"You organized my cardigan and Amos' scarf and my stolen jacket into a bowl-shaped arrangement designed to hold our combined scent." I run my fingers through his curls. "That's a nest."
"It's a pile." He buries his face deeper into my chest. "A completely random pile that I happen to sit in sometimes when I'm stressed. It doesn't mean anything."
"I left you a cashmere sweater in it."
He goes still. "What?"
"The black one. I was going to donate it anyway."
The silence stretches between us as his fingers curl into my shirt.
"You can't just feed someone's pile," he whispers. "That's not how piles work."
"Go back to sleep, Mattaniah."
"I'm not nesting." He says it into my chest, the stubborn words muffled. "I don't do that."
His body relaxes against mine anyway.
"Of course you don't." I press my mouth against his hair. "Close your eyes."
His breathing evens out within a minute, his body going heavy against mine, his face slack against my chest.
"You found the nest." Amos' whisper reaches me over the curve of Mattaniah's shoulder. I can see the glint of his eyes in the dark, his chin resting against the back of the Omega's head.
"There is no nest." I keep my voice low enough that Mattaniah doesn't stir, my hand still moving through his curls. "He's just collecting things."
"In a completely normal, non-nesting way." Amos shifts closer, his arm tightening around Mattaniah's waist, and the Omega makes a soft sound between us without waking.
"Exactly."
"And you fed it." His thumb traces a lazy circle on Mattaniah's hip, mirroring the motion of my hand in the Omega's hair.
"I donated a sweater. The location is irrelevant."
Amos is quiet for a moment, the Alpha lips curved against Mattaniah's hair, the edges of his mouth contorting the rest of his face. "I was thinking that you put a cashmere sweater in his nest and then told me there was no nest." His voice carries a warmth that makes me want to hit him with a pillow. "But sure. I wasn't thinking anything."
"Go to sleep, Amos."
"Going to sleep." He presses his mouth against the back of Mattaniah's neck and settles, his breathing evening out against the Omega's skin.
I don't sleep right away. I lie in the dark with Mattaniah's breath warm against my throat, my hand moving lower to trace circles against his hip. He built that nest in a closet where nobody would find it, piece by piece, and the care in the arrangement sits in my chest in a way I can't shake.
I'm staring at him again. Just looking this time, the curve of his jaw and the small scar above his left eyebrow that I've never asked about. I press my mouth against his forehead and close my eyes.
Sleep is pulling me under when his hips move. The motion is small, a sleepy roll forward that presses his cock against my thigh. His scent sweetens in his sleep, warm coconut deepening, and I can feel slick gathering through the thin fabric of his sleep pants. His mouth opens against my collarbone and a barely-there whimper escapes him.
My body goes still but his doesn't. His hips roll again, slower this time, chasing friction that his sleeping mind has decided it needs. His cock thickens against my thigh, hardening in increments, and his scent keeps deepening until the room smells like aroused Omega and my own body is responding in ways I can't control.
"Mattaniah." I say his name quietly against his hair. "Firefly."
His eyes open, glazed and unfocused. "Mm?"
"You're moving against me in your sleep."
He blinks. Awareness seeps in slowly and his cheeks flush as he registers the hardness pressed between us, both his and mine. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"Don't apologize." My hand finds his hip and holds him steady. "Do you want me to stop this, or do you want me to take care of it?"
