Page 12 of Forbidden
Chapter Five
It was well past midnight when Lucien heard the familiar footsteps approach his door. Gone were the days when Aksel could silently slip into his room. Aksel was very light on his feet for his size, but that didn’t mean much, considering how big and tall he now was.
Lucien sighed inwardly, feeling torn. If Vagrippa found Aksel in his bedroom again, she was going to beverydispleased. And Vagrippa Cleghorn wasn’t a pleasant person to be around when she was displeased.
The door opened and shut quietly.
Then the mattress dipped under Aksel’s weight before he spooned him.
Lucien squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling.
Despite his dismay and worry, the tension he’d been carrying all day melted away as soon as Aksel’s familiar scent surrounded him.Safe, it said.Aksel-safe-Aksel.
The weight of the arm around him wasn’t as familiar as it used to be before Aksel’s latest growth spurt, but the way Aksel held him was the same. Comforting. Protective. Worryingly possessive.
“Aksel,” Lucien chided gently. He wished he could sound firmer. Sterner. Unfortunately, he was terrible at being stern with Aksel. He adored him more than was probably healthy. “You shouldn’t be here. Your mother—”
“Fuck her,” Aksel said, nuzzling Lucien’s nape.
“Don’t talk like that. She’s your mother. You should show her respect.”
Aksel scoffed. “Like she shows you?”
Lucien pursed his lips, not knowing what to say. There was no love lost between him and Vagrippa, and their relationship hadn’t exactly improved over the past half a year.
“Aksel,” Lucien said with a sigh. “We talked about it. You can’t sleep here anymore. Your mother—”
“Is full of shit,” Aksel muttered into his nape. His voice had become much lower in the past few months, another sign that he was approaching his presentation. Though, in Aksel’s case, it would be little more than a formality. The fur on his face might have fallen out years ago, but anyone with a functioning nose could already tell that he was an alpha. Lucien couldn’t imagine his scent becoming much stronger after his first rut; it already was pretty strong, despite the fact that Lucien was on suppressants and his sense of smell was diminished. Belinda constantly complained that Aksel was “very stinky.” Privately, Lucien didn’t agree. Aksel smelled just right to him: a strong, woodsy scent that for the past decade he’d equated withsafeand home.
“She’s right,” Lucien said. “It’s inappropriate. I promised Vagrippa that you’d stop sleeping in my bed.”
“But I’m not sleeping,” Aksel said, a smile in his voice.
Against his better judgment, Lucien laughed. “You’re impossible.”
“Mhm,” Aksel hummed noncommittally, rubbing his nose against Lucien’s neck.
Shivering, Lucien shook his head, trying to clear it from the pheromones.Alpha, his omega instincts all but purred.Safe.
“I’ll leave in a few hours,” Aksel promised, his strong hand slipping under Lucien’s shirt and stroking his belly soothingly, as if he were a cat.
He certainly felt like one.
Lucien squeezed his eyes, nearly mewling from how good Aksel’s touch felt. He enjoyed being touched by Aksel in a way he didn’t enjoy anyone else’s touch. Belinda and Royce touched him sometimes, but they were always so careful with him, so tentative, as if they were afraid he’d shatter. Aksel never touched him like that. He didn’t touch Lucien like he thought he was broken.His touch was always firm, confident that it was welcome.And in a twisted way, when Aksel touched him, Lucien utterly believed that therewasnothing wrong with him. That he was normal. Unbroken. Untainted. Not physically deformed.
“Your skin is so soft,” Aksel said, pressing his thumb into his belly button. “Mine is like sandpaper compared to yours. You’re so soft everywhere.” His hand moved upward, over his ribcage before cupping his chest. “You’re even softer here. Like silk.”
Lucien let out a fond, long-suffering sigh, squirming a little. Heprobably shouldn’t be allowing this, but he could never tell him no. Over the years, he had become conditioned to Aksel’s touch to the point that nothing Aksel did seemed outrageous, and the problem had become worse since Aksel’s illness—since Aksel had started touching him there. When Aksel touched himthere, it was about the only time Lucien didn’t feel disgusted with his body. The fat protrusions on his chest didn’t feel revolting and alien when Aksel touched them with obvious appreciation. Thanks to Aksel’s reverent touches, he’d learned to accept his body—for the most part. He’d even come to think of his protrusions as breasts.
“Fuck,” Aksel said hoarsely, squeezing his breasts. “Your tits feel amazing.”
“Don’t call my chest that,” Lucien said, flushing. “And you shouldn’t touch me there. It’s not at all proper. You aren’t a child.”
He could feel that Aksel was smiling against his nape. “But I haven’t presented yet,” he said. “Until I do, it’s perfectly fine. Right?”
Lucien’s forehead wrinkled. “There’s a flaw in that logic somewhere...” God, it was simply hard to think when he felt so nice. Whenever Aksel touched his skin, he always felt a rush of happiness-goodness-rightness, and Aksel’s emotions only amplified his own, because he liked pleasing Aksel a little too much.
“Your tits feel very full,” Aksel said, kneading his breasts, his voice low. “Do you need me to help you out?”