Mattaniah whimpers and his hips buck. "Amos, I'm going to..."
"Not yet." Amos' hand digs into the panties and unearths the Omega’s cock before wrapping around the base of Mattaniah's length. "Not until Dominic tells you to."
Mattaniah's eyes snap to mine across the room, his whole body strung tight on the edge while Amos keeps thrusting into him with strokes that I can see are hitting exactly the right spot.
"Please." His voice breaks. "Dominic, please, I can't hold it."
I stroke myself faster, my thumb dragging through the precome gathered at the tip. Mattaniah is shaking on the edge and every second I make him wait makes his sounds more desperate and his body more responsive, his hips rolling in frantic circles against Amos' thrusts.
"Come for us, firefly."
His cock pulses in Amos' grip as he spills across his own stomach, Amos’ thrusts growing wilder before he slams in one last time, locking them together while Mattaniah writhes beneath him. I finish in my own hand to the sight of them, Mattaniah's face buried in Amos' neck while the knot ties them in place.
I cross the room and climb onto the bed beside them. My hand settles on Mattaniah's hip, my thumb tracing the waistband of the slick panties still stretched to the side, framing where Amos is buried inside him before leaning down and pressing my mouth against the Omega's temple.
"You're keeping those," I murmur against his skin. "All four pairs."
"I wasn't planning on giving them back." His voice is wrecked against Amos' chest.
Amos' knot deflates fifteen minutes later, the three of us rearranging across the bed as I clean them both up. Mattaniah reaches over the edge to grab something before situating himself in the middle with his head on my chest and his legs tangled with Amos'. His breathing has settled and his body is loose against mine as I run my fingers through his curls when Amos props himself up on one elbow.
Several seconds of silence pass before Amos lets out a soft chuckle. "Niah. Are you nesting?"
Mattaniah's whole body goes rigid against my chest. "What? No. I don't... no."
"You’re currently laying on top of our shirts.” Amos grins as my gaze dips to the space beneath us, some of the fabric jutting out from under the Omega. His face floods crimson as Amos continues. “I wouldn’t have said anything but you also have one of my shirts under your pillow. My scarf is on your nightstand." Amos ticks items off his list. "Dominic's jacket has been in your cubicle for a week and you stole my t-shirt from the laundry and wore it here tonight."
"The shirt is comfortable. The scarf smells nice. The jacket wrinkles easily." Each excuse comes out faster than the last and his face is turning red against my chest. "The t-shirt was in the communal laundry, and it's not stealing if it's in the communal laundry." His face scrunches up, his lids shutting for a moment. “And I only pulled the shirts off the floor because... because...”
"Niah."
"I'm not nesting." He pulls the blanket up to his chin. "I'm just collecting things that happen to smell like both of you. In a completely normal, non-nesting way."
Amos looks at me over Mattaniah's head. I raise one eyebrow back at him.
"Okay," Amos says. "Not nesting. My mistake."
Mattaniah pulls the blanket higher and mutters something about insufferable Alphas who don't know how to mind their own business.
Mattaniah
Theytoldmetostay home.
The conversation happened last night after the third spike in two days, Dominic's hand on my forehead and Amos' voice steady as he listed symptoms I already knew I was having. Spikes getting closer together. Slick production increasing. Scent breaking through the blockers more often than it should.
"You should take a few days," Amos said. "Work from here. Or don't work at all. Your body is telling you something and ignoring it isn't sustainable."
"I can't." The words came out before I thought about them.
Dominic's hand stilled on my forehead. "Can't or won't?"
Both. The honest answer was both, but saying it out loud would mean admitting things I'm not ready to name. The spikes are worse when I'm alone. The spikes are worse when I can't smell them. The spikes are worse when I'm at my cubicle wondering if Richard is going to round the corner and the only thing keeping my body from screaming is the knowledge that Dominic is three floors down and Amos is four floors down and if I really needed them I could get to one of them in under three minutes.
"I'll be fine," I said instead. "I'll text if something happens."
"You'll text." Dominic's voice carried the particular flatness that means he's not agreeing, just choosing not to fight. "And if something happens while you're at your desk and we're in meetings?"
"Then I'll handle it the way I've handled every spike for the past seven years."
