Twelve Days of Heat: Day Eight

Twelve Days of Heat: Day Eight


Their teammates, Mel especially, seem to have an odd fascination with what’s going on in Gabriel’s suite. Reese really wishes they’d just leave already—why hasn’t their flight been rescheduled yet?

It’s hard to bang Gabriel with the kind of reckless abandon he wants when one of their teammates is sitting in the other room. They do bang anyway, because Reese can’t not. He needs it.

It’s just he’s still holding back, even though he’d like to scream and wail, shout for Gabriel to fuck him harder. Maybe he’d ask for something more too, like maybe Gabriel could fuck him on the sofa in the other room, or maybe Reese would crawl into his lap and beg to get spanked, or.

Something. There’s nothing but filthy nonsense in his head, jumbled up and confused, probably ridiculous, but he’ll be fucked and gagged with a spoon if he doesn’t think it’s all impossibly hot.

Nonetheless, it’s a little difficult to give himself over when their teammates are being creeps. Bunch of weirdos.

He vaguely understands that Mel is concerned—maybe jealous. Kat ends up being their intermediary, passing notes between Gabriel and Mel, essentially. Direct contact between the two alphas is a bad idea; Reese definitely hears them snarling at each other, Kat laughing nervously, “Now, now, let’s be civil …”

Reese would take more time to be flattered, but he’s not sure if Mel has a crush on him or if she’s just concerned Gabriel is an incompetent dickbag who’s going to hurt him. It’s kind of hard to tell, and even harder to care when all he wants to do is grind down on Gabriel’s (wonderful, glorious) cock, see if he can’t get some kind of relief.

Whatever Mel brought back from the pharmacy, however, is what he gets for probably about twelve hours or more following the after-dinner blowout yesterday. Mel insists on it and Caleb suggests, in soft tones, that it’s probably better if Gabriel follows Mel’s advice.

Reese thinks they’re all stupid. He’s fine, except for the unrelenting pressure. He just needs a little more, that’s all.

Gabriel dumps pills down his throat instead, forces him to drink water—and then more water, and Reese is kind of glad he’s dehydrated, because he’s fairly certain it’s a physical impossibility to take a piss with an erection.

He could be wrong about that. He hopes he’s wrong about that, especially when Gabriel hands him another glass of water, tells him to drink, glares at him until he does so.

There’s some kind of salve or something—Reese wonders if they can use it as lube—and he allows Gabriel to apply that, because he thinks he might be able to get him to turn it into a fuck, but all he gets is those long fingers, coated in cold gel, probing him for a too-short fraction of a second, then pulling away again.

The gel is soothing for the span of time Gabriel’s applying it, and then it’s too warm and it’s done nothing for him.

“It’ll take the swelling down,” Gabriel explains, and Reese glowers at him, because he’d better be right.

Gabriel fusses with some packaging and returns to bed with something plastic and horrifically neon green. Reese tips his head to the side, blinks up at him.

Gabriel is bright red and won’t meet his gaze. “It was green or hot pink,” he mumbles, like that’s the issue.

“The fuck is it?” Reese rasps, then presses a hand to his throat, like that will soothe the rawness of his voice.

Gabriel cringes. “What do you think it is?” he asks, cutting his eyes at him.

Reese snorts. He has a pretty good guess. “I think,” he croaks, “it’s a bad substitute for what I really want—”

The dark-haired man sighs heavily, sinks onto the bed. “Look,” he says finally, “you’re really bad. Mel says we gotta take the swelling down.”

“Why are you listening to her? I know what I need, Gabby—”

“—and. Besides. I need a break.”

Oh. Reese hadn’t even thought of that. He blinks, then looks up at Gabriel. The younger man is flushed scarlet, but he holds Reese’s gaze. “I mean, it’s good and all, and like … you’re in heat. But you’re really …”

He glances at Reese again, then looks away. He clears his throat. “I can’t really keep up with you,” he says, and well, Reese supposes that’s a nice way of phrasing the fact he thinks Reese is clearly an insatiable nymphomaniac.

He opens his mouth, then pauses, grimacing a little, and finally says, “It’s pretty hot to have you ride me, Pieces, but, like, it’s chafed. Sore. I need a break.”

Reese grunts in reply, because seriously? Like he isn’t sore either. That isn’t stopping him though. It hasn’t slowed down his need at all. Fuck, his hole is swollen shut, and he still wants.

