Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Dean lasted approximately four minutes in the car before realizing Arion had interpreted their dinner conversation in a way that was becoming increasingly inconvenient.

The partition between the rear cabin and the driver had been raised before they left the restaurant, turning the long black vehicle into a private space of dark leather, muted gold lighting, and heavily tinted windows. Outside, Alamina moved past in streaks of white and amber, snow piled along the edges of the streets while late-evening traffic flowed toward the residential districts.

Dean had barely settled into the corner of the seat when Arion moved closer.

At first, it seemed harmless.

One arm stretched along the backrest behind him.

Then Arion’s hand settled at Dean’s waist beneath the open edge of his cream coat.

Dean glanced sideways.

Arion looked perfectly composed.

That should have been his warning.

"You are very quiet."

"I am thinking."

Dean immediately laughed. "That is never reassuring after that conversation."

Arion’s thumb moved slowly along his side through the thin violet knit of his shirt.

Dean caught his wrist.

"No."

Arion looked at his hand.

Then at Dean.

"I haven’t done anything."

"You are planning."

Dean had spent enough years with him to recognize the difference between Arion sitting quietly and Arion sitting quietly while every instinct in his body had decided upon an objective.

The second version usually involved that particular stillness.

And the vetiver gathering warmth around them was not subtle.

Dean’s smile widened.

"You heard ’I want a child with you’ and lost whatever remained of your mind."

"I haven’t lost anything."

Arion shifted closer.

Dean’s back met the leather door panel.

"Arion."

The warning carried very little authority because Dean had already started laughing.

Arion bent and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Dean turned his face away before he could catch him properly.

"No."

Another kiss landed against his jaw.

Dean’s shoulders shook.

"I mean it."

"You are laughing."

"Because you’re ridiculous."

Arion’s hand left Dean’s waist only long enough to remove the cream coat bunched awkwardly between them. He folded it once and dropped it onto the opposite seat with complete calm.

Dean stared.

"You are making preparations."

"You looked uncomfortable."

"I was perfectly comfortable until my husband started undressing me in the car."

"I removed your coat."

"With intent."

Arion did not deny it.

That made Dean laugh harder.

His head fell back against the seat when Arion’s mouth found the side of his neck, and Dean tried to push him away with one hand while the other caught uselessly at his shoulder.

"Stop."

Arion lifted his head.

Dean was already wiping moisture from the corner of one eye.

He had laughed enough that tears were gathering there.

Arion looked at him.

Dean saw no shame whatsoever.

If anything, Arion looked pleased.

"You cannot look proud of yourself."

"I can."

"You are behaving like I announced we need to conceive a child before reaching the palace."

Arion’s mouth curved.

Dean pointed at him.

"No."

"I said nothing."

"Your face did."

Arion’s hand settled on Dean’s knee.

Then slid upward over the black fabric of his trousers.

Dean slapped his palm over it before it could get anywhere ambitious.

"No."

"You wanted my hands on you this morning."

"This morning we were in bed."

"Location appears to be your primary objection."

Dean stared for half a second before dissolving into laughter again.

"Yes! Obviously."

Arion leaned back enough to look at him properly.

His dark hair had fallen slightly over his forehead during the attempted struggle, and the warm lighting inside the car turned his eyes deeper gold.

Dean’s laughter softened when he saw them.

Arion looked happy.

Dangerously happy.

There was something instinctive underneath it, certainly. Dean could feel that in the pheromones filling the cabin and in the way Arion kept finding reasons to touch him.

But it was not only instinct.

Dean had given him something tonight that Arion had wanted for years without ever asking Dean to provide.

A future.

Dean’s expression softened despite himself.

That was apparently another mistake.

Arion noticed.

He always noticed.

His hand turned beneath Dean’s and caught his fingers instead, bringing them to his mouth.

The kiss against Dean’s knuckles was gentle enough that Dean stopped laughing.

For several seconds they simply looked at each other.

Then Arion pulled Dean toward him.

Dean went willingly this time.

He shifted across the seat until one knee pressed against Arion’s thigh, and Arion’s arm wrapped around his waist, settling him close without any of the urgency from seconds earlier.

Dean kissed him.

Slowly at first.

Arion returned it with enough restraint that Dean almost believed he had made his point.

Then one large hand slid beneath the back of Dean’s shirt.

Warm fingers spread across bare skin.

Dean broke the kiss laughing.

"There it is."

Arion kissed him again.

Dean managed half a protest before Arion’s mouth covered it.

His fingers moved through Arion’s hair while Arion’s other hand traveled from his waist to his back, then down again with shameless familiarity.

Dean pulled away and caught both sides of Arion’s face.

"Listen carefully."

Arion looked at him.

"I want a child with you."

The vetiver immediately deepened.

Dean nearly started laughing again.

"Do not react yet. I am not finished."

Arion waited.

"That does not mean we start trying in the back of the imperial car."

"We could."

Dean made a helpless sound and dropped his forehead against Arion’s shoulder.

His entire body shook with laughter.

"You are impossible."

Arion’s arms closed around him.

Dean could feel his chest moving with a quieter laugh now.

At least Arion understood how absurd he was.

Dean wiped another tear against Arion’s shirt.

"We have a bedroom."

"Yes."

"In a palace fifteen minutes away."

"Less now."

Dean lifted his head.

"You checked?"

"I know the route."

"You know the exact remaining travel time because you’re impatient."

Arion’s lack of denial was spectacular.

Dean stared at him, then started laughing all over again.

The vehicle turned smoothly through another intersection.

Dean glanced through the tinted glass.

The palace district was already visible ahead, its upper towers lit against the dark mountains.

Arion followed his gaze.

Then his hand settled once more around Dean’s waist.

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"You can survive ten minutes."

Arion pulled him closer.

"I have excellent self-control."

Dean looked pointedly at the position they had somehow ended up in.

His shirt was untucked. His coat was across the opposite seat. His hair had been thoroughly disturbed.

Arion’s hands were still on him.

"This is your evidence?"

Arion kissed him beneath the ear.

Dean laughed again, softer this time, and let himself fold against him.

"Ten minutes," he repeated.

Arion’s mouth brushed his temple.

"Nine."

Dean covered his face with both hands.

He had created a monster.

A very pleased, very shameless monster who apparently intended to count down the entire drive home.