has the disgusting impulse to eat it like a pussy. He pushes the thought away and drops Robby's leg. "I didn't know you were gay for real."

"I'm not— It's—"

"I don't care," Jack shrugs. He doesn't have anything against homosexuals, no matter what the anger festering in his chest is trying to tell him. Does Robby fuck other guys? Does he bring random losers back to their room while Jack is out and let them hear his pretty whines? He better fucking not. "Just didn't realize."

"This is just a private thing," Robby insists. "I won't do it when you're here, okay? Sorry."

He starts to recover himself, but Jack grabs the hem of the duvet. "I'll still help you."

Robby blinks up at him. "You... what?"

"Girls have asses. It's not a big deal."

"You've... fucked girls in the ass?"

"No." Jack shifts his weight to his other foot. "But they have them."

"But I'm not a girl."

"I'm not gonna suck your fucking dick, am I? I'm going to fuck you."

Robby's jaw drops, and Jack can't help but picture what those pink lips would look like wrapped around his dick. "Okay." He nods slowly. "Yeah, okay."

Jack snatches the lube off the bed and pours some in his hand. Once he's done, he tosses the bottle onto Robby's chest. He wraps his hand around his dick and starts stroking. Robby watches like the giant homo he is. "Well, get on with it."

That shocks Robby back into his body. He re-lubricates his fingers and worms them between his gorgeous, long legs.

Jack drags his hand over himself slowly, enjoying the show. Robby is so tight, twitching and keening around each finger. The knot in Jack's gut unfurls; he must not be getting dicked down too often.

"Okay, I— I think I'm ready," Robby gasps. He's got three fingers inside himself, stretching and curling, sending that wonderful blush down his chest.

Jack settles on his knees, admiring the slight gape of Robby's hole. He's so wet and loose; the terrible thought of kissing him there comes back. No. Never. Jack doesn't kiss guys. He's not gay; he just doesn't turn down orgasms.

"Sure you're ready?"

Robby's enchanting brown eyes have sunken into blackness. "Yes," he says, so breathless it's almost a whistle.

A low groan escapes Jack as he sinks inside. Fuck, it's so good. Hot and wet and tight. Tighter than anything he's had before. He digs his nails into the soft flesh of Robby's thighs as his eyes roll back.

"So good," he pants. "So good, baby."

Robby releases his own moan at that. His hands flail in desperation before landing on the wall behind him, grabbing at nothing. "Keep going."

Don't have to tell Jack twice. This part is easy. He's fucked before, and he fucks well. Not only that, but his and Robby's previously clothed escapades have given him insight into how Robby likes it; now is his chance to show what he's learned.

Jack pounds into Robby like it's his job. His grip on Robby's legs gets firmer and firmer to the point that Jack is certain he'll leave behind purple bruises on his pale, lithe thighs.

His posture curls in on itself with each thrust, getting closer to the tempting sounds being punched out of Robby. It'd be so easy to fit his mouth around those lips and swallow each noise whole.

He's only a few inches from Robby's face now; their noses occasionally brushing. Delicate hands trace his shoulder blades. Fuck. Jack was too wound up in the pleasure of Robby around him to notice him moving. It feels good. A nice contrast from his own brutal pace.

The lack of acknowledgement makes Robby bolder, and soon he's dragging sharp lines along the muscles of Jack's back. The thought of seeing them in the mirror, or feeling them when he leans back in a chair, makes Jack's dick twitch.

"I'm— I'm close," Robby whimpers.

Jack nods. He doubts he has two more minutes left. His orgasm creeps closer. Hot and mounting in his gut. He looks down. Robby's pretty fucked out face is too much to resist.

He slaps a hand on Robby's mouth and kisses his own knuckles, hard and greedy.

One of Robby's pretty sounds sends vibrations through his hand. A soft, needy tongue pushes against his palm, threatening to peek through the gaps in Jack's fingers.

The thought of Robby's tongue accidentally slipping inside his mouth sends Jack over the edge. He releases deep inside Robby, jutting his hips all the way through his own and Robby's too.

Once they're both finished, Jack detaches his hand from Robby's mouth. It's swollen, red, and wet as if they've actually been kissing.

Jack pulls out ungracefully and stumbles away.

"That was good," he rasps. "Thanks, man."

Robby nods. "You're welcome... and thanks, too." He's breathless and gorgeous, laid flat out on the mattress, covered in cum and a deep red pigment coloring his face.

