Good Day Sunshine

One

This work is Part 2 of 'Because the Night', so it's a good idea to read that first. While Part 1 was full of drama and suspense, this work is a much fluffier, domestic 'slice of life', to reflect the huge shift in the characters' lives and outlook...from night to day!

Its a 5 chapter short story (I will post the finale chapters in a few hours).

Hope you enjoy this revisit.

Much love,

Lore 🦋 (Twitter: @Avalore_8)

~~

Mew could smell him the second he stepped one foot out of the rapid response car - that intensely floral, uniquely intoxicating incense that quickened his pulse, sharpened his canines and coaxed skin to goose pimples even in the breathless black velvet of a sticky May night.

Abandoning his rucksack to the pebbled driveway, bounding long strides towards his own entrance porch, scrabbling a brass key in the lock, heavy door flung open with a resounding crash, to shout:

"Gulf? Baby? Gu-"

"-Shhhh!"

Hushed scolding interrupting that frenzied, blue light quest, source of the perfume that stirred, appearing, narrow-eyed and accusatory, with a freshly slumbering babe suckling milk-drunk at his chest.

"What's happening? What's with all the caterwauling?", whisper-yelled inquisition as Gulf padded purposefully along the hallway's creaking floorboards towards the twins' nursery - lowering son Tawan into his cot alongside Lawan's, musical projector of moon and stars tinkling gently as cosmos winked across the dark sky of the ceiling.

"I could smell you, so strong and sweet, I thought...I thought it was time" - the elder man approaching from behind to nuzzle into his mate's neck and comforting softness, arms stretching their hug's reach to accommodate the protruding belly to Gulf's front.

Not just a polite bump, but a full, swollen tummy as he entered the ninth month of pregnancy with two pups growing within.

It wasn't how they'd planned it - not quite at such white-knuckle, loop-de-loop, rollercoaster pace, anyway, firstborns only 18 months - but the night they'd marked one another as mates, giddily high on the sensory ecstasy of pheromones, Mew had knotted Gulf repeatedly - and the younger had whined and begged for every drop of his alpha's hot seed.

Whether or not their minds had yet dreamt it, their bodies wanted to make babies. Again.

So there they were. Early summer's eve, Mew sporting paramedic's uniform pursued by a faintly lingering, telltale aroma of sneaked, forbidden cigarettes, and Gulf in a half-unbuttoned denim shirt belonging to the elder's larger frame and thus tickling his thighs. Beneath, mere centimetres of black cycling shorts giving way to long, caramel-toned legs. His hands rested on the backs on his hips - that classic pregnancy stance - as the two tiptoed from the nursery and away to safer conversation venue of the neighbouring kitchen.

Though the wooden house was large, living quarters at present consisted of just the ground floor. It was what Gulf optimistically, cheerfully referred to as "a family project" - in truth, as far as healthcare worker wages and a journalism intern's paternity pay stretched in an ever-gorging, greedy world.

Speaking of which...

"My Gods, you're sexy" - Mew was nibbling at the omega's ear lobe. "So beautiful with my babies inside you, Gup". Caressing his sensitive chest as he rutted his own hardening erection slowly, agonisingly, up and down the parting of soft, plump globes, through fabric.

"Ahhh...Mew. Not here. Mmmm. In...in the nest. I need the scent of the sea there" - then whimpering, shivering as if suddenly cold, bereft as he lost the touch of his withdrawing alpha.

"Baby, we've talked about this. No nest this time, you need proper, professional care at the hospital"

Gulf whipping round, eyes instantly ablaze:

"No! I don't want strangers touching me. I only need you"

"I...know. But it's just too dangerous, for you and the pups"

Petrol, meet flaming match, in slow motion, deadly descent through the air.

"Don't you think I know what's best for my babies?", the 24 year old's voice in dramatic crescendo, "Male omega carriers are rare, yes, but it doesn't mean you need to wrap me up in cotton wool and pump me full of damn chemicals! Why won't you listen to me?"

And with that, turning on his heel - nose haughtily in the air - for his best flounce of a waddle out of the room, tirade of unimaginable expletives muttered darkly under fierce breath.

Sighing, Mew massaged at his own temples, gathering up stray masterpieces of rainbow paint handprints from the trio's day's play, before leaning back against the gnarled oak of the home built kitchen table, subconsciously beginning the count in his head. Before he reached 60 seconds Gulf would be back - he knew it. They were both too obsessively hot for each other to let bickering ration their magic.

'Am I really being so unreasonable?', the alpha spread his hands to implore of three poker faced, solemnly silent, silkily swirling-tailed goldfish witnesses in the tank upon the granite worktop.

It was rare to see the buoyant younger so violently vexed, but...Mew's advice was indeed the official line, a faceless information leaflet that could be posted out to any expectant patient. And Gulf wasn't just any patient, was he? He was his omega, his mate, his love. The unexpected ray of golden light that had burst like the most glorious, sky-reaching sunflower, radiant through the dark, muddy drudgery of Mew's former whiskey-fuelled, embittered existence. So, fuck, he couldn't let anything harm him, and that's what it came down to if he was starkly honest with the man in the mirror.

Untamed alpha instincts had ignited within his soul the very first time they met, and now howled, deafeningly vociferous through vein and artery with every possessive heartbeat even as he counted:

'55. Keep Gulf safe. 56. Protect them. 57. Your family. 58-'

-Then before he could recite '59', Gulf stalking back into the room to raise himself awkwardly up onto the table, spread his thighs in smoother seduction and utter those lethal words:

"Alpha, just fuck me. Please"

And he did. Long legs akimbo and wrists restrained, writhing atop ancient oak.

Bent in half against the cool, steel sink - washing machine spin cycle selected to mask desperate pleas of "Harder, yes! Ahhh, faster Mew, I'm...c-coming" - ass jiggling as he was slammed mercilessly from behind.

Then at last, thrusting gracefully as one in slick waters of an aromatherapy-oiled, steamy bathtub. Eyes closed, Gulf on Mew's lap, big-bellied and riding sensuously - moans of mutual pleasure echoing about the half-tiled space - until rhythms were lost, bubbly water sloshed, and they climaxed shudderingly with nails clawing for bloodied balance against slippery, smooth skin.