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Kevin Price hasn’t presented. That fact alone makes him stand out — not just among his fellow missionaries, but in the rigid expectations of the church that shapes every part of his life. Most boys present by the time they’re 16, but for Kevin, it simply never happened. It would be cause for concern if he was someone else, but he’s Kevin Price. Of course no one’s worried. Not really. His parents, his church leaders, even the tests that measure your projected development — everyone is certain that he’s destined to be an alpha. It’s simply a matter of time.
“It’s a blessing,” Bishop Hendricks assures him with an easy laugh, his father’s hand clapping heavy on his shoulder. “You’ll be able to focus on the Lord’s work without any distractions. You don’t know how lucky you are, Kevin!”
It never occurs to Kevin to question that assumption. Alphas get to serve a mission then come home and settle with an omega. That’s how it works, how it’s worked since the scriptures were written. And sure, he’s nineteen, he’s heard whispers of some alphas with… different tastes, but he isn’t going to be one of them. Kevin Price believes in the way of things, and he gets what he prays for.
Two weeks in Uganda have him questioning that last part.
Growing up in a mixed household, scents have never really bothered Kevin that much. Sure, it’s mildly irritating having to add scent dampeners to his laundry loads after his siblings’ heats or ruts, but that’s not because they reek — Kevin just doesn’t want to smell any more like something he’s not. (Hearing them every cycle is way more annoying, but he apparently can’t complain about those without experiencing them, so.) Living in a house with nine other alphas is different. Especially so when he returns from the doctor’s.
His body hurts. It’s the most pain he’s ever experienced, and limping back to the mission building afterwards has only made it worse. His heartbeat feels far too light and fast despite how slow he took the journey, and for the first time ever, the intermingling of scents in the house is so much it makes Kevin cough and splutter. He wrinkles his nose up as he stumbles through the living room towards his and Arnold’s room. It’s hard to feel bad about missing their district’s first baptisms when he gets to fall into bed alone, no roommate there to make the room any hotter.
Kevin throws the plastic bag under his bed without a second glance, immediately moving to tug off his shirt, pants quickly following suit. The fabric of his shirt is sheer with sweat from the walk home. It’s so hot he has to pause to breathe while bent down folding them up, and he all but collapses onto his bed after that. He’ll explain to the others in the morning, after he’s slept.
*
Only he doesn’t sleep. The night is agony — his body burns with heat that ebbs and flows, so Kevin tugs his blankets up to his nose every ten minutes only to throw them off the next. He’s just about conscious enough to realize Arnold hasn’t returned to their room all night, which he thanks God and every prophet he can name for. Naming prophets is a good distraction for all of five minutes, but Kevin just goes right back to wanting to cry afterwards. He’s so hot, his mouth is so dry, and his pain only seems to be getting worse. The seconds stretch out, each one more unbearable than the last, until at some point, exhaustion claims him.
His thighs are wet when he wakes.
The realization is enough to send a fresh wave of nausea rolling through Kevin, images of the General through his mind. He jolts upright, blanket still up to his waist, and searches for the waste basket beneath his bedside table. It’s a good thing Arnold stayed with Nabulungi (Kevin assumes, anyway), because he’d hate to make him sick when they’re finally making progress. Everyone seems to be doing so much better than when they arrived — there’s hope in Elder McKinley’s face again.
Everyone except him.
His stomach churns, though nothing makes its way up his throat. He must have torn something, twisted awkwardly in his sleep and irritated a stitch.
The sound that rips from his throat at that thought is somewhere between a whimper and a sob, loud enough for the other elders to hear. Kevin can hear them assemble outside of the door, whispering faintly among themselves. The floorboards creak, there’s some pushing and stumbling then eventually, a knock.
“Buddy?”
The door squeaks open, and Arnold steps inside. Kevin’s stomach churns as his scent hits him like a physical blow, and he reaches for the trash can again. He can’t speak when he feels like he’s about to be sick, so for once he’s glad Arnold can speak enough for both of them.