He’s hard. Jack’s hard, and his dick is pressed right between Robby’s ass cheeks. When he realizes, he freezes. His brain finally catches up with reality, but before he can apologize and move away, Robby rolls his hips backwards.

A low moan rumbles through Jack. Cautiously, he pushes forward. It feels so good. The scrape of his boxers and Robby’s pajama pants provides a soft friction, but the materials are thin enough that he can still feel the heat of Robby through their clothes.

Robby pushes back again; Jack pushes forward.

This slow back and forth goes on for a few minutes before Jack snaps. He places a firm hand on the floor next to Robby’s head, and the other tight on his hip, keeping Robby’s hips tilted up just right for Jack to hump against like a wild animal.

Robby lies there and takes it. Biting his lip to muffle his needy whines and looking back at Jack with glazed-over eyes and beautiful pink cheeks smashed into the floor.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to cum, leaving what should be a humiliatingly large stain in his underwear, but he doesn’t care. He leans back on his knees, trying to catch his breath and bring his consciousness back inside his body.

In that time, Robby rolls over onto his back, exposing the large tent that’s formed in his pants. He moves to wiggle out from under Jack, presumably to take care of his own obvious problem, but Jack pins him down again with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Robby looks up at him with those gorgeous brown eyes. Jack’s own trace the desperate bob of Robby’s Adam’s Apple before darting back down to his covered hard-on.

Jack places a flat palm on Robby’s clothed dick. A small, pitiful sound breaks through Robby.

“Do it,” Jack demands.

Robby’s breath stutters, a little confused, but he catches on quickly. He plants his feet for leverage and bucks his hips, rubbing his hard dick against Jack’s unmoving, flat hand.

With each thrust, Robby loses more and more of his composure. Soon his face blooms into a radiant red, and the hold on his lip slips, releasing wanton moans into the air.

Jack is too recently spent to go again, but that doesn’t stop his dick from twitching in interest.

Robby orgasms so prettily. His moans echo through the room, and his blush has descended past the collar of his shirt. Jack resists the temptation to lift the hem and check how far down it goes.

“We good?” Jack asks. His palm is still hot from all Robby’s rubbing.

“Yeah.” Robby swallows. “We’re good.”

After that, they enter a silent agreement to get each other off. It starts slow, with little brushes here and there that turn into more humping and the occasional hand.

But they also have unspoken rules. No purposeful skin-to-skin, no getting naked, and no kissing.

They get close sometimes. Fingers brushing under lifted shift hems and heavy panting into each other’s mouths, but they never cross the line.

That is, until Jack gets home from class, pent up beyond belief.

It’s been a long week, and all Jack could think about during that dull-ass lecture was Robby’s pretty blissed-out face. And then when he walks into their dorm, there he is in nothing but his underwear, waiting for his leftovers to finish in the microwave.

Jack snaps. Before he can think, he’s shoving his jeans down to his knees, and Robby is bent over the counter, letting himself be humped in the middle of their kitchen with Jack’s hands enveloping his thin waist. Jack figures it’s not really breaking the rules, more bending, since he wouldn’t be touching Robby’s bare torso if he was properly dressed.

“I didn’t know you wore panties,” Jack huffs.

“I— I don’t.” Robby's arguing is undercut by his soft whimpers and the fact that Jack can see the tiny briefs cupping his ass. His cheeks bounce under the material with each of Jack’s thrusts.

Jack’s grip on Robby’s waist tightens, and is pace increases. It’s not long before a familiar wet puddle forms in his boxers.

The microwave is beeping somewhere far away, but Jack doesn’t give a shit. He’s too focused on placing Robby against the fridge. Jack cups his hands under Robby’s thighs and helps him grind against his stomach.

The briefs give Jack a nice outline of Robby’s dick. It’s nothing special. Jack could probably cover the whole thing with one fist; he imagines it leaving a trail over Robby’s thin stomach while Jack fucks him until he cries.

Robby’s little whines turn to moans, and for the first time, Jack is able to see that pretty pink blush crawl all the way down to his nipples. Fuck. Jack’s mouth waters; he wants to bite them so bad, but he can’t. That would definitely be against the rules.

Although… the way Robby is looking at him is already pushing it. Jack knows Robby wants to kiss him. If he did, Jack would shove his tongue so far down his throat that he’d be able to feel all of Robby’s pretty noises. But he doesn’t, and Jack isn’t about to be the one to knock down that barrier.

