“No, I can’t, although I wish I could.” Mikhail breathed in deeply. “Your scent changed.”
“Wait... I smell different when I’m turned on?” His voice was definitely in the squeaky range.
“Did I never mention that?” Mik didn’t look the least bit apologetic.
“No, definitely not. I think I would recall that detail.”
Mikhail threw his head back and laughed, and Rowan used the back of his hand to slap his chest.
“Stop laughing at me.” He pouted.
“You should see the look on your face.”
Rowan could imagine. He felt his cheeks heat and knew he was red as a lobster. All the time they’d been together just hanging out, and he’d thought about… well, it was the images of getting shagged by Mikhail again that flashed through his mind.
“Oh, God.” He stifled the words on Mikhail’s shoulder where he hung his head.
When he looked up again, he knew he wore a grin, but they both stopped smiling at the same time, and Rowan let out a deep sigh.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
Mikhail studied him for a moment. Ro wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but when he finally spoke, his words surprised Rowan.
“I think we should stay in Manchester and that you should continue working until you can’t hide things anymore.”
In that moment, Rowan wanted to hug Mikhail. He wasn’t sure why, but that was exactly what he needed to hear.
“I quite like the whole ‘dating my mate away from everyone’ thing,” Mik added, smiling.
“Yea, I quite like dating my mate too.”
Mikhail gasped and his face transformed. His mouth stretched into the widest smile Rowan had ever seen.
And then it hit him what he just said. He had just called Mikhail his mate.
“Say it again.” The pleading in Mikhail’s voice was as clear as day.
Rowan shook his head and bit his lips.
Mikhail’s hand went to his side. “Say it again or I’ll tickle you.”
Rowan tried to stand. He wasn’t sure if Mikhail knew this already, but he was super ticklish.
“Uh, uh.” Mik shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until you say it again.”
“You can’t make me.” Rowan made the universal sign for zipping his lips.
Mikhail suddenly grabbed Rowan and began to tickle him just under the ribs.
Rowan started laughing, and Mikhail’s hand went up to his armpit. He leaned back on the bench trying to get away, but short of falling over, he was stuck.
“Mercy. Mercy,” Rowan called in surrender.
“Nope, wrong word.” Mikhail held his fingers threateningly close to his armpits again.
“My mate, my mate,” Rowan shouted. “You’re my mate.”
Hearing those words come out of his mouth settled something deep inside Rowan. Mikhailwashis mate… his person, and Rowan realised he trusted him more than anyone, definitely more than he thought he could… or would.