“Buddy… what happened? Are you okay? Should I get Mafala?” Arnold rushes over (as much as their box room can be rushed into), concern clear in his voice and his scent. It happens too fast for Kevin to process, because Arnold jumps off of the foot of his bed before Kevin realizes he came to perch there. Before Kevin even realizes that he’s the one growling, teeth bared.
The hurt is clear on Arnold’s face; he’s speechless for once. But so is Kevin. He cuts himself with a gasp, forces himself to swallow around the thick lump in his throat and reach out for his companion.
Arnold is slow to sit down again — understandably so. Kevin pulls his blankets back over him, knees tucked up to his chest to give him extra space.
“Kevin…”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening, I think–” Kevin pauses, blinking back the tears that have sprung from nowhere. “Something… kind of bad happened. And it’s over now, and it’s whatever, but I think I’m just really worn down and so now I’m sick. Okay?”
“Are you sure we can’t do anything to help?”
“No, please, I just want to rest.” Even with his head spinning, Kevin can tell that Arnold isn’t satisfied with being shot down. “Maybe some water? Just– outside the door. So I don’t get everyone else sick.”
The others’ scents are even stronger now they’re actually here, outside his door. It feels like it’s bleeding through the woodwork, infiltrating into the very foundations of the building, so strong that Kevin has to lie back again. Thankfully, it’s obvious enough of a cue for Arnold to leave.
Being alone forces Kevin to acknowledge his pain again. As much as his butt hurt, his stomach is the most painful right now. Everything hurts, and he wants to cry but eventhat hurts his throat so he just lies there, sniffling with the occasional tiny whimper escaping his lips. He shifts every five seconds to try and find a cool patch of his mattress, flips his pillow until both sides are just as damp with sweat and — in a final-ditch attempt to cool down — brings his sheets down to lie on the hardwood floor.
The floor is where Elder McKinley finds Kevin that evening.
It’s humiliating. Kevin tacitly looks up to Elder McKinley, admires the way he takes care of nine other barely-adult alphas with a firm but fair hand, even in Uganda. Warmth floods his chest whenever he’s recognised for his efforts. He wants Elder McKinley to appreciate him, to see him as worthy, not sick and pathetic on the floor.
Kevin tries to scramble to his feet before remembering the damp between his thighs, so ends up sitting against his bed, sheets tucked around his lower half. Finally working up the courage to peel back some fabric under his thighs, he’s met with clear stains instead of the expected red, and he really does cry this time.
Elder McKinley closes the door behind him as tears spill from Kevin’s eyes. His scent isn’t overpoweringly strong like Arnold’s was, but it’s definitely there, diffusing the thick cloying humidity in the room. He’s frowning, which makes Kevin pull his sheets up to his chest, even when he knows it’s not his fault that he’s sick.
“You know,” Elder McKinley says, voice carefully measured, “my sister was late to present.”
And there’s the word Kevin didn’t want to hear, even if he barely processes it. He can hardly think, hardly do anything except fight the overwhelming urge to shift to Elder McKinley’s side as he takes a seat on the edge of Arnold’s bed. He’s careful and patient in his movements, smoothing creases from the fabric beneath him.
Kevin wants. So he takes.
He shuffles the two feet or so between his and Arnold’s bed and comes to rest his head on Elder McKinley’s knee before he can stop himself. The tension in his body eases, if only slightly. The sharp, sour edge of his panic dulls. The weight pressing on his chest lightens just enough for him to breathe again — and for the rational part of his brain to throttle the base part running on empty right now.
If Elder McKinley is surprised, he’s really good at hiding it. “It probably feels like H-E-double hockey sticks right now, but at least you’re grown up enough to fight teenage hormones with all that rational adult logic? All of my brothers and sisters and I are alphas, and I definitely would’ve preferred presenting with friends around me who have been through it, rather than being a teenager at home ready to fight my big sister every day.”