It’s pretty fucking ridiculous, when he thinks about it.

Gabriel leans over him. “So, this helps all of us—I get a break, you get what you need, and this thing is medicated—it should help.”

“Medicated,” Reese echoes, frowning.

Gabriel shakes his head. “Not—it’s not a suppressant. It’s not gonna resolve your heat, that’s gonna have to break on its own. But … it will take the swelling down. It should give you some temporary relief.”

“I’d rather have you,” Reese replies.

“I know,” Gabriel offers, kisses him quick. “But trust me on this—it’ll be good. It’ll help.”

Reese sighs, but lets his knees flop open. Gabriel shoulders his way between them, presses the cool tip of the toy to Reese.

Reese grits his teeth; he is swollen, after all, and the toy is bigger than Gabriel’s fingers, for sure. He groans low, in pain this time, as Gabriel pushes it deeper and deeper into him, past burning, tender tissues.

He exhales when Gabriel stops pushing. He clenches around the toy a few times, relaxes, trying to adjust to the feeling of it inside him.

It’s not … the worst thing ever. But it’s not really giving him any relief, and he wants Gabriel badly.

The thing is, he thinks as he shifts about a bit, is that the toy is just … sitting in there. Stationary. Unmoving. It’s not sliding back or pushing in deeper. It’s just in him, pressing up against him and that’s good, that’s nice—but it’s just making him ache more because it’s not rubbing against his nerve endings with frenetic energy, rhythm.

He clenches a few times more, experiments with drawing the toy in deeper, pushing it back.

It moves a bit, but still not enough to satisfy him. He stretches his arms above his head, pulls himself taut along the bed. He catches Gabriel’s eye. “Fuck me with it,” he says.

“No,” Gabriel replies, “Mel said not to do that. At least—just let it sit for a bit first. See if we can get the swelling to come down.”

Reese swings his hips side to side, thrusts up a couple of times. Still nothing. He hates it. “I need more,” he complains.

“Just let it do its work.” Gabriel sounds exasperated.


“Let’s get something to eat. You haven’t had anything to eat all day. You’re probably starving, yeah?”

He’s not. He’s not even hungry, but Gabriel forces him out bed, shoves a tee and shorts on him. He makes him sit in the living room while he calls down for food.

That’s how he finds out Mel’s hanging out in the suite. She’s in the kitchenette to start, but steps into the living room while Gabriel’s on the phone with room service. Reese glances up from where he is on the sofa, meets her soft brown gaze.

“Oh hey,” she says, stepping toward him, and he’s not sure what he should do. He’s an omega in heat, she’s alpha, but Gabriel’s laid claim to him and doesn’t seem to want to share.

Which Reese is totally okay with.

She sets her plate down on the coffee table, sits down on the opposite side of the sofa. The TV flickers in the background, but Reese is watching her, like a hawk.

She picks up her toast nonchalantly, bites into it. “How are you feeling?” she asks around a mouthful.

“Mm,” he replies, slouches a little lower. He glances toward Gabriel.

Mel keeps meeting his gaze, then looking away again. She takes another couple of bites, then sets down what’s left of her slice. “Y’know,” she says, and her voice has dropped a note lower, and Reese twitches with excitement.

Gabriel steps between them, blocking Reese’s view of his female teammate. He looks up, but Gabriel’s engaged Mel in a staring contest.

“Hi,” Mel says at last.

“Hi,” Gabriel replies, and Reese wonders if they’d agree to a threesome, because that might be fun.

“Why are you here?” Gabriel all but growls, and okay, that’s out. Gabriel’s possessive when he’s in alpha-mode, and he clearly is in alpha-mode right then and there.

“Checking on you two morons,” Mel replies tartly, then bites into her toast again. The crunch fills the space of conversation obnoxiously.

“I think we’re capable, thanks.”

“Mm, but you’re the one who didn’t get him anything, let him swell up like that—that had to be painful for you, Pieces, I’m sorry we didn’t—”

“Don’t talk to him,” Gabriel snarls, and Reese tingles with the noise, a shiver running through him.

Never mind the threesome, he just wants possessive Gabriel to take him back to the bedroom now. He can scarcely believe how much he wants to be whisked off, dumped on the bed, pinned to the mattress, and fucked.

