Chapter 2: The Latch Holds
The click of the latch was a period at the end of a very long, very frustrating sentence. Silence followed, thick and heavy, broken only by the shudder of Theo’s breath and the pounding of his own heart in his ears. Asher’s weight above him was an anchor, solid and real.
“Protocol,” Asher repeated, the word a low growl against Theo’s throat. He didn’t move, just held himself there, letting the reality of their isolation sink in. No tiny knocks. No whispered monsters. Just them, and the ache that had been building for weeks.
Theo’s hands came up to cradle Asher’s face, his thumbs tracing the harsh line of his jaw. “I thought I was going to lose my mind,” he whispered, the truth of it raw in his voice. “Just… combust. Right there in the kitchen. Watching you make pancakes.”
A slow, wicked smile touched Asher’s mouth. “Yeah? What stopped you?”
“The propane bill. And child welfare.” Theo tugged him down, sealing their mouths together.
This kiss was different. It wasn’t the hungry, frantic clash from before Poppy’s interruption. This was slower. Deeper. A deliberate re-mapping of territory. Asher’s tongue swept into his mouth, tasting of sleep and the mint toothpaste he’d used hours ago. Theo melted into it, a low sound escaping him as Asher’s hips settled more firmly against his own, the hard ridge of his cock an unmistakable pressure through both their pants.
Asher broke the kiss, his breath hot on Theo’s skin. He dragged his lips down the column of Theo’s throat, over his Adam’s apple, to the hollow of his collarbone. His hands, those big, devastating hands, finally slid under the gray henley, pushing it up. The cool air hit Theo’s stomach, then the scorching heat of Asher’s palm followed.
“You put this on,” Asher murmured, nuzzling the soft fabric at Theo’s sternum. “My favorite. You’re playing dirty, omega.”
“You weren’t getting the hint,” Theo gasped, arching as Asher’s teeth grazed a nipple. “I was considering skywriting.”
Asher chuckled, the sound vibrating against Theo’s skin. He took his time, lapping at the peaked nub before sucking it deep into his mouth. Theo’s fingers fisted in his black hair, holding on, his hips lifting off the mattress in a broken rhythm. The frustration of the night, of the weeks, was boiling over, transforming into a pure, liquid need that pooled low in his belly.
“Off,” Theo managed, tugging at Asher’s shirt. “Everything. Off now.”
Asher obeyed, but with a controlled slowness that was its own kind of torture. He sat back on his heels, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. The firelight danced over the planes of his chest, the dusting of dark hair, the old scar from a falling beam that curled around his rib cage. Theo drank him in. His alpha. A feast after a famine.
Then Asher’s hands went to the button of Theo’s pants. He popped it open, drew the zipper down with a rasp that seemed deafening. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of Theo’s briefs and pants together and pulled. Theo lifted his hips, helping, kicking the tangled fabric down his legs until he was bare.
Asher stared. His gaze was a physical caress, sweeping from Theo’s flushed face, down his heaving chest, to his hard cock laying against his stomach. A droplet of moisture beaded at the tip. Asher’s eyes darkened, the gray turning to storm cloud.
“Fuck, Theo,” he breathed, wrapping a hand around Theo’s shaft. His grip was firm, perfect. He stroked once, a slow, dragging pull that made Theo see white behind his eyelids. “Look at you. All for me.”
“Only ever you,” Theo choked out. “Asher, please—”
“Please what?” Asher leaned down, his mouth hovering an inch from Theo’s. He was still fully dressed from the waist down, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against Theo’s inner thigh. The contrast was maddening.
“I need you inside me. I need it. I can’t wait another goddamn second.” The words were filthy, desperate, and Theo meant every one. His body was throbbing with it, slick and ready, the empty feeling an ache he could no longer stand.
Asher kissed him, swallowing his pleas. He shifted, yanking his own jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself. Theo reached between them, his hand closing around Asher’s length. It was hot and heavy in his palm, velvety steel. He stroked him, spreading the moisture that leaked from the slit.
“Condom?” Asher gritted out, his forehead pressed to Theo’s.
“Fuck that,” Theo whispered. “I’m clean. You’re clean. I need to feel you. All of you.”
A ragged groan tore from Asher’s throat. He reached for the lube in the bedside drawer, fumbling the bottle before slicking his fingers. He didn’t tease. There was no slow, gentle preparation. They were past that. Theo was open, had been wanting for so long. Asher pushed one thick finger into him, then two, crooking them, stretching him with a burning, perfect pressure that made Theo cry out.