Elder McKinley’s laugh is calming. Unfortunately, not calming enough to counteract the heat that surges through Kevin’s body as he runs a hand through his damp, matted hair. Kevin is trapped between the urge to pull away or to lean further into his touch and it feels like drowning. The scent clinging to Connor’s wrist lets Kevin breathe in the underwater feeling, and then–
A purring sound rumbles in his throat before he can stop it. They both freeze, and Kevin’s lip trembles against his will. It feels dumb, but Elder McKinley is just being so good to him, so of course it would upset Kevin that he can’t be good back. He’s wanted to be good for Elder McKinley since the moment he said he’d heard great things about him. Kevin shifts his head to glance up at the other, eyes a little misty, and there must be something good within the pathetic… everything else his body’s doing right now, because Elder McKinley resumes his motions. Fingers card through his hair with renewed determination and Kevin can settle for a while.
But keeping eight barely-adults quiet is an insurmountable task, even more so if Arnold is out there with them.
“Is Elder Price dead?” someone calls, followed by muffled laughter, the sound of a scuffle and a poorly-aimed couch cushion thudding against the wall. Elder McKinley huffs a laugh, which earns a scowl from Kevin. He turns his head just enough to nip at the base of Elder McKinley’s palm in warning, just a pup bite, nothing really serious, and the elder boy chuckles again.
“C’mon, you need to rest today,” Elder McKinley says, brushing his fingers through Kevin’s hair one last time before pulling away. Kevin groans in protest, until there are gentle hands guiding him to his feet, back into his own bed. He knows Elder McKinley has to be deliberately ignoring the sweat and damp, but he appreciates him for it nonetheless.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better soon, Elder Price.”
And then he’s gone, leaving Kevin vaguely sated, but mostly stuck with the creeping realization that something is seriously wrong.
*
When Connor closes the bedroom door behind him, he’s met with a mad dash from the rest of the boys to (presumably) act natural. The main sofa sits three people on a good day, yet five of them rush for it at once — it’s Elder Neeley who ends up crashing onto the floor, attempting to drag Elder Church down from Poptarts’ lap with him. Poptarts is play-fighting for his life in return, hands tight on James’ waist to trap him and snapping teasingly at Neeley when he tugs a little too hard. Arnold has miraculously made it safely, wedged in next to Davis.
Connor opens his mouth to speak once the pushing and shoving ends, but Elder Church beats him to it.
“So? What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing is wrong with Kevin, don’t say it like that! He’s amazing.” Arnold protests, shoving Church (and Poptarts beneath him by proxy), which restarts the pup play as if Connor isn’t standing there waiting to speak.
He does love being district leader, but sometimes it feels a little too like parenting.
“Are we done?” Connor asks in that schoolteacher tone he’s perfected across the last three months. He’s standing with his weight on one leg, arms across his chest, and he has to try so hard not to laugh as Church makes a scene of climbing back into Poptarts’ lap.
“I think Elder Price is just… coming down with something, maybe,” he starts. “I’m sure he’s going to be fine, we just need to let him rest and get his strength back, which means be nice. No rough play.”
Even if that last part is a little aimed at Neeley and Poptarts, everyone seems to get the idea, which is good. Connor would be ready to call the conversation there and have everyone get on with their day, if Arnold didn’t look so unhappy with the answer.
“Are you okay, Elder Cunningham?”
“It’s just… he did growl at me. My own best friend.”
Elder Church snorts, “What, like a pup?” The ensuing chain reaction is exhaustion — Poptarts bursts into laughter, shaking hard enough that it makes Church shake on his lap and laugh even harder, and it’s an unending cycle that devolves into them growling at each other.
Arnold catapults to his feet. “I’m serious! He growled at me when I tried to sit with him and make him feel better!”
It’s insane to Connor that he’s agreeing with Arnold Cunningham of all the boys, and yet here he is. Chris and James admittedly need to learn to calm each other down instead of egging each other on, but the room is filling with Arnold’s nerves on top of Kevin’s… whatever’s-going-on scent, and it’s rough.