He squirms, pants, rubs his thighs together. Yes. Holy crap, yes, he wants that.

Both alphas glance at him.

“Christ,” Mel spits, “Gabe, you gave him the stuff, right?”

“Of course.” Gabriel sounds insulted.

They look at him again, and Reese writhes a bit harder under their scrutiny.

“I think you should go,” Gabriel tells Mel, and there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at Reese.

Mel considers, her mouth twisting down in a frown. She holds Gabriel’s gaze, defiant, challenging him to make her go. Freakin’ alphas, Reese thinks. They’re always so concerned about dominance and control, who’s in charge, demonstrating who is top dog.

Gabriel is pretty clearly top dog in most things. Reese wonders if that’s part of his own problem—he’s omega. He doesn’t want to buy into all that crap about omegas being less capable of performing in competition. In fact, he likes to think omegas are actually better athletes precisely because they’re so submissive, so obedient—so hung up on pleasing other people. Like, if Reese doesn’t swim fast enough, his coach will be disappointed. He’ll let down his team in a relay. He won’t do his country, his team proud. And he hates that idea.

It makes him want to swim faster, work harder. What’s more, he listens to his coach. He doesn’t get into arguments with them, not like he’s seen Mel and even Gabriel get into fights with Gord about training.

So he thinks everybody’s bullshit about omegas being shitty athletes is nothing but that—bullshit. Omegas are imminently trainable. Subservient and eager to please. And he’ll work harder than anyone else to please. Alphas are all about their own satisfaction, their own drive to show who’s the best, to come out on top, to be lauded and loved and dominant. For alphas, it’s individual accomplishment a hundred percent of the way. For Reese, for other omegas, it’s about making the people around him proud, about not disappointing them.

But the alpha drive to be the best, to be better than anyone else, everyone else is perhaps more unyielding, perhaps willing to push further, harder. Gabriel is top dog because he wants to be the best. He doesn’t care about the people around him; he wants what he wants for himself, to please his own person. He’s internally driven; he doesn’t rely on other people to push him to his limits.

Gabriel’s an excellent example, actually, because he does push himself so far. He knows he’s far and away the best out of anyone on their team right now—possibly in the world—but he’s also always striving for more. He keeps pushing not because he needs to beat other people, but because he wants to break himself. His own records, his own limitations. He wants to see how far he can go.

But since he’s like that, he expects the rest of them to act like him. To push themselves as far as they can. He wants to be the top of the heap in their team, yes, but he also wants their team to be the top of the heap. It’s a hard balance to strike.

Caleb and Corey, Brody and Kat, and most especially Mel will fight with him about it. He and Mel get into it frequently on the pool deck. Kat is much more unassuming; Caleb is soft-spoken and a peacekeeper. Brody and Corey have their flashes of temper, but neither of them will back down.

Reese has his own temper, but he’s mostly just terrified of being the weak link, of letting everyone down.

He’s … always been a disappointment. Never good in school, not really that great at making friends. He wasn’t good at much really—he wasn’t good at phys ed. even, although that was probably his best class in school. He’s just not very graceful on land, and team sports were always stressful. He did okay at baseball and basketball, volleyball and dodgeball, but he was most definitely not a track star or anything like that.

His brother Owen is such a smart kid. Keenan, Keenan is probably better at school than Reese ever was. Tegan is way more athletic than him; she excelled at virtually every sport ever—her biggest problem was that she couldn’t decide what she wanted to do. Rhiannon is brilliant, so smart she could be a rocket scientist or something. Megan’s much more a homemaker, an artiste. She did well in music and drama and the arts.

Reese has just always sucked at everything, except for swimming, really. And even then, he remembers hushed conversations about how he’d never make it. He remembers the conversation with his father after finding out he was omega—basically, he had to take the pills or never swim again, just give up on it. He remembers being told he’d probably have to give it up anyway. He remembers conversation after conversation with coaches about how he just wasn’t the right physique for it. Was he sure he didn’t want to play football or something like that?

And then Mama and Dad got divorced the year before Reese graduated high school (he should have graduated that year, but he flunked a couple of courses—nothing all that surprising). He remembers the conversation with the guidance counselor in those final months, the heated discussions about bringing up his grades, about skipping SATs, why bother putting himself through that stress?