Robby cums in his little panties with his head tilted back, and goddamn it takes every bit of strength in Jack not to latch onto his neck.

Delicately, he places Robby’s shaking feet back on the ground.

“Thanks,” Jack says.

It takes Robby a moment to comprehend what Jack said. “Oh, yeah,” he says eventually. “Thank you too…”

Robby looks so dizzy. Jack wants to wrap him in his arms and hold him until his balance returns; he wants to bury them both beneath a blanket and pretend nothing else exists.

They’d gotten together before they presented. Both late bloomers. Very late. Med school. Assumed to be betas because, well, they were twenty-one and that was more than a little late to be anything else. Robby, bitingly sarcastic, rakishly and boyishly handsome, too cocky for his own good as he flirted with anything with a pulse. Jack, a squirrely redhead fresh off a tour in Kuwait with darkness in his eyes and an amputation that needed six more weeks before he could be fitted for his prosthesis. An unlikely pair connected by one thing: Being not quite enough. Not quite at the top of their class. Not quite harsh enough to attract omegas or soft enough to attract alpha. Just enough for each other.

Morning workouts where Robby pretended he wanted to get fit as an excuse to come to Jack’s physical therapy sessions, encouraging him and watching him with barely controlled lust as he fought his way out of the wheelchair and onto his prosthetic, going from wobbly to sure over weeks and weeks of hard work. Midday lunches where they could complain about professors who lived behind the times and other students who just plain sucked. Study sessions where they savored shortbread cookies from the cafe attached to the library, those shared moments of late-night sweetness enough to fuel them through days of harsh salt and sour.

So they bonded – not in the traditional sense of the word with bites and pheromones, but something else. Something that went deep. Deep enough that when they were both hit by their first rut, they collided into each other full force. Lips that broke against teeth, sweat that mingled as they lost themselves, knots that rubbed against each other as they tangled up in Jack’s army-issue sheets. After that first rut together, they locked eyes – hazel and brown, a sunlit creek – and knew. It would be a hard road for them in a society where two alphas together was well outside the norm, but this was it. This was lust and love and laughter and light and everything all merged into one relationship.

They decided to figure it out together.

Wedding bands and attending positions and fifteen years of figuring it out later, there’s only one thing missing: A family of their own. Every alpha has that deep urge at the base of their gut to have pups – to breed, yes, but also to raise children, to grow with them, to be a parent. That was the one thing they couldn’t give each other. There are plenty of options these days for non-A/O couples, of course, but none of them felt like a fit for Jack and Robby.

They could only agree on one option: If the right omega came along, someone they could both spend their lives with, they’d have pups of their own. If it happened, it happened. They could be happy and fulfilled without it, but the option was open.

There’s been a handful of omegas over the years, but never anything serious. Friends they helped out during heats, brief flings, one boyfriend of a couple months. In the last five years, though, it’s just been the two of them. Nowadays, creeping into their forties together, they’re pretty damn sure that dream is no longer possible. Countless friends who understand them most have told them to wait, it’s fate, that biology wants alphas to find omegas. But, really, no matter how much they nod along or laugh it off, they’ve made peace with their simple life together, refusing to admit that there’s still a tiny spark at the backs of their minds every once in a while. That want. That ache.

Jack can smell you from the hub.

Through the clear semi-perforated patch over his nostrils that usually keeps omega pheromones off his mind.

His chin snaps up as you sit down at regular triage. As a nurse does your intake, you cradle a pup who can’t be more than two wailing in your arms. Your eyes are as red-rimmed as his, clearly affected deeply by him being so upset. You soothe the poor baby with gentle bouncing and intentionally flaring that scent of yours. Jack’s body moves before his brain catches up, taking long strides until he’s next to the nurse receptionist, hand on her shoulder, mouth already opening to say, “I’ll take them back and handle everything now. Thank you.”

It takes him by surprise as much as the nurse, who gives him a curious, amused sort of glance. Sure, theoretically, he’s more than welcome to take a patient back in whatever order he wants as an attending. But she can see right through any real reasoning. The stern and sarcastic Dr. Abbot fawning tenderly because of a crying pup and a sniffling omega? It’s…endearing, if strange.

After more than a decade in emergency medicine, he’s very rarely affected by the presence of omegas in distress. He even chuckles when his younger, less experienced coworkers trip over themselves to focus on anything when a sweet, soft thing like you needs immediate help. But now here he is, hand on your lower back as you introduce yourself and the toddler to him, taking sturdy steps across the ED like he’s trying to shield you from any other doctors who might poach your presence.