“Elder Cunningham, I promise you Elder Price is going to be okay. He was quite happy to sit there and purr when I was with him just now!” It’s hard for Connor to keep the incredulous laugh out of his voice as he says that, because even the idea of Kevin purring feels ridiculous. “Now, let’s get on with today’s work, we only have a week until the mission president’s visit and there’s still tons left to do!”
No one moves.
Connor claps his hands twice. “Come on, go!”
And so begins another mad dash to get out of the door first. James ends up in a heap on the floor as Chris pushes him from his lap and runs, and Connor can only stare on in amusement as Chris comes to hide behind him. For a second, he thinks he’s going to get charged by James just to reach Chris, but they manage to have one of their weird staredowns over his shoulder, and Connor escapes unscathed with James skulking off.
Yet Chris doesn't move.
“What is it, Elder Thomas?”
Chris waits for the other elders to filter out before speaking. “Elder Price isn’t sick, is he?”
“No,” Connor acquiesces quickly, then sighs. “But you know just as well as I do that I'd have even more trouble on my hands if I told everyone that Elder Price was presenting. The entire village would know by the end of the day.”
Saying the words out loud makes the situation feel more real, and his nerves must carry over to Chris too, who’s pressing his thumb into his scent gland on the other wrist. Connor takes the blond’s wrist with a frown.
“What is it?”
After a few agonising beats of silence, Chris drops his forehead onto Connor’s shoulder with a dissatisfied huff. “I’ve never…” he hesitates. “I mean, the only person I’ve ever heard purr was my sister.”
“Is it going to upset you to be around him? I can work something out.” Connor’s brain immediately springs back into district leader mode, wrapping an arm around Chris’ shoulders and tucking his head under his chin. The motion is comforting even without deliberately scenting the other.
“No, it’s not–” Another whimper from behind Kevin’s door interrupts them, and both of them stumble apart, heads whipping towards the source. Only when they’re sure Kevin isn’t crying does Chris continue. “My point is, my sister was an omega.”
Connor stops again, speechless. It’s like he objectively understands the words, but his brain can’t compute what that sentence means altogether. “You don’t think…?” He trails off, glancing back and forth between Chris and the bedroom door.
“I'm just… saying it’s possible.”
Connor didn’t consider that possibility. Clearly no one did, least of all the MTC if they’d tested Kevin and deemed him safe to come on his mission as unpresented. It is a little bizarre to start presenting now, but doubly so if he’s presenting as an omega. He’s willing to concede that his upbringing lacked a little in the ‘looking after an omega in heat’ department, and it’s probably the same for most of the other boys. High school health classes post-presentation were limited to say the least, and Connor’s teacher waved off most questions with a generic ‘you’ll figure it out in college’.
So, from a district leader's perspective, there isn’t much more terrifying right now than the idea of having to care for Elder Price through his first heat, which he probably doesn’t even know he’s having. Connor tends to operate at this constant low-level of worrying about his boys anyway, but this is something else altogether — it’s obvious enough for Chris to pick up on, taking Connor’s wrists into his own hands this time.
“What do we do if he is? Do I have to– I can’t tell the mission president, they’d take him home, he would never forgive me.”
“We’ll… figure something out.”
*
Sleep comes easier to Kevin now the room and his sheets (read: the sheets he has ‘temporarily relocated’ from Arnold’s bed) smell like Elder McKinley. It still isn’t easy , but he’s able to rest without his stomach panging for a few hours at least. Some distant part of him wonders where Elder Cunningham’s going to sleep that night with Kevin so ill, but that thought is quickly stamped out when he buries himself under the newly acquired sheets.
Kevin manages to sleep until 5am, somehow. His skin is still clammy and flushed, as are his garments, but by some miracle he feels clear-headed enough to leave the room and wash his sheets. Or rather, he thought he was clear-headed until he opens the door and is smacked in the face by a wall of scents. It’s enough to leave Kevin’s head reeling as he steps out into the hallway, nose buried in his own sheets as if that can do anything to counteract all the different scents.
