Chapter 145: Chapter 145: Forbidden

Dean seriously wondered if he was hallucinating from all the sex and pheromones soaked into the room. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he’d died. Maybe this was the afterlife and it was personally designed to mock him.

He closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, and tried to sound stable and mature.

What came out instead was… “Are you fucking nuts?”

Arion’s arm tightened around Dean’s waist like he was bracing for impact, but his voice stayed maddeningly even. “No.”

Dean opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling like it had legal authority. “That was the wrong answer.”

Arion’s breath warmed the back of Dean’s neck. “It’s the correct one.”

Dean let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Arion. You can’t just casually drop ’sigma’ like it’s a preference for sparkling water.”

Arion’s mouth brushed Dean’s shoulder, faintly amused. “I’m telling you.”

Dean turned his head just enough to glare at him. “You’re telling me you’re a rung above every dominant alpha I’ve ever met.”

Arion didn’t blink. “Yes.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “And you’re calm about this.”

Arion’s thumb made a slow circle over Dean’s lower belly. “Yes.”

Dean’s voice went tight. “And you expect me to be calm about this.”

Arion’s mouth twitched. “No.”

Dean stared at him, offended. “No?”

Arion’s gaze stayed steady, golden and unhelpfully serene. “I expect you to yell.”

Dean blinked. “You expect me to—”

“You’re doing it,” Arion said, like he was mildly pleased by the accuracy of his prediction.

Dean inhaled, then hissed because breathing too deeply tugged at soreness. “I cannot believe you.”

Arion’s tone softened by a fraction. “You can. You do.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Arion didn’t dodge. “Because it wasn’t necessary until now.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Until now.”

Arion’s hand hovered near the mark at Dean’s nape without touching it, like it was sacred. “The initial plan was to really give you time. I didn’t want to mark you so early, but you kept testing me.”

Dean made a small sound that was halfway between offended and smug.

Then his body reminded him, with brutal clarity, that smugness required energy.

He blinked, swallowed carefully, and immediately regretted the swallow. Everything in him felt tender, overused, and embarrassingly… warm. Like the night hadn’t ended so much as paused.

Dean stared at the ceiling for a long beat and then let out a slow, exhausted exhale.

“Okay,” Dean said finally, voice hoarse. “I’m going to be honest.”

Arion’s arm tightened around him in quiet attention. “Go on.”

Dean closed his eyes. “I am too tired, too sore, and still…” he paused, cheeks heating even in the aftermath, “still leaking enough of you to qualify as an environmental hazard.”

Arion went very still behind him.

Dean continued before Arion could say something smug. “So I cannot, at this exact moment, process sigma politics and your nightmare shift and whatever the hell your biology is doing.”

A beat.

Then Arion’s voice came low, dangerously amused. “You’re leaking.”

Dean opened one eye. “Do not.”

Arion’s breath brushed the back of his neck. “I’m listening.”

Dean exhaled again, defeated. “Good. Because I want an explanation later. A full one. The kind that includes details, timelines, and whatever words you use to make something less terrifying.”

Arion’s thumb made a slow circle over Dean’s lower belly, grounding. “Later.”

Then Dean’s priorities, survival priorities, not pride priorities, clicked into place.

“Right now,” Dean said, his voice flat with exhaustion, “I want food.”

Arion didn’t move. “Food.”

“Yes,” Dean said. “Something with protein. Something that doesn’t require me to sit upright for an hour like a Victorian patient.”

Arion’s arm tightened slightly. “Noted.”

“And,” Dean added, because his brain was still functioning enough to be petty, “I want enough caffeine to power me into being remotely human.”

Arion hummed. “Coffee.”

“Industrial strength,” Dean corrected. “The kind that could wake the dead.”

Arion’s mouth brushed Dean’s shoulder. “You’re dramatic.”

Dean cracked one eye open to glare. “Says the man who casually informed me he’s a sigma after turning into a nightmare.”

Arion’s tone stayed calm. “I didn’t ’turn into a nightmare.’”

Dean’s voice was a rasped insult. “You had teeth.”

Arion paused, then admitted, “I still have.”

