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  “What’re you drawing?”

  Grant tried to raise his head and peer at his chest, but Zane pushed him back down with a gentle -- gentle-ish -- thunk. “Lie still. You’ll fuck up my lines.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Grant murmured. He crossed his arms behind his head. They’d ended up moving the makeshift table off its legs and laying it on the floor, giving them at least some measure of protection against who-knew-what lurked down there. It wasn’t any kind of feather bed, but it’d do. And it’d gotten Zane drawing, which so help him, Grant had developed a powerful curiosity about. Doodles, hmm? What kind? There was just something about Zane that spoke to the untapped potential of some real creativity, and Grant wanted to see it. “So what are you drawing?”

  “Are you like this with Marshall, with your other friends? You must have some, and they must be wild.”

  “I never said they were wild. Some of them are steadier than me. Mostly they’re parents. Tough.”

  “And that’s a judgment coming from you?” Zane snorted. “They must be made out of actual concrete and rebar.”

  Grant laughed deep and from the belly. He didn’t have any fat to jiggle, but his muscles flexed in ways that would have distracted a less dedicated artist than Zane. Zane snorted with wry amusement and laid his arm over Grant’s waist to hold him still.

  “Don’t fuck up the lines, I got it,” Grant said, eyes half shut. Damn, but he looked tasty like that.

  Zane caught his lower lip between his teeth. “Changed my mind. Get to fucking.”

  The pretty blue eyes under those hooded lids rolled up and back. “Nice try. Some of us need five minutes.”

  “I’ll start the countdown.” Zane lowered his mouth to Grant’s chest and bit at one small, cherry-red nipple. “Four minutes fifty-nine seconds. And counting. Van Gogh.”

  Grant quirked an eyebrow without opening his eyes. “Come again?”

  “Oh, I plan to,” Zane said. He nipped the skin beneath Grant’s collarbone, then reluctantly let go. He did want to finish his drawing. It’d been -- what, years? -- since he’d done more than scribble on a receipt while on hold. Or help with Hadrian’s coloring books. And there was something to be said for the reward of coloring outside the lines, after all.

  “Van Gogh,” he said again, laying down the cerulean blue marker he’d chosen and picking up one in dark saffron. Nice markers, these. Beat the hell out of Crayola. “That starry night shit. Swirls and lights.”

  “I know the one. You can do that from memory?”

  Zane shrugged one shoulder. He shifted to lie fully on his side, the better to make use of the canvas laid out so temptingly before him. “I used to have the poster on my ceiling when I was younger. Watching it was good for relaxing, dreaming.”

  Grant made a thoughtful noise. “You have siblings to keep you awake?”

  “Not a one. Not for lack of trying. My sire and bearer tried for years. Just never happened.” Zane capped his marker, equally thoughtful. He’d wondered if he’d end up miscarrying one kit after another when it was his turn. He’d dreaded sex as much as he’d craved it at first, but when he’d conceived his kit he’d known, known from the start how strong he was. And all he’d need to conceive another was open legs and a willing Alpha at the right time of the year.

  Strange world they lived in.

  Speaking of which… Zane propped his chin on Grant’s chest and gave him a nudge. “I lost a bet against myself earlier.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Most Alphas would have had me spread eagled and stuffed with their cock before they even thought about protection,” Zane said candidly. “Even if they could tell I wasn’t fertile just yet.” Even if that would be soon and he had to keep reminding himself to be careful, damn it. “And I wouldn’t have minded it at all tonight. So why didn’t you?”

  “I’m not an asshole, for one. And for another?”

  He fell silent. Zane laid his head on Grant’s chest and watched him, curious. Grant kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his fingers gentle in Zane’s hair but his mind clearly a million miles away. Zane’s libido began to ebb, recognizing the look of a man who’d shifted gears for the night even if he didn’t know it yet.

  “For another?” he prompted.

  “I can’t be a dad right now,” Grant said. His jaw set as he spoke. “Not while I’ve got the shop to take care of. I like kits, cubs, chicks, pups, babies. They’re fine. But this is my legacy, and I’ll be damned if I get derailed now. Marshall might take chances left and right -- though as much as he fucks around, he’s probably shooting blanks -- but me, I use protection, I keep it surface, or I do without. And this, what we seem to be growing here? It can’t go farther than fucking, Zane. It just can’t. Do you understand me?”