Seeing Elder McKinley on the sofa is the final straw. Without even understanding why, Kevin sniffles as the other makes eye contact, then promptly bursts into tears. Elder McKinley jumping to his feet only makes Kevin cry harder into the bundle in his arms. It’s dramatic and ugly and the fact Kevin doesn’t know why he’s crying so hard only makes him want to cry even more, until the sobs are wracking his body and he can’t breathe.
The firm grip on the back of his neck manages to cut through the brain fog enough for Kevin to hear Elder McKinley shush him gently, feel himself get pulled into his arms and ushered over to the couch. Elder McKinley sits and Kevin knows vaguely that he should sit too, but the rest of his body doesn’t get that signal. Sitting is too much and he’s going to ruin the sofa like he’s ruined his and Arnold’s sheets and he can’t.
Kevin slides to his knees, still clinging onto his stupid bundle of fabric. He rests his head on the sofa for a second, only to immediately regret it with how much it smells — not bad, just too much. He recoils onto his heels with a whine, shoving his sheets onto the sofa instead and wiping at his eyes with his stupid clammy hand.
“I– I don’t understand what’s wrong with me, Elder McKinley.” Kevin hiccups, nose embarrassingly snotty and face red all over.
Connor stills, fingers digging into the worn-out cushion beneath his thighs. It wasn’t too obvious that Elder Price was presenting before, but now he’s out of bed, Connor feels like a fool for not considering that he might be an omega before. Elder Price is burning hot, he’s protective of his space, wrinkling his nose up at others’ scents, but most of all he’s a hormonal, emotional mess, instead of the typical slightly-aggressive alpha presentation.
These musings are interrupted by another gut-wrenching sob from Kevin, and Connor can’t help but sink down to the floor to join him. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he murmurs quietly, hoping none of the other elders have woken up to witness this. He takes Kevin’s hand and presses a firm thumb into his wrist in the vain hopes of providing some instinctual comfort. Still, Connor’s human. He can’t bear waiting more than a few seconds to see if it helps, and that’s how he ends up pulling Kevin and his sheets to lie with his head in his lap, hand stroking through his hair again.
“Can I make a suggestion, Elder Price?”
Kevin nods silently, eyelashes shimmering with tears, lips pressed into a petulant pout. Connor comes to smooth a thumb over the skin there instead, like he can work the frown out of Kevin’s lips and brows and everything will be okay.
“I’m assuming you were a little too out of it to understand yesterday, but that’s okay. What I'm trying to say now is you might actually be presenting?”
Kevin wraps his arms around his stomach with a groan, tilts his head up slightly towards Connor, and furrows his brows like he’s moving through treacle. It would be sweet if it didn’t seem to pain him so much. “What?”
“Presenting, Elder Price. You.” And Connor supposes he may as well drop all of the bombs on Kevin if they’re going that way anyway. “As an omega.”
Kevin’s whole face scrunches up then. “No… No, I don’t think so, I didn’t present, that’s the point.”
If Connor wasn’t sure about Kevin presenting before, then he definitely is now he can smell the distress on the boy in his lap, burnt coffee and bitter honey. “Kevin.” he rumbles as the other’s panic seems to rise — in hindsight it’s a little too much too soon, but it does have the desired effect of snapping Kevin out of it.
There’s also the unintended effect of Kevin keening high in his throat, pushing his makeshift pillow away from beneath his head to burrow his nose into the crease of Connor’s hip. Now it’s Connor’s turn to shift away in panic because Kevin’s face is dangerously close to his… well.
“Please, Elder McKinley.” Kevin blinks up at him through his eyelashes, tears threatening to spill over again. How could anyone refuse that look?
“Okay,” Connor relents, pulling Kevin to rest his head against chest. “Okay, come on, it’s okay. You’re okay. We should get you to bed, though, don’t you think?”
“I keep… ruining the sheets.” Kevin admits in a shaky whisper, which Connor really should’ve expected. He smooths his hand over the cowlick on the back of the younger’s head, even though it’s his rare chance to see Kevin’s bed hair, rather than Elder Price’s precise gelled look.
