39 - Sweet Things, Sour Words

Ezra's hand slid to the small of his back, thumb pressing slow circles into soft cotton.

Sebastian didn’t look at him.

“I’m mad,” Sebastian said. “Not just at Clara. At you.”

“I know.”

“I feel like I’m holding all of this together while you get to come in and play hero.”

Ezra rested his forehead against Sebastian’s temple. “I’m not playing anything. I’m fumbling through it just like you.”

“You’re not the one getting hit.”

Ezra closed his eyes. “You’re right.”

His hand came up, fingers grazing Sebastian’s cheek, just under the red mark that had already started to fade.

“I should’ve stopped her at the door,” Ezra said. “I should have. I didn’t—and that’s on me.”

Silence stretched between them like a held breath.

Sebastian still hadn’t looked at him.

But Ezra didn’t let go.

“You called me baby,” Sebastian said finally, voice brittle.

Ezra’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You are.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched. His hands curled into Ezra’s shirt, just lightly. “You don’t get to call me that if you’re going to keep pretending you don’t feel anything.”

“I’m not pretending,” Ezra said. “I’m trying to figure it out. But you—” He touched Sebastian’s waist again, more firmly this time. “You’re the only thing in this house that feels solid. You keep this whole family from falling apart. And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

The rain pattered harder now, tapping like heartbeats against the windows.

Ezra’s fingers slid under Sebastian’s sweatshirt, warm against the skin at his waist. He didn’t pull him closer—just held him there, steady, breathing together in the dark.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ezra said. “You hear me? Even if you stay mad, even if you hate me a little—I’m still here.”

Sebastian turned his head then, finally, eyes flicking up—and Ezra saw it, the shine there. Not just tears. Fury, heartbreak, and the kind of exhaustion only someone who’d been strong too long could carry.

“Then stop making me feel disposable,” Sebastian said, quiet but cutting. “Stop treating me like the help. Like some—some placeholder until you decide what you want.”

Ezra flinched.

Sebastian’s breath caught in his chest, uneven. “I’m not just here to fold laundry and raise your pups. I’m not a—house Omega.”

“You’re not,” Ezra said quickly, stepping closer again. “You’re not just anything, Seb.”

Sebastian didn’t pull away this time when Ezra reached up, cupped his jaw, brushing a thumb beneath his eye where a tear had started to fall.

“You’re everything,” Ezra whispered. “You hear me?"

Sebastian swallowed hard. His lips parted, but no sound came.

Ezra tilted his forehead against Sebastian’s again. “I don’t care what she said. You’re their parent. You’re my—” He caught the word before it slipped out. Bit it back like it scared him.

But Sebastian heard it anyway.

And he leaned in, almost like he was daring Ezra to finish it.

“Your what?” Sebastian asked, soft, challenging.

Ezra hesitated, chest rising like a man about to jump into deep water. Then, his voice dropped to something low and rough:

“My Omega.”

Sebastian made a soft, broken sound—like someone exhaling after holding their breath too long.

Ezra’s nose brushed Sebastian’s cheek, his scent catching there—lavender and longing, so familiar now it ached.

He felt Sebastian’s fingers tighten in his shirt.

Ezra bent his head slowly, giving Sebastian time to pull away. But Sebastian didn’t move—just tilted his face up, lashes fluttering, mouth parting.

The kiss was slow.

Not a claim.

Not yet.

Just a promise.

When they parted, Sebastian pressed his forehead to Ezra’s chest, eyes closed. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Ezra wrapped both arms around him, tight. “I won’t. I swear it.”

The morning light filtered through gauzy curtains, golden and warm, casting long shadows on the kitchen tile.

The clatter of breakfast bowls, the soft splash of juice being poured, the distant hum of the washing machine—it was the kind of quiet that didn’t feel heavy anymore. It felt lived-in. Mended.

Ezra leaned against the counter, coffee mug in hand, tracking the subtle shift in the air.

Sebastian’s scent lingered—lavender warmed by sleep, threaded now with the faintest tinge of Omega sweetness. Not heat, not quite. But ripe. Settled. It curled through the space like the ghost of a touch.

Mia silently packed her school bag. She hadn’t said much since Clara’s outburst days ago, but she didn’t flinch at Ezra’s voice anymore. Her posture was looser, less brittle.