  His words had the ring of utter finality to them, and disappointment made Zane’s stomach plummet. He didn’t let it show, though, maintaining his image of idle thinking. He hadn’t been looking for forever, no, but he liked Grant. He liked Grant’s toughness, his unexpected kindnesses, his sense of humor, his hellcat lovemaking, all of it.

  Damn. Real shame. Would have been nice, Zane thought before reluctantly letting go of the idea. Not that he planned to let go of Grant. He just wouldn’t ever let the Alpha know about those barely-formed daydreams. And he’d be more careful than a monk when it came to -- er, bad comparison. He’d double down on protection and make sure Grant did too, and when the riskiest day in his cycle came around, he’d lock himself in a room with a selection of fine rubber phalluses and a subscription to X Tube. He’d done that before, too.

  “Hey.” Grant tugged a little less gently at his hair. “You went quiet. You actually know how to go quiet?”

  Zane laughed, glad when the mood shattered with a little electric crackle. “Bite me, Alpha. You’re gonna regret asking that tomorrow.”

  Grant watched him sit up and sling one leg over, balancing himself astraddle. His hands came down lightly to cradle Zane’s hips. “Tomorrow, is it?”

  “Tomorrow,” Zane said, sticking his chin out. “At my job. Here.”

  Grant watched him a little longer. He craned his neck to look down at Zane’s artwork on his chest, and made a noise that sounded impressed, that made Zane’s blood sizzle. He touched the lines thoughtfully. “It isn’t because of the sex,” he said at last. “But okay, Omega. You win. I said it before, but I’ll say it again. You’re hired.”

  Zane couldn’t have stopped the triumphant blaze of a grin that broke over his face if he’d tried, and he didn’t want to.

  Beneath him, Grant’s hips shifted. Zane could feel the start of a promising erection prodding at him, and wasn’t above -- ha-ha -- a little hip-based encouragement. His grin widened, sharper and hungrier.

  Grant caught his breath. “Fuck me.” He reached for Zane. “No, I’m serious. Smile like that and fuck me again.”

  Zane checked himself over quick-fast. He still wasn’t fertile, not yet, and he could trust an Alpha as iron-willed as Grant. “With the restrictions you mentioned in place?”

  “Non-negotiable.”

  Ah well. Zane could work with that. If this was all he got, he’d make the most of it. “Lie back, big man,” he said, draping himself over Grant, reaching between them to take hold of their cocks and squeeze them together. “And let me put your money where your mouth is.”

  * * *

  Grant wasn’t surprised that it was Marshall who came back to check up on him. He was surprised it took him almost an hour after Zane had left.

  Though it was odd, the way Zane had gone. Grant’s forehead furrowed briefly. After their second round, he’d glanced at his watch and jumped up, and gotten into his clothes almost as fast as he’d gotten out of them, barely pausing to clean up, and bolted out into the night like he’d been stung.

  Then again, Zane was an odd sort of guy. The good sort of odd, but still.

  Grant heard Marshall coming long before he actually popped into view. He knew Marshall’s step, the way he breathed,
his giveaway tells when he tried to be sneaky. He probably succeeded with other people, but Grant knew him too well. Even with his back turned, he could tell his friend lurked in the doorway behind him, sniffing the air and jumping to all kinds of conclusions.

  Eh. Let him. Grant was too bonelessly pleased, too fucked-out, to even think about caring. He carried on tacking flash and other placeholders on the walls, mostly just wanting to get an idea for how the place could look once it was all done, and waited for Marshall to crack first.

  Which he would. And did.

  “How?” Marshall demanded right about when Grant had anticipated he would. “How do you know every damned time?”

  “Hmm?”

  Marshall made a spluttering noise of indignation. Grant grinned to himself, and turned in time to dodge the crinkled-up ball of paper Marshall whipped at him. He caught it up and whipped it straight back, bouncing it off the tips of Marshall’s spiked haircut.

  Marshall glowered at him. “Asshole.”