The sheets, though; Connor can fix that. Gently, he brings his arms under Kevin’s, telegraphing each movement until they’re slowly getting to their feet. They walk in silence through the living room, past all of the bedrooms to the tiny linen closet at the end of the hall. Not once does Kevin lift his head from Connor’s chest — he actually grabs onto Connor’s wrist as they pass Church and Davis’ room. It almost makes Connor feel at home, like he’s guiding his youngest brother back to bed after a nightmare, helping him settle.
Not that he wants to think of Kevin as his brother.
Fresh sheets and blankets acquired, they make the painstaking trek back to Kevin’s room, and Connor’s reluctantly ready to leave once the bed is made up. He fluffs the pillow the best he can, tucks the boy in loosely, and squeezes his shoulder one last time.
“Please stay, Elder McKinley,” Kevin whispers, barely audible, when Connor goes to open the door. The air in the room is thick with fear and want.
Connor hesitates. Does Kevin even know what he’s asking for? Does he, at that?
“Just Connor is okay,” he says, taking his hand off of the door handle. They both know he wants to say a lot more.
“Connor,” Kevin whispers in awe, reaching out from beneath the sheets (and totally ruining all the work that went into tucking him in while he squirmed). “Please. Please, I need–” Kevin’s voice breaks amid his plea. “I just need you.”
“Kevin… you know I can’t– I’m not even in… y’know. It would be taking advantage.”
Kevin shakes his head insistently, tugging the blanket tighter over his waist. “No! No, I don’t mean– no. I mean you. I don’t want.. that. I just need you to stay here.”
Connor’s not sure he’s ever going to be able to do anything again. He wants to dedicate every inch of his brain to remembering the first time Kevin said his name and that he needs him. So he returns to Kevin’s side, lowering himself onto the mattress slowly before lying down beside the other.
It’s clear neither of them have done this before, even if this isn’t anything. Kevin seems quite content to be wrapped up warm, face only visible from his nose upwards. Beside him, Connor lies on his back, hands resting on his stomach, watching the other boy from his periphery. Slowly but surely, the room shifts from worry to something sweeter.
It coincides with Kevin wriggling beneath his blanket, throwing the fabric over Connor so they’re pressed together beneath. He's so warm that Connor can’t even imagine why he’d want to stay under the blankets, let alone with extra body heat. Yet as he rolls onto his side, Kevin seems to take that as a sign of free reign, shuffling forward into his chest and tugging Connor’s arm over his waist.
It’s impossible to ignore the tension radiating off Kevin, the uncertainty and vulnerability mingling in the air between them even among the sweet mint and fresh coffee grounds. As Kevin’s head nestles against his chest, Connor can’t help but soften at the sight of him, big brown eyes clouded with confusion and worry. It’s almost like, oh. So the adults in his life weren’t lying when they told him he’d understand when he was older.
Kevin starts to nuzzle against him, inhaling deeply as if trying to capture the very essence of him, and Connor lets him. He clearly needs the comfort, and Connor would probably let him do anything right now. His own scent starts to fill the space, and a little more tension instinctively falls from Kevin's body. Connor vaguely knows what this is, why a presenting omega would want to scent, but seeing it… feeling it in action is something else entirely. He’s never smelt himself so strong before, lavender and lime and hints of cedar.
“Hey,” Connor murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You’re okay.” He isn’t sure why he feels the need to fill the silence when Kevin seems so content, so he stops, letting his fingers trace patterns into the small of his back instead. Connor’s always thrived on taking care of those around him, especially when his boys are in need, but this is undeniably something more.
There’s a sense of protectiveness that swells within him as Kevin’s warm breath fans across his neck. “Good, keep breathing,” he encourages, maintaining a steady rhythm that mirrors the thumping of his heart.
