Honeythorn: Alpha/Omega

by Marina Vivancos

  “Wait until he sees you in it.”

  Milan hummed neutrally before thanking Melissa and heading downstairs, where Raphael was already waiting for him.

  Heat rose to Milan’s face as Raphael looked at Milan descend the stairs with a stunned expression.

  “Husband,” Milan greeted as he stepped in front of him. Two high, bright points of red flushed over Raphael’s cheeks.

  “Hello,” Raphael said, voice rasping out. Milan suppressed a smile.

  Maybe Melissa had not been so far off the mark. A shiver of heat went through him.

  “Are you ready to go?” Milan asked, taking pity and not teasing Raphael for his distraction.

  “Ah—yes. Yes, let’s, um. Our coats.”

  Milan pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. He had never heard Raphael stumble over his words like that before.

  They donned their coats, Milan feeling giddy and bright until suddenly—a creak.

  Milan knew that sound.

  Leather stretching over knuckles, pulling tight. Milan shuddered, heart pounding. He froze, only able to stand there and look at Raphael as he put on his gloves.

  Raphael turned to him, smiling. “Shall we…Milan? Are you all right?” He stepped closer and Milan instinctively flinched back. Raphael’s expression crumpled with hurt and confusion, but Milan was speechless. He just—he couldn’t seem to make his mind move.

  “What is it?” Raphael asked a little desperately, when it suddenly seemed to dawn on him, probably due to the fact that Milan could barely take his eyes off his hands.

  Immediately, Raphael yanked his gloves off, opening the front door and throwing the gloves out harshly. The sight was so ridiculous that it snapped Milan out of whatever it had been that took over him.

  “Wait! Don’t do that. They’re perfectly good gloves. It’s cold, you can—”

  “No,” Raphael interrupted. He stepped towards Milan and then faltered, unsure. “Please. I don’t—I can’t see you with that expression again. Not aimed towards me.”

  Milan laughed, the sound wobbly and wet. He felt his heart slow, tempering his fear. The reaction had been so instantaneous that it seemed to stop just as suddenly, leaving him a little shaken once he could engage his mind again. He took a long, bracing breath, determined to beat this with sheer, stubborn force. He would do exactly what the fear did not want him doing.

  “All right. Let’s warm each other’s hands, then,” he said, lifting his arm towards Raphael even though it was shaking slightly.

  Raphael’s eyes widened, but after a moment of hesitation, he stepped forwards and took Milan’s hand, bare skin against bare skin. They had been doing it for so many weeks now, and yet this moment felt different, a spark of something warm igniting.

  “Well. Shall we?” Milan suggested and, without waiting for an answer, pulled Raphael to the crawler waiting outside.

  Raphael followed, hand tightening around his.

  *****

  Milan guessed that the Countess’s balls were the only ones Raphael forced himself to attend, judging by the fact that they were in her manor again. The interior was as lavishly decorated and full of people as the last ball.

  This time, however, Raphael did not abandon him as soon as they walked in.

  “Refreshments?” Raphael asked above the hubbub.

  “Please.”

  They waded into the crowd, Raphael’s hand a warm point on Milan’s lower back. It was the first time Raphael initiated a touch except to hold hands—and their wedding night, but this was not the time to think about that—and Milan couldn’t help but smile to himself.

  Drinks in hand, it took Katerina no time at all to sniff them out. Milan would swear she had an unnatural sense to spot Milan in a crowd.

  “Look at you. You look splendid,” Katerina greeted them. Milan grinned.

  “All thanks to you.” He turned to Raphael. “She was the one that suggested the material for my outfit.”

  Raphael nodded. “And she has a keen eye. You look radiant. Hello, Miss Rosewood.”

  Milan blushed, looking away at the praise.

  Katerina was not so easily swayed. “Lord Ledford,” she said coolly before turning back to Milan. “You wouldn’t guess who is in attendance,” she said, pointing her chin to the right.

  Milan followed her gaze before rolling his eyes as he spotted Edwin. “Oh, joy,” he said sarcastically.

  Raphael looked between Edwin and them. “Who is that?”

  “Nobody,” Milan said with a wave of his hand.

  Katerina sniffed. “He was quite rude to Milan during the last ball you attended. Not that you would have noticed, being completely absent from your husband’s company the whole night.”

  Milan threw Katerina an admonishing look, but Raphael did not seem offended, staring at Edwin with a dark expression.

  “That will not happen again,” Raphael said. Katerina hummed, her doubt obvious.

  “How gallant of you,” she drawled. “Oh, there’s Jason. Let’s say hello.” Lacing her arm through Milan’s, she dragged him towards the man in question. Milan looked back, making sure Raphael was not being left behind, but he was following closely.

  Jason looked obviously pleased to see Milan. “Well, hello. I didn’t know if I’d see you here.”

  Milan grimaced, having ignored his correspondence after the first ball. “Hello. I’m sorry for not responding to your letters—I was taken ill and have only recently recuperated. I hope you’re not too cross.”

  Jason waved him away. “Not at all. Only worried.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s quite all right. Lord Ledford, it’s good to see you.”

  “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met,” Raphael said.

  “Mister Jason,” he said, as informal as ever.

  “A pleasure,” Raphael said.

  Jason turned back to look at Milan. “I still have that book I mentioned last time.”

  “Yes, of course—we’ll have to meet soon.” Milan smiled.

  “I’ll send you a note—hopefully responded to, this time,” he teased.

  Milan laughed uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” he said again. Jason shook his head.

  “I’m only jesting. However, how about a dance to make up for it?”

  Milan’s eyes widened. Surely, that was a bit bold. He felt Raphael stiffen beside him, although he said nothing of the invitation.

  Milan cleared his throat. “I would be delighted, but I offered the first dance to my husband.” He looked up at Raphael, who was already staring back at him with a strange expression. “Shall we?” Milan suggested.

  “Of course,” Raphael said. “Mister Jason. Miss Rosewood.”

  They left their drinks on a nearby table before Raphael led Milan towards where other couples were dancing, even though it was the middle of a song.

  Hand in hand, Raphael’s other on Milan’s waist, Milan’s on Raphael’s shoulder, they began moving.

  “I met Jason during the last ball,” Milan felt the need to explain. “He has a book on an author I’m interested in that he offered to lend me.”

  “That’s very generous of him,” he said, eyes not leaving Milan’s face.

  “Yes, well…” He didn’t know why Jason’s offer to dance had shaken him so much. He just…things were going so well between Raphael and him. Milan didn’t want anything to spoil it.

  The first dance finished, but Raphael didn’t make a move to step away. Milan smiled at him as they kept going.

  “You’re a good dancer,” Milan said, his voice coming out soft for some reason.

  “You are as well.”

  There was something there in Raphael’s eyes. Something intense, like a coming storm. For the first time since they lay together, a familiar heat coiled in Milan’s stomach at Raphael’s presence. He was so warm, so solid in his hands. Milan felt his heart picking up the pace, and it had nothing to do with the exertion of dancing.

  For three more songs, they danc
ed together. They said nothing, just looking at each other, each moment more intimate than the last. Milan was almost trembling by the time they stopped, mouth dry.

  “Something to drink?” Raphael suggested. Milan could only hope he had been as affected. By his dark eyes, Milan thought he just might have been.