  “Look who’s talking.” Grant grinned in the face of his friend’s irritation. “Need something? Forget something? Can’t imagine what would have brought you back here tonight otherwise.”

  That one didn’t work as planned. Marshall shifted gears from annoyed to smirking in the twinkle of an eye. “Oh, can’t you? I’ll give you a hint. Four letters, sounds like Z-A-N-E.”

  Grant kept his expression bland and calm. “Your point being?”

  “I can tell, you know,” Marshall pressed. “I have a nose.”

  “Good. Keep it in your own business.”

  “What?” Marshall snorted. “Pull the other one. There’s enough Omega smell in here to cut like a piece of chocolate cake.”

  Which made Grant’s stomach rumble. And Marshall’s. Grant laughed at the both of them, and balled up a piece of tacky flash to toss at Marshall in a gesture of affection. “Go home, would you? I don’t need checking up on. I know what I’m doing.”

  Marshall shook his head, but with a grin. “Oh, I can tell that. Whatever happened, you must have enjoyed it. Planning to keep enjoying it?”

  Grant hesitated. He shouldn’t have, though. Marshall pounced. “Yes? No? Maybe? I need to know if the good times are going to keep on rolling, here, or if I’ve got to prepare for cleanup duty.”

  “I…” Grant stopped and shook his head. “If I tell you the truth will you can it and go home? My home, even, if you still want to be a dick and you’re hungry. There’s half a chocolate cake in the fridge. Go nuts.”

  Marshall said nothing. Just raised an eyebrow at Grant.

  Grant groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “You know I don’t get involved. I’m not looking to break that streak, especially not right now. If I did have anything going on with Zane -- which I’m not saying I do -- it’s just for fun, and just as long as it’s fun. Nothing more.”

  “Uh-huh.” Marshall looked far too amused. “Whatever you say. Because it’s absolutely in your nature to jump an Omega the day after you meet him. Or to let him in your world as fast as that. Or to get all prickly whenever I say anything about him.”

  “I don’t --”

  Marshall cackled when Grant stopped short. “My point exactly.” He waved at Grant with his middle finger, a salute Grant returned. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though I am gonna stop by your place and raid your fridge on my way home. I want that cake, baby. Just like you.”

  “Fuck you. I changed my mind.”

  Marshall laughed on. “I’ll leave you a few crumbs. By the way? Nice Van Gogh on your tits. You draw that yourself? Upside down and backward? Or does our Zane have some hidden artistic abilities? Thinking about training him so he’ll have a marketable job skill?”

  Grant reached for the nearest throwable thing at hand, found only markers, and zinged them at Marshall one after another until Marshall covered his face with his arms and booked it, hitting the street running. He watched Marshall go, not sure if he was more frustrated or entertained or baffled by the whole hootenanny in three acts that’d just played out. Marshall, the matchmaking romantic? Where had that come from? Who’d have thought it? Deacon would be fascinated to hear about this new development. If Grant wanted to be bastard enough to tell him, which…

  Eh, he decided. He’d rather let it go, at least for tonight, and get back to enjoying the afterglow.

  It was almost too bad, though. If he had ever thought about settling down with an Omega, it would have been with someone just like Zane. Who did have artistic talent, damn it. Ten minutes with some Copic markers and he’d done a damn fine job on a human canvas. He’d be worth teaching. Could make one hell of an artist…

  Yeah. Too bad.

  That said, nothing wrong with looking forward to tomorrow…

  Chapter Five

  Two Weeks Later

  “And then, and then he showed me, and it was a frog!” Hadrian boggled up at Zane with eyes as big as that poor bastard frog’s must have been.

  Crouched in front of him, Zane managed to keep a straight face. “No kidding?” Poor frog. Zane didn’t envy him, being traded back and forth between two four year olds not exactly known for their fine muscle control. “Did you let him go?”

  “He got away,” Hadrian admitted. “But we’re gonna catch another one today, so it’s okay. I’ll bring it home an’ show you.”

  Eduardo, standing behind them where the kid couldn’t see his face, winced and drew one hand in a flat line across his neck. Message received: no slimy, warty reptiles in the apartment, please and thank you or they’d be having frog legs for dinner, see if they didn’t.