Dean closed his eyes again, as if that settled the argument. “Nightmare.”

Arion’s breath warmed the mark at Dean’s nape, reverent. “You were safe.”

Dean muttered, “I know,” then added immediately, “and I liked it, and I hate that I liked it, and we are not talking about it until I’ve had coffee.”

Arion’s quiet huff sounded like a laugh he refused to fully release.

Dean took a careful breath, then said, more softly, “After food and caffeine, I need a shower.”

Arion’s arm tightened. “I’ll help.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open. “No.”

Arion’s voice stayed maddeningly even. “Yes.”

Dean stared at him with exhausted outrage. “Arion, I can shower alone. I will not let a post-rut dominant alpha – no, sigma – around me. You will try to take me again.”

Arion inhaled like he was about to argue.

Dean didn’t give him the chance.

“I feel your…” Dean stopped, eyes narrowing at the ceiling as if the ceiling had forced him to say this out loud. His cheeks warmed. His pride screamed. “Your boner against my ass, Arion.”

A beat of silence.

Then Dean added, flat and murderous, “Lie somewhere else.”

Arion didn’t move.

He simply exhaled slowly against Dean’s neck, the sound suspiciously close to a laugh. “That’s not…”

Dean cut in immediately, voice hoarse and unforgiving. “It is.”

Arion’s arm tightened around Dean’s waist and drew him back until he was pressed flush against Arion’s body. “I’m not doing anything.”

Dean went rigid for half a second, then immediately regretted being rigid because his body filed a complaint in four different places at once.

He hissed, then glared at the ceiling like it was Arion’s accomplice.

“Yes,” Dean said, voice tight with exhausted outrage, “your intentions are very noble. Your body is committing crimes.”

Arion’s breath warmed the back of Dean’s neck, and this time he didn’t even pretend to be innocent.

“You’re warm,” Arion murmured.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “That is not an argument.”

“It is to me,” Arion replied, maddeningly calm.

Dean took a slow breath, collected what little dignity he had left, and made a decision the way you made decisions in a war: quickly and with full awareness that you were going to suffer either way.

“Fine,” Dean said. “New rule.”

Arion’s voice held faint amusement. “Oh?”

Dean turned his head just enough to glare at him. “You are forbidden from touching me sexually for at least a week.”

Arion went still.

Dean waited for outrage. For protest. For a constitutional crisis.

Instead, Arion let out a low laugh, helpless in the way only a man who had everything he wanted could laugh.

Dean’s glare deepened. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Arion lied.

Dean’s voice went deadpan. “You are absolutely laughing at me.”

Arion’s mouth brushed Dean’s shoulder, careful of the mark. “A week.”

“Yes,” Dean snapped. “A full week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours of you behaving like a civilized mammal.”

Arion hummed. “And what do I get?”

Dean blinked, offended. “You get my continued survival.”

Arion’s hand tightened around Dean’s waist like he approved. “Generous.”

Dean hissed as he tried to shift away from the evidence of Arion’s biology and discovered his body had no interest in cooperating.

“Also,” Dean added, because he was not done humiliating himself, “if you so much as breathe like you’re thinking about it, I’m extending the ban.”

Arion’s voice was smooth. “Two weeks.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Arion.”

Arion’s breath warmed his neck. “Three?”

Dean made a strangled sound. “Stop negotiating like this is fun.”

Arion’s laugh rumbled against Dean’s back. “It is fun.”

Dean’s cheeks went hot. “You’re the worst.”

Arion’s arm stayed firm around him, not letting him move in ways that would hurt. “And yet.”

Dean glared at the ceiling again, because looking at Arion’s face was a trap. “Comply.”

Arion exhaled slowly, as if pretending to suffer. “Fine. I comply.”

Dean swallowed carefully, then muttered, “Good. Then carry me.”

Arion’s brow lifted, amused. “To where?”

Dean’s voice went flat with exhaustion. “Bathroom. If I try to walk, I will either fall, or I will commit violence, and I don’t have the energy to be diplomatic about either.”

Arion’s laugh softened into something almost tender. “As you wish.”

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