“Okay?” Asher’s voice was strained, his body trembling with the effort to hold back.
“More. Now, alpha. Now.”
Asher withdrew his fingers. He positioned himself, the blunt head of his cock pressing against Theo’s entrance. He locked eyes with Theo, and in that gray gaze Theo saw everything—the weeks of missing him, the love, the sheer, possessive hunger.
He pushed in.
Theo’s back bowed off the bed, a sharp gasp ripped from his lungs. It was a stretch, a breathtaking fullness that stole the air from the room. Asher sank deeper, inch by inexorable inch, until his hips were flush against Theo’s ass. They both went utterly still, welded together, savoring the shocking, right feeling of connection.
“Theo,” Asher whispered, his voice shattered.
Theo wrapped his legs around Asher’s waist, locking his ankles. “Move. Please, Asher, move.”
Asher withdrew almost completely, then drove back in. It wasn’t gentle. It was a claiming. A reclamation. Each thrust was deep, hard, and precise, punching moans from Theo’s chest. The bedframe knocked a steady, rhythmic beat against the log wall. Theo met every one, rising to meet him, his nails scoring down Asher’s sweat-slick back.
“You feel so fucking good,” Asher grunted, his pace relentless. “So tight. Mine. All mine.”
“Yours,” Theo babbled, the words crumbling. “Always yours. Fuck, right there, don’t stop—”
Asher shifted his angle, hammering into the spot that made lightning fork behind Theo’s eyes. Pleasure coiled, tight and white-hot, at the base of Theo’s spine. His cock, trapped between their grinding bodies, leaked incessantly. The room filled with the sounds of them—skin slapping skin, ragged breaths, guttural, wordless sounds of need.
Theo was close, teetering on the edge. He could feel the tension coiling in Asher’s body, the way his thrusts were becoming less controlled, more jagged.
“Come for me,” Asher demanded, his mouth on Theo’s ear. “Let me see it. Let me feel you.”
His hand slid between them, wrapping around Theo’s cock. Two strokes, three, his thumb swiping over the leaking head—and Theo shattered.
His orgasm hit him like a collapsing building, waves of pure, blinding pleasure tearing through him. He screamed, the sound muffled against Asher’s shoulder as his body clamped down, milking the alpha inside him. Asher swore, a raw, broken string of obscenities, and drove home one last, shuddering time. Theo felt the hot pulse of his release, flooding him, and the sensation dragged another, smaller wave of pleasure from his oversensitive body.
They collapsed together, a heap of trembling limbs and sweat-damp skin. Asher’s full weight pressed Theo into the mattress, a heaviness he craved. The air reeked of sex and pine and them. Asher nuzzled into the side of Theo’s neck, his breath slowly easing from panting gusts to deep, even draughts.
After a long while, Asher softened and slipped out. He rolled to the side, pulling Theo with him, tucking him against his chest. He snagged the discarded wool blanket from the floor and dragged it over them.
Theo’s mind was blissfully, utterly empty. No sassy monologue. No illustrations. No grocery lists. Just a humming, satisfied static. He traced the scar on Asher’s ribs.
“The door held,” he mumbled into Asher’s skin.
A rumble of laughter vibrated through Asher’s chest. “It did. Protocol was a success.”
“We should patent it.”
They lay in silence, listening to the fire crackle down to embers. From the deepest part of the house, not a sound came. Peace, at long last, was a tangible thing in the room.
Asher’s fingers were drifting through Theo’s curls, his breathing deepening toward sleep, when a new sound intruded.
Not a knock. Not a whisper.
The distinct, soft ping of Asher’s work phone, charging on the dresser, receiving a text. Then another.And another.
Asher went rigid. Theo felt the shift in the muscles beneath him, the sudden tension returning.
“No,” Theo whispered, the word a prayer.
Asher sighed, the sound full of a profound and weary resignation. He pressed a kiss to Theo’s forehead. “Gotta check it, Theo. It’s the station line.”
He untangled himself and got out of bed, padding naked across the cool floor. Theo watched him pick up the phone, the blue light illuminating the grim set of his jaw as he read.
“Shift change blew a transformer. Two calls holding. They need me.” Asher’s voice was flat. He looked at Theo, silhouetted against the dying fire. “I’m so sorry.”
Theo stared at the ceiling, the warmth and satisfaction leaching from his body, replaced by a cold, familiar hollow. He pulled the blanket tighter.
“The universe,” he said to the darkened beams, his inner voice returning, dry as dust, “is a jealous, cock-blocking bastard.”
Down the hall, as if on cue, Poppy’s door creaked open.