  Zane laughed despite himself, and dropped a kiss on Hadrian’s head before the kid could question him. “Go on, go play. Build me a sandcastle instead, would you? I’d rather have a sandcastle to look at than a frog.”

  Hadrian brightened up. “Okay!”

  Fond, Zane watched him go. Took so little to please them at that age, didn’t it? Hadrian was too young to tell whether he’d grow up Alpha or Omega, but either way he was a son to be proud of.

  Now, Eduardo, he had different views on Zane. Which Zane could understand. He’d known Zane almost all his life, after all. Zane could almost see his ears swiveling to keep track of Hadrian while at the same time he crossed his arms and fixed Zane with a gimlet stare. Skillz, the old man had them. “Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on at that tattoo parlor, mijo.”

  Uh-oh. Zane tried for an innocent look, gave it up almost immediately as a poor choice, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “And?”

  “And.” Eduardo narrowed his eyes. “Are you being careful?”

  “Yes,” Zane answered honestly. He didn’t take suppressants -- they didn’t agree with his system -- but Grant wouldn’t come near him without his dick damn near triple-wrapped. Not that he’d gotten Grant inside him yet, which was getting ever more frustrating with each successive day. Couldn’t get much more careful than that.

  “Hmm. Your body, you’re being careful. But are you being smart with your heart?”

  “Probably not,” Zane admitted. “But I’m trying to be smart about being stupid.”

  Eduardo rolled his eyes, but let that one go. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Maybe?”

  “One out of three,” Eduardo said with a sigh. He shoved a sack lunch, fragrant with cumin and oregano, at Zane, who took it automatically. “I scold because I care, boy. If you come home pregnant, we’ll make it work. Just -- and I say this because I was a young Omega, once, too -- don’t let your hormones overtake your good sense. All right?”

  Zane gave the older man’s fist a pound. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Can’t say fairer than that,” Eduardo decided. “Go on, then. Get to work.”

  * * *

  Work, Grant had hired Zane for? Work he did. Zane had heard from Marshall that Grant had never known an Omega so hell-bent on doing a good job, and extrapolating on that to make it a great job. Zane did suspect -- hoped? -- Grant was sneaki
ly teaching him how to set designs on human bodies, so he put his all into learning everything Grant had to teach about that too. And learning everything he could about piercing, too.

  He even convinced Marshall to pierce one tit, and that was a feat worth remarking on. Marshall hated needles.

  But -- work, yes. Work, Zane did, even when that consisted of parking his ass at the new drafting table in the back room while a coat of floor finish dried and practicing drawing what Grant had asked him for. Grant had meant business with that, turned out, and he’d turn into a proper little thundercloud if he caught Zane trying to cut corners there.

  Not that it wasn’t fun -- more than -- to deal with Grant in a temper, but a wise Omega picked his battles. That particular brand was best saved for just before lunch or late evenings, when they could be guaranteed some time alone. Mmm. But in the mornings, Zane did as he’d been told.

  Honestly, that was almost as much fun as civil disobedience. You could see the wheels spinning in their heads as people waited for you to misbehave.

  Also, not that Zane could go anywhere at the moment. Grant, spreading sealer over the freshly sanded hardwood floors, had threatened to have his guts for garters if he walked on the new finish before it had dried completely. “Garters tied in a pretty bow and hooked to the ceiling so you can twist on them,” he warned, pointing a finger at Zane.

  “Threat or promise, sunshine?” Zane asked, blowing him a kiss.

  Grant only rolled his eyes at that, but from Grant that was as good as a kiss in return, and hell, Zane just about liked it better.

  Grant.

  Zane shook his head. Sometimes he wondered if Grant had Adderall instead of blood in his veins. That Alpha could flat work. Less than a month after breaking down the doors, and the shop had started to look like a real place of business. Electricians had been coaxed and browbeaten in equal parts to get Legacy Tattoo’s wiring up to code, and plumbers had been barked at until they went dumbly to work, one eye on the pipes and one on Grant’s watchful stare.

  Individual work spaces were coming together, and the displays on the wall weren’t just placeholders any longer.