Kevin’s breathing steadies as he continues to inhale Connor’s scent. Somehow, Connor feels himself calm too. Even as daylight begins to creep through the thin blinds, they lie still. After a few seconds or minutes or an hour, Kevin’s hand wraps around his wrist, tugging it up to the back of his neck again.
“It helped earlier. When you did… that.” Kevin admits quietly.
Connor pulls back slightly, face still close enough to see the tinge of embarrassment outshone by the relief and gratitude in Kevin’s eyes as he curls his palm around his neck in a play scruff once more. He meets his gaze and smiles softly.
“Feel better?” Connor asks, the corners of his lips twitching upward as he wipes a stray tear from Kevin’s cheek.
Kevin nods, but Connor sees his jaw clench almost imperceptibly, and knows his heart isn’t in it.
“…I can’t be an omega,” he says, almost to himself. “I wasn’t supposed to be.”
Connor frowns, pressing his fingers in a little more. “Kevin–”
“No, you don’t get it,” Kevin interrupts, voice cracking. His hands curl into fists. “I was supposed to be an alpha. My whole life, my parents, my church, the stupid psych tests, everyone said I would be an alpha. I just needed to wait, and– and it was a blessing to serve a mission before presenting, because I wouldn't have any distractions.” He scoffs at that. “Now look at me.”
Connor’s heart twists. Of course overachieving Kevin Price would think presenting is some sort of moral failure. The bitter honey is back. “That doesn’t change anything,” he says carefully. “You’re still you.”
Kevin huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “No, I’m not,” he mutters. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
“Then let’s figure it out together.”
Kevin’s breath catches, his gaze snapping up to meet Connor’s. For a long moment, neither of them move.
Then, slowly, Kevin nods. “Okay,” he replies, his voice a mere whisper, yet filled with warmth. “Thank you. For staying.”
“Always,” Connor affirms, pulling him in closer once more. It’s a promise he intends to keep, no matter how soon he’s made it.
The quiet moment lingers before Kevin shifts, his body still overheated, the fog in his mind pressing in once more. He’s exhausted but restless, aching in ways he doesn’t understand, and the momentary reprieve of Connor’s scent starts to fade, leaving him adrift again. Connor watches as Kevin rubs at his eyes, sniffling, clearly embarrassed but unable to push himself away. He looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how, his lips parting, then pressing shut again.
Connor sighs, running a hand down his own face before making a decision. “Roll over. Face away from me.”
Kevin hesitates, but the look in Connor’s eyes is steady and certain, and eventually, he twists away from him. Connor shuffles in close, tucking his chin in above Kevin’s head and an arm around his waist, hand resting low on his stomach. Kevin’s fingers curl around his wrist, pulling it up to the glands in his neck instead, and even that simple touch sends a shudder through him. The feeling of his sweat-slicked skin, flushed and trembling, makes something deep in Connor’s chest tighten, but he shoves the feeling aside, focusing instead on keeping Kevin grounded.
Even if Kevin’s still in the early days of presenting, the mingling of his coffee grounds and sweet oranges with Connor’s cedar and fresh lavender and lime is perhaps the most addictive scent Connor has ever smelled. It’s easy for Connor to pick out fresh scents and match them to people, but the newfound mix of both of them is positively intoxicating. He presses his lips to Kevin’s hair before he can overthink it any more.
“Connor?”
“I like how your scent goes with mine.” The confession spills from his mouth into Kevin’s skin.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, you’ll pick up on it sooner or later.” Connor presses his nose closer.
Kevin rolls over to face him again, and when their noses brush, Connor pulls back slightly — just enough so they're looking into each other's eyes. The expression on Kevin's face is soft, almost dopey. He blinks, lashes long and dark against his pale cheeks. The look of pure adoration combined with the soft smile and bright amber of his gaze is almost unbearable.
It’s impossible to tell who leans in first, but it ends with Kevin pressing his nose against Connor’s jaw, lips against his gland. An approving rumble vibrates through Connor’s chest and into Kevin’s, and as the omega starts to press tentative kisses to his scent gland, Connor can feel his own heart threatening to jump across too.