Sebastian stood at the stove, flipping pancakes in that stupid soft Sunday sweater he wore on Thursdays just to be contrary. The twins perched on stools beside him, forks in hand, their young Alpha energy buzzing quietly under the surface—but calmed, soothed, by Sebastian’s nearness.

“You put chocolate chips in mine, Daddy?” Camden asked, peering into the skillet.

“I did, bud. But don’t tell your brother. It’s a bribe,” Sebastian whispered with mock severity, winking.

Caleb gasped. “Hey! I want a bribe too!”

Ezra chuckled quietly, gaze dragging over Sebastian’s profile—his flushed cheeks from the stove heat, the way the sweater rode up to expose a slim strip of pale skin above his waistband. Ezra’s body registered it before his mind did: a low thrum of awareness, instinctive and sharp.

Sebastian leaned down to ruffle Caleb’s curls, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Ezra’s chest didn’t hurt this time—it pulled in a way that was just as dangerous. Full. Possessive.

Mia crossed the kitchen and stood by Sebastian. Her voice was soft. “Can I take two pancakes to school? One for Kara.”

Sebastian didn’t hesitate. “You can take three. Give one to yourself too.”

He handed her a paper towel-wrapped bundle, fingers brushing hers. She smiled—barely—but Ezra caught it. And held onto it like a lit match in a dark place.

After drop-offs and dishes, Sebastian turned on the radio. Hummed while he wiped counters, hips moving faintly to the beat. Ezra came up behind him, nuzzled the space behind his ear, lips brushing warm skin.

“You smell like chocolate,” he rasped, voice thick with morning and the slow-blooming press of want.

Sebastian’s breath caught. His scent flared—sweet, pleased, instinctively receptive. Omega.

“It’s the pancake batter,” he murmured, not pulling away. “Don’t go getting sentimental on me.”

Ezra didn’t respond with words. Just kissed behind his ear again and walked off, muttering about the attic light—but he left a streak of sandalwood and heat in his wake, and Sebastian closed his eyes for half a second too long.

The children were down for their naps the moment they came home—bellies full, energy spent.

The house quieted like a held breath.

Sebastian pushed open the cellar door, the soft clink of bottles greeting him as he stepped inside. A towel was still tucked into his waistband, curls mussed, his scent warm and sugared from cooking.

The cool air of the cellar wrapped around him, tasting of oak and earth and old wine—but his own scent cut through it. Lavender laced with something deeper now. Something Ezra would chase to the ends of the house.

He squatted, fingers brushing dust from bottle necks, murmuring to himself. “Sweet red. Something soft…”

His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the slim lines of his forearms flexing as he searched. The hem of his sweatshirt lifted when he leaned forward, exposing the pale skin of his lower back—vulnerable and warm.

The creak of the cellar door.

Footsteps. Heavy. Familiar.

Ezra.

Sebastian didn’t turn. He didn’t need to.

“You find your magic potion yet?” Ezra’s voice was low, dark with hunger. Scent-rich. Intoxicated.

Sebastian smiled faintly. “Trying to. Thought you were putting the twins down.”

Ezra didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, his presence bloomed behind Sebastian like heat from a fire.

A hand slid beneath his sweatshirt, fingertips dragging up the curve of his spine. Sebastian shivered. His scent reacted instantly—thicker, more pliant, pheromones blooming like crushed petals.

“They’re out cold,” Ezra muttered, voice pressed to Sebastian’s ear. “You’re gonna make that kitchen smell like heaven.”

The words weren’t the point. It was the scent curling around them—Ezra’s musk, rough and spiced, igniting every nerve Sebastian had.

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, exposing more neck. A submission that wasn’t conscious but bone-deep. “You planning to help?”

Ezra didn’t reply. Just stepped in closer, pressing against him fully now. Sebastian could feel him—hard, hot, scent-drenched. His knees buckled just a little.

Ezra’s hand gripped his hip. The other traced a line under his sweatshirt, following the curve of his ribs like he was memorizing them. He kissed beneath Sebastian’s ear, then lower.

“Ez—” Sebastian started, breath catching.

Ezra spun him with a roughness that was never cruel—just hungry.

"I'll be quick, I promise."