20 - Buying Elbow Grease

Ezra stood in the aisle at the back of the pharmacy, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, turning a small box of lubricant over in his hands with an expression far too serious for the errand.

The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in sterile shades of white and beige. The place smelled like rubbing alcohol and plastic wrap, nothing natural.

Ezra glanced both ways, as if someone might leap out from behind the Tylenol and catch him red-handed with something unspeakable.

His scent had shifted since last night—less woodsmoke and spice, more heat, something darker and low in his gut.

He knew it. Could feel it clinging to him. He’d scrubbed his skin raw this morning in the shower, and still it lingered.

He grabbed the least conspicuous option—unscented, small, discreet—and shoved it deep into his coat pocket, muttering something about elbows under his breath.

The breeze hit him the moment he stepped out, and instinctively, he rolled the truck windows down. It was a relief, letting the air move through him, letting it knock the static and scent and tension off his skin.

A small smirk tugged at his mouth. His whole body still buzzed faintly from memory—Sebastian's breath on his throat, lavender stuck to the inside of his lungs like a bruise.

By the time he pulled into the school’s pickup lane, the afternoon sun had mellowed into something syrupy and slow, casting gold across the dash, making everything soft at the edges.

The twins dragged themselves toward the truck, their Alpha-potential energy sagging low, their scents muddled with frustration and sugar.

Camden got in first, throwing himself into the backseat with a long, suffering groan. “You made us poison for breakfast.”

Ezra looked over his shoulder. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” Caleb whispered, buckling his seatbelt with the air of someone preparing for a noble death.

Mia climbed into the front without a word. Arms crossed. Eyes narrowed. Ezra could feel her scent bloom faintly beneath her citrus shampoo—sweet orange and bergamot, now tinged with something sharper. Curiosity. Judgment.

“What?” he asked finally, glancing at her.

She blinked at him slowly. “Nothing. You seem… chipper.”

Ezra snorted. “Can’t a guy be in a good mood?”

Mia raised both brows. Then leaned in slightly, nose twitching like a bloodhound. “You reek of sex.”

Ezra choked on absolutely nothing. “Excuse me?”

Her grin bloomed slow and smug. “Just saying. You and Sebastian fought last night. He vanished. And now? You’re glowing. I could smell it the second I opened the door.”

Ezra turned the radio up. Not to listen. Just for something to do. Something that wasn’t looking at Mia and her knowing smirk.

She leaned her head against the window, silent now, but victorious.

When they got home, the front door was already unlocked. Ezra nudged it open and paused just inside the entryway.

The air was immediately different—warmer, richer. Lavender drifted down from upstairs, soft and seductive, chased by laughter.

Then: a thud. A high-pitched squeal.

The twins bolted past him.

“Daddy!”

Ezra stepped fully into the house just in time to see Camden leap onto the couch, arms flung around Sebastian’s neck.

Sebastian, hair damp and clinging to his temple, wore only a loose T-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs that hit high on his thighs. His skin still gleamed faintly from his shower, and Ezra could feel the ghost of last night thickening in the back of his throat.

That scent—Sebastian’s lavender, full and spiced with Omega sweetness—rolled through the air like incense. Ezra’s pupils dialed in without permission.

“You’re back! You’re back!” Caleb shouted, wrapped around one of Sebastian’s legs.

Sebastian grinned, breathless. “I was gone for twelve hours.”

Camden clung tighter. “He made us poison!”

Sebastian looked up at Ezra. “Did you feed them cereal again?”

“Toast,” Ezra said, dragging his eyes back to the kitchen counter and setting the grocery bag down like it was suddenly very important. “With jam.”

“You remembered to toast it before the jam this time?”

Ezra scowled. Sebastian smirked. Ezra’s chest burned.

Mia stepped inside, shrugged off her bag, and walked straight to Sebastian. She didn’t say anything. Just pulled him into a hug that lingered a second too long. Ezra’s heart jerked.

“Missed you too,” Sebastian murmured into her hair, voice husky, scent curling around her in something warm and safe. His fingers carded through her curls with instinctive gentleness.

Ezra couldn’t look away.

Dinner was chaos. Pasta and garlic bread and too much noise. The twins argued over who got to sit closest to Sebastian.

Ezra had to intercept a fork mid-air before Caleb used it as a weapon. Mia was mostly quiet—watching, her scent faint but spiced now with suspicion, interest.

When Sebastian passed behind Ezra to grab more napkins, Ezra’s hand reached without thinking—found the soft curve of his waist beneath the hem of his shirt. Warm. Familiar. Anchoring.

Sebastian paused, just a breath. Their bodies brushed. Electricity zipped down Ezra’s spine. Then Sebastian moved, and Ezra’s hand fell away.

Later, Ezra cleaned while Sebastian sat at the dining table with the kids.

“Is the moon a planet?” Camden asked.

“No,” Sebastian replied. “But it’s very good at pretending.”

Mia leaned over her worksheet. “That’s not helpful.”

“Neither is algebra.”

Ezra shook his head, water running over his hands at the sink. Their voices filled the house—soft and sharp, silly and close.

The rhythm of chairs dragging. The twins' scent calming into something content. Mia’s citrusy mood mellowing. Ezra’s chest ached. The house hadn’t just missed Sebastian.

Ezra had.

After showers and teeth brushing, Ezra stood in the hallway drying his hands. He heard them before he saw them.

Camden and Caleb. Standing like tiny guards outside Sebastian’s door.

“We’re sleeping here,” Camden declared.

“Because if you leave again, we’ll know,” Caleb added.

Sebastian opened the door, still in that same loose shirt that hung off one shoulder now, collar stretched from the twins’ wrestling. The creamy skin of his throat was marked faintly—Ezra knew what had caused it. He felt it in his teeth.

Sebastian looked at him, silently asking. Ezra crossed his arms.

“You have your own beds.”

“We’re scared,” Camden said.

“That you’ll both leave,” Caleb finished.

Ezra’s jaw tightened. Sebastian gave a small nod. “Alright. Just for tonight.”

The boys whooped and barreled into the room.

Ezra stood there in the hall, arms crossed. Trying not to look. Failing. Sebastian’s shirt had hitched up slightly, exposing the dip of his lower back, the curve of his thigh. Ezra’s throat worked.

Mia passed by behind him.

“You’re jealous.”

Ezra looked at her. “Excuse me?”

She smirked. “That they’re in his bed.”

“They’re six.”

She tilted her head. “And you guys are fucking, aren’t you?”

Ezra glared. “Mia, language.”

“I’m not judging. I’m just saying—maybe argue quieter next time. It’s not like the house doesn’t carry scent.”

“Go to bed.”

She laughed as she disappeared down the hall. “Oh, and I need you to come to the parent-teacher thing Friday. Wear a clean shirt.”

Ezra stood alone. Sebastian’s voice drifted down the hallway. The twins giggled. Mia’s laughter echoed faintly. Ezra could feel the weight of it all—the warmth, the tension, the thrum of something tethered and real.

He reached into his coat pocket. The box was still there.

His cock was hard.

He leaned back against the wall, head tipped to the ceiling, throat tight.

“I’m not gay,” he muttered.

But lavender still clung to the air.

And he didn’t move.