Guiding you into the closest open room equipped with pediatric supplies, Jack moves like he’s your marionette. As he gets the room and chart ready, his every motion is an unconscious response to you, his body instinctively trying to comfort and assure and take control the way an alpha should. It’s all instinct buried in medicine. While he tries to keep his head on straight, Jack sits on his stool opposite you and the toddler on the hospital bed and gently says, “Tell me all about what’s going on.”

You offer up a small smile and explain as you fuss over the toddler’s messy hair and tear-streaked cheeks and rumpled pajamas, “Benny’s felt yucky all day – really sleepy and fussy, not wanting to eat, running kinda warm – but we had it under control until a few hours ago. Sips of clear fluids, nice cooling bath, resting with some Bluey.” Your eyes go misty again as you look up from Ben and find Jack’s gaze resting tenderly on you. With your lower lip wobbling and your voice thick with tears, you tell him, “But then his fever just kept climbing up starting after dinner. I didn’t feel good about going to sleep not knowing if it would break or not, so we’ve been up for hours. Now he doesn’t want to drink anything and- and he’s never upset and clingy like this; he’s so curious and polite and-” You fall into tears again. “Sorry, I just- I just-”

Jack can’t stand seeing you upset. It hurts as much as any real heartbreak. And he’s never even met you before. He can’t help wondering what it would be like if he took the scent blocking patch off his nose and let himself inhale the fullness of you. Clearly your pheromones are strong enough to be a problem for him without even knowing that.

Swallowing hard, Jack scoots closer and takes your free hand in his. It’s not professional, but you don’t mind. You lean into the touch, clutching his hand close, taking his strength to be your own. Jack squeezes your hand and assures, “It’s alright; you did the right thing bringing him in. We’ll get this figured out in no time. Is it okay if I pick him up and do my exam now?”

With a reluctant nod, you help Jack move Ben onto the exam bed, where he looks so small and so hurt that your tears keep falling despite how often you wipe them away. Ben’s immediately reaching for you, trying to get to your side, and you look to Jack with the most innocent, pained eyes. He touches his stethoscope to Ben’s chest and tells you, “You can stay over here; don’t worry. Are you his mom?”

“Oh, no, not anyone’s mom,” you reply softly, always taken aback by the question no matter how many times it’s asked. Stroking Ben’s wispy hair like he’s your own, you go on, “I’m his nanny. Shoot, his au pair. His mom gets so mad when I forget to call myself that. Anyway, yeah, um, I just take care of him when they’re away, which is a lot of the time.”

He commits that to memory, hating himself for being relieved to know that you don’t already have a mate and pups of your own. It’s a strange swirling feeling in his stomach. Something similar to what he feels when he’s alone with Robby after a fresh batch of students has moved on – a yearning, quiet, needy thing. He swallows hard, swipes a forehead thermometer over Ben’s skin, and tuts, “103.8. That’s no good, little man.” Subtly dropping his hand, he pages for a nurse and tells you, “We’re going to go ahead and start IV fluids since he hasn’t been drinking enough and add some fever reducers to try to get his temperature down so he’s more comfortable. Once he settles some, he’s due for a whole bunch of fun tests. We’re gonna have to admit him tonight to make sure that fever breaks and he can sleep here under observation.”

Ben’s eyes slam up to yours, understanding as much as his tiny brain can as he latches onto ‘sleep here.’ Trying to snuggle closer to you while you fight to keep him on the exam bed, he wriggles and worries fearfully, “Nini stay?”

“He can’t say ‘nanny’ yet,” you tell Jack with the softest smile. You gently run your fingers through Ben’s hair, the gesture clearly to calm you both, and ask Jack, “That’s okay, right? If I stay in the room with him? His parents are in Europe until next week.”

Glancing at your chart to make sure all your paperwork is in order, he replies, “Of course. I’ll have them bring up a cot so you don’t have to deal with the loveseat. They’re awful.”

“That’s sweet; thank you. I know it’s not your job to deal with stuff like that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” As a resident pushes an IV and takes cultures, Ben finally starts to quiet and soften as the fluids hit his system, his sleepiness beginning to take over. Jack tells you sternly, his eyes paternal and warm, “I want you to be extra diligent about keeping yourself healthy the next couple days. Can’t have a lovely thing like you coming down with whatever the little guy has.” Your eyes widen in response to the way the compliment slips from his tongue so earnestly and simply. His face blanches and his neck goes blotchy. Quickly, he stammers out, “Oh, god. I’m so sorry; I have no idea why I just said that. I mean, you are lovely, of course, but-”

“It’s alright, Dr. Abbot,” you giggle, happy to smile for the first time since you’ve been at the hospital. You give Jack a playful nudge and add, “I don’t mind being called lovely by a silver fox such as yourself.”

As his cheeks tinge bright pink, Jack nods courteously, grateful that you’ve given him an out. “Thank you. That’s, ah, that’s very nice of you.”

You snicker and shake your head. “Please; I’m sure patients hit on you all the time.”

The junior doctor who’s tending to Ben snorts, “You have no idea.” Her mischievous eyes flick up to yours with a conspiratorial sort of energy. “Usually it doesn’t fluster him so much.”

Abbot releases a harsh breath and bites back, “Ellis, please.”

“I’m just saying,” she teases lightly, making big amused faces to amuse Ben while drawing his blood and praising him for being brave, “the big bad night shift attending doesn’t usually take care of sweet toddlers with fevers himself.”

Abbot hisses, “Parker.”

She just chuckles to herself and stands up with her collection of swabs and vials. Practically skipping past with amusement, she leans in close to him and teases, “We can smell it on you, gramps.”

You let out a squeak, something like a laugh, and avert your eyes. You hadn’t mentioned it because you’re unendingly polite and would rather die than embarrass a doctor, but, yes, Dr. Abbot is scenting all over you like a teenager with a crush, all raspberry and brunch. It’s not necessarily uncommon for an alpha to stink up a room when they’re with a particularly cute omega, but for an older professional it’s a bit juvenile, maybe. Like laughing a little too loud at every joke or staring at someone’s lips while they talk.

To Jack, though, the realization is like being shoved in the chest. As Dr. Ellis takes a reluctant-but-too-sleepy-to-protest Ben off for some imaging, Jack puts his hand over his face and groans, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. For the compliment and then for this and- God. I haven’t- I’m not even- I’m sorry. That’s the point. Sincerely.”

After biting your lip so adorably it makes Jack’s stomach turn, you sheepishly admit, “It’s really alright, doctor. I’m probably a little too close to my heat to be running around in public; I’m sure it’s affecting you more than it normally would. Don’t worry about it.”

Jack’s brows furrow. You’re affecting him that strongly when he has his nostrils covered and he’s nowhere near being in rut? That’s ridiculous. He must be, like, sick, surely. Or you’re some super omega with magic seduction hormone powers.

Or, worse than it all, you’re something special.

His mind races a bit as he turns away from you, reaches up, and carefully peels off the scent-blocking patch over his nose.

And it’s you.

Shift change can’t come soon enough. Jack’s thrumming his fingers against countertops, clicking his pen enough to make Dana snatch it from his hand, and checking on you and Ben so often it could probably count as an addiction. He tries to be subtle about it but fails miserably, not even realizing how pathetic he’s being until Ellis makes fun of him for it – over and over, at that.

Finally, though, fucking finally, his husband slinks through the doors with his sunglasses on and his earbuds still blasting. He walked to work, which means he woke up early, couldn’t get back to sleep, and stayed antsy until he could justify leaving early. The moment he can smell Jack, his face softens, the morning’s anxiety easing because he knows Jack will have already done everything he can to set the day shift up for success.

This morning, though, Jack walks up to Robby with hurried, serious steps unlike the exhausted, unsteady ones he’s usually met with. He doesn’t skip tilting his chin up to meet Robby’s quick kiss – he never misses that – but he does drop his voice low right away to say, “You need to come with me.”

As he meets Jack’s eager pace, Robby hustles up, catches Jack by his lower back, and chuckles against his ear, “Shit, where’s the fire?”

But Jack doesn’t answer, too possessed with leading Robby up to the pediatric room where you and Ben are still both sleeping. The heavy blinds keep out the early morning light and Jack’s hand hesitates on the door handle. You look so peaceful with your lips gently parted, curled up, totally calm now that Ben’s fever’s come down and the antibiotics are working their magic. During morning rounds, he’s the first doctor to punch the lights on and wake a patient to keep the hospital going and free up beds.

But you?

He hates the idea of waking you.

With a shaky breath, Jack meets his own husband’s eyes, tells him all about last night, that moment really just a few hours ago now, and then says, “It’s time for his morning workup. You’ll understand if- I need you to- I don’t even know how to explain myself right now. Just come in here with me, okay? You’ll know. I’m sure you’ll know.”

Tentative, soft, he nods. “Alright, of course. No problem.” Early in a relationship, this kind of intense behavior would be met with suspicion, concern, confusion. But now, with more than a decade of expertise in the strange field of Jack Abbot, Robby knows better than to do anything but what he asks without question. He tucks one of Jack’s too-grown-in curls behind his ear and prods quietly, “Just give me a quick heads up on what I’m in on, though, would you? Because, from here, it looks like a pedes case getting ready for discharge.”

Jack cracks a stupid sort of smile. “I know I’m being nuts, alright? But just take a deep breath when we’re through the door, okay? Because I think she’s- I think she’s supposed to be ours, Michael. I’ve never felt anything like it – and I need you to feel it too.”

Robby tilts his head to the side, any thoughts rushed away. Ours. Conceptually, he knows what Jack means. They’ve discussed it before. But Jack’s never looked so goddamn serious about it. Like there’s not a single question in his mind. If you’re not theirs, then you must at least be his. That makes Robby’s heart rate spike a bit, but he decides not to entertain the thought. He decides, as he has ten thousand times, to trust Jack with the fragile stitched-up thing of his heart.

As Jack pushes open the door and carefully slides the dimmer lights on, you stir to consciousness and so does Ben. When you realize the two of you have actually managed to sleep soundly after such an awful evening, your scent flares happily.

Robby’s world shifts just like Jack’s had.

His breath catches in his throat when you smile at him.

Shortbread.

Butter and vanilla and sugar.

Flooding from your skin, so thick and delicious it makes their heads spin.

Jack and Robby’s scents have always fought one another. Robby – black coffee, no cream, roasted so dark it’s past bitter. Jack – raspberry, bright, effervescent, tongue-coating sour. They don’t make sense together. Every kiss a clash. But with your scent mingled in, something gentle that matches them each individually and meets in the middle, it all blends into something that clicks into place. It’s not just Robby’s rough winter night and Jack’s bright spring sunrise. It’s a summer evening that lingers on and on, warm, ripe, rich. Fireflies in cupped palms and laughter on whiskey tongues and homemade thumbprint cookies dipped in swirling hazelnut heat until they’re perfectly soft. A complicated mouthful finally balanced.

Immediately after they leave the treatment room, Robby drags Jack down a hall and corners him against a wall with a borderline heaving chest. Voice raspy and needy, he presses his forehead to his husband’s and checks, “You feel this- this crazy? Like nothing makes sense anymore?”

Jack swallows hard and tries to focus on the rough scent from Robby’s neck. Usually it calms him, but his head is still spinning from the way your presence mixed with theirs into something so much more simple and true. He reaches up and twines his fingers in the short hair at the back of Robby’s neck and replies slowly, “Yeah. Yeah, of course I do. Fuck. What are we supposed to do? Should we-”

“We shouldn’t,” Robby whispers. Harsh. Lying. “We really shouldn’t.”

“We shouldn’t,” Jack agrees as he nods like he means it. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he sees you in the hall, away from Ben’s inquisitive eyes, questioning a nurse with serious concerned eyes. He melts all over again. Looking back at Robby, he sighs, accepting it, “But what if we did anyway?”

They had both known that menopause was coming for Robby like it did for most omegas in their 50s. The signs had all been their shorter heats, irritability, night sweats, and as of 7:23 that morning, hot flashes.

“Whyyy is this happening to meeee?” Robby whined causing Jack’s inner alpha to rear its head. His alpha was upset? He needed to take care of his mate! He had to make this better!

“Omega, you know that this is a common—“

“Of course I know!” Robby snapped, teeth bared. The omega felt uncomfortable and restless. Everything had him so on edge and the second he saw the hurt on Jack’s face? Robby crumbled, letting out pitiful sobs as his instincts were setting off every alarm. “Don’t leave meeeee..”

Jack had read his fair share of omega health books, educating himself on exactly what his mate was going through but damn.. this was whiplash every time and always left him floundering, mouth opening and closing as he desperately tried to navigate this.

Typically, he’d pull Robby into his lap, scenting the omega until all the complaints died on his lips but Jack was pretty sure they’d both have a heatstroke if he tried that today so Jack turned the fan up a notch, ordered some ice cream to be delivered and settled on the floor nearby with a promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

And that night, when the temperature finally cooled, Jack pressed Robby into the sheets, reminding him that he vowed to be stick by Robby through it all.