He pored over literature about various colleges, wondered about their swim teams. Academic requirements for any varsity sports were mind-numbingly high for him. He remembers listening to Mama’s hushed Spanish on the phone with aunties and uncles, his grandparents in Puerto Rico, and it was always, always about money.

Basically, he was too stupid to get a scholarship and too poor to go to any college worth going to.

Rhiannon got married that summer, and Tegan and Megan complained about the cost of bridesmaids dresses, how that money could have went to their tuition, and Mama’s strained smile, the aunties talking to her about how Nana would make sure it was right, they couldn’t not pay for the dinner, that was the bride’s family’s duty …

So Reese gave up on it. He was too stupid and too bad at it and too poor. He’d never make it anyway, so what was the point? He’d … figure something out. Owen’s super-smart. He deserves to go to university. Reese doesn’t.

It’s a hard pill for an eighteen-year-old to swallow—all his childhood dreams gone up in smoke. So when opportunity presented itself, he couldn’t say no. He still dreams about it, dreams of breaking a world record, of going to the Olympics.

And he both admires and fears Gabriel and Mel, people like them. He’s terrified of letting them down. He’s scared of not being good enough. Because, somewhere, he knows he’s not. He’s never been good enough. And he never will be good enough.

So he tries very, very hard not to disappoint them. Gabriel especially, because he knows Gabriel has high expectations of all of them, and Reese …

Reese wants his recognition, his respect. He wants his admiration. To be treated as an equal, not an obstacle.

And … this, this Gabriel, this Gabriel that wants him, that won’t let Mel have him, that growls and clutches at him possessively—he feels so …

So. He can’t even describe what he feels. His blood runs hotter, his heart beats faster. He can’t catch his breath.

He loves it. He loves being wanted, loves the way Gabriel looks at him, loves the way Gabriel growls at Mel and tries to send her away, protect his right to Reese. Reese loves that Gabriel has laid claim to him, and he feels wanted for the first time in a really long while. He doesn’t feel guilty or like a burden or like he should just curl away in a corner, let other people have the limelight.

He’s so flattered that Mel and Gabriel are actually locking horns about him, of all people. And he loves that Gabriel won’t hear of Mel hanging around any longer, loves that he’s so suspicious of her intentions.

He belongs to Gabriel. Maybe it’s only temporary, but the idea is overwhelming and lovely, and some stupid girly part of Reese wants to cry about it, wants roses and romance and fucking hell, he’s not quite sure why he didn’t realize he was head over heels for the younger man before.

Like, he probably had a guess …

Maybe, just maybe, he’d been hoping it was nothing more than infatuation. Hoping that it was a little bit of admiration or grudging respect for a fellow competitor, for a man who had accomplished the things he himself wanted to accomplish.

But no, he likes that Gabriel’s attention is focused on him, solely on him, loves the idea that Gabriel wants to possess him, wants to hide him away from everyone else.

An even stupider, even girlier part of him daydreams about a ring and a wedding, and he wants to scream, that’s how bad he wants it. He might that even more than he wants Gabriel’s cock, which is saying something.

A hand on his forehead. “Christ,” Mel says, and Reese blinks, “you’re still burning up, Pieces.”

He blinks a couple of times more, waiting for her words to register. She frowns at him, and Gabriel is lingering off to the side, arms crossed, his expression clouded, dark, contemplative.

Reese bites his lip. He’ll incinerate if Gabriel keeps looking at him like that.

He’s a little relieved to know he’s still feverish though, like maybe these feelings of love and gratefulness and mind-warping happiness are more to do with the fact he’s delirious than the fact he’s actually in love with the captain of the swim team.

It makes perfect sense to him that, in this state, he’s confusing love and lust.

Mel retreats to Gabriel’s side, talks to the other alpha in hushed tones that swim nonsensically through Reese’s ears. The heat is creeping up his spine again; his hair is damp at the back of his neck again.

He’s going to go back under shortly. Maybe this is what they were talking about when they said he was likely going to have lucid moments—short breaks followed by harder episodes, spans of time when he might be almost completely incoherent. Mel said he might even be unconscious for a bit. She said it was like being black-out drunk, so drunk you didn’t remember anything at all, even though you were still operating.

She called it “hard heat” and it sounded fucking terrifying. He doesn’t want to go through it. Mel tried to be reassuring when she said not all omegas experienced it, but the way she looked at him, he knows she thinks he won’t be so lucky.

She’s already said his condition is pretty bad, and she told Gabriel that it usually gets worse before it gets better.

Gabriel tried to crack a joke about Reese trying too hard at everything, expending too much effort, but it fell a little flat—Reese didn’t really understand it, and Mel just rolled her eyes.

She looks at the other alpha, says, “He’s probably going back under.”

“Mm,” Gabriel says, doesn’t take his eyes off Reese. Reese drops his head, looks at the carpet.

God, he’s pathetic.

“How are you feeling?” the younger man inquires.

“Um,” Reese replies, biting his lip. He doesn’t feel much different than before. Maybe a little less uncomfortable, a little less needy. But the heat is still there; it hasn’t left. The ache is still there, throbbing through his bones, slowly intensifying.

Yeah, he’s going under again.

“How’s the swelling?”

He flicks his gaze up, but doesn’t answer. He doesn’t really know how to answer—he’s not sure at all. He wasn’t really thinking about it, about the toy inside him or his swollen tissue or anything else.

“I’d give him another dose,” Mel says, nodding sagely, which is met with a dark look from Gabriel. It’s indecipherable, though—is he annoyed that she’s giving him advice, like he doesn’t know what to do with his own omega? Or is he annoyed she’s trying to bring Reese out of it? Does he want to keep Reese here as long as possible?

“Don’t you have a flight to catch?” he asks acerbically.

“Still waiting on the reschedule,” Mel replies, and is that the hint of a smirk on her face?

“Hm.” Gabriel unwinds his arms and shifts toward the door as the call of “Room service!” rings out.

Mel glances at Reese again, then picks up her plate and disappears back into the kitchenette.

“Right there is fine,” Gabriel says to the attendant, bodily preventing him from bringing the cart any further into the room. “Thank you.”

Reese tries to peer around Gabriel, catch a glimpse of the guy who’s now in their suite. He’s glancing about nervously, crinkling his nose.

Oh fuck, it reeks in here, Reese realizes. Like rut and heat—and like Gabriel, his stupid perfume floral scent, and like Reese no doubt (Gabriel said something about citrus, Mel said oranges and “sunshine”—but Reese doesn’t know what sunshine smells like, so they might be fucking with his head).

Gabriel signs the receipt, hands it back to the guy. “Thanks very much,” he says and guides him back to the door, all but shoving him back into the hallway. “Much appreciated, thanks again.”

The door closes with a bang. Mel steps back into the living room, spectating as Gabriel moves the plates from the cart to the table in front of Reese. He turns back and grabs the glasses of water, the cutlery.

“Here you go,” he says, then plonks down on the sofa beside Reese, and Reese almost sighs when the younger swimmer presses up against him, allowing him to lean into his lanky body. Reese sags against him, reveling in it. He doesn’t care if it seems tender or mushy or … whatever else. He feels safe, wanted, cared for.

It’s all an omega can ask for in this world, honestly.

Gabriel flips the cover off the plate in front of Reese. Reese pulls a face, looks at the younger man. “Seriously?” he asks. “Salad?”

Gabriel shrugs, jostling Reese’s head in the process. “Figured some vitamins and minerals can’t hurt,” he mumbles.

“Seriously,” Reese grouses. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, so he feels like … fries or something would have been a better selection.

“It’s good for you,” Gabriel insists, and Mel sniggers at them. “What?”

She waves a hand, turns away. “You two,” she says, then shakes her head a little. She heaves a sigh; her gaze is suddenly far away. “Anyway. I’m gonna go—Kat’ll be along in a bit.”

“Really?” Gabriel’s annoyance is palpable. “We don’t need a babysitter, Melissa.”

She shoots him a glare. “Debatable,” she says, then heads out of the suite.

They wait for the door to close. Reese stabs at the salad with the fork a few more times, then sighs heavily, pushing the plate away.

Gabriel gives him a quizzical look. “’m not hungry,” he murmurs. “I’m … I think I’m gonna go lie down.”

The alpha wraps a hand around his wrist, drags him back to the sofa. “You should eat something,” he says. He hesitates, then says, “There’s pasta under the other dish, if you want that.”

Reese narrows his gaze. “You ordered pasta for yourself and got me a fucking salad? What the fuck.”

Gabriel shakes his head; his cheeks are bright pink. “No, I … uh, I wanted you to start with the salad, ‘cause like … it is good for you. Just … just ‘cause. I mean, nutrition is probably really important, right? For your hormones and uh … stuff.”

Reese quirks a brow.

“Pasta’s yours too,” Gabriel murmurs, won’t look him in the eye.

Reese contemplates that for a moment, then says, “You didn’t get anything for yourself?”

Gabriel shrugs. Reese resists the urge to nuzzle up against him, to pepper him with kisses. Instead, he bites the inside of his cheek, trying to stay the grin lifting to his lips, coos, “Awwww, Gabby, you do care about me.”

“Fuck off,” Gabriel spits, sinking lower on the sofa. “Eat something or go back to bed. I’m gonna grab a shower.”

“Can I join?” Reese has zero interest in food now that naked!Gabriel in the shower is a distinct possibility.

“No.” A glare. “You need to eat.”

Reese rolls his eyes, plucks up the pasta plate. “Fine, fine,” he mutters.

Gabriel lingers for a moment longer, then heads to the bathroom. A moment later, the water is running in the shower. Reese tries a few mouthfuls of pasta, then simply shoves the food around on the plate, frowning at it.

He doesn’t like heat, at all. Food tastes like nothing. He has no appetite. All he can think about is Gabriel in the shower, his hair matted to his head, water coursing down his body, over his abs, lower, and lower and—

Well, he has an appetite for something. He squeezes, remembers about the toy still resting inside him. He bites his lip.

He ditches the plate, heads back to the bedroom. He kicks the door shut with his foot, strips off his shirt and his shorts. He’s so done with clothes. He’s so done with anything that isn’t getting plowed into the mattress right now.

He sprawls out amid the tangled sheets, shuffles around a bit, imitating various poses he’s seen in movies. They’re all uncomfortable, however, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t look very sexy or seductive in any of them.

He settles for lying on his side, propped up on one arm, facing the ensuite door. He grins when the water stops, waits for Gabriel to emerge.

The alpha is still dripping water, tousling his soaked hair with a towel as he steps into the room. He pauses, as though he feels Reese’s predatory gaze on him. He drops the towel slowly, his eyes boring into Reese’s.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Hey,” Reese replies, still grinning, struggling not to laugh. He swings his foot to and fro. Gabriel lights on the motion, his gaze pinned to it, following the arc like a cat chasing a light, waiting and readying to pounce.

“Did you eat?” he asks instead, gaze flicking back up to Reese’s face, and Reese nods.

Hesitation. Then, Gabriel says, “Okay. Are you gonna nap now?”

Reese sprawls across the bed, follows Gabriel as he moves through the room. “Mm,” he says, “no. Was hoping we could … play.”

“Pieces …”

He freezes when he turns back around. Reese bites down on his lip a little harder, stifling a cry as he cautiously slides the toy out, then pushes it back in. “You don’t gotta do anything,” he says softly, “you can just watch if you want. You gave me something to play with, so …”

“You wanna play?” the alpha inquires, sinking one knee into the mattress, then the other as he clambers over Reese. His hand slides lower, brushes Reese’s knuckles, encouraging him aside.

“Mm,” Reese replies. “Could be fun.”

Gabriel grips the base of the toy, slides it out a little more. Reese’s breath hitches; he groans, lets his head fall back as Gabriel pushes the toy in again.

“I dunno …”

“It’s good,” Reese murmurs, rolling his hips. “Go deeper.”

“I can’t,” Gabriel replies, “I–”

“You can get your fingers in there,” Reese suggests, leaning back into his elbows. “You could push it in a little more.”

Gabriel presses his lips together, then drops his gaze, concentrating on what’s going on between Reese’s spread legs. He grips the toy a little differently, pushes in. He gets a bit of extra reach; the added girth of his fingers stretch Reese wider.

“Yeah?” he asks, glancing up, and Reese nods.

Gabriel considers, then grins broadly. “We’ll send Kit-Kat down to the store,” he whispers, his voice heavy with heat, “get something bigger for you, yeah?”

“Please,” Reese replies, bucks his hips, and Gabriel pulls the toy out. He slides to the edge of the bed, tugs Reese toward him.

“Until then,” he murmurs, meeting Reese’s gaze once more, holding as he plies his tongue.

“Oh fuck yes,” Reese groans, lets his head thump back against the mattress, pleased his gamble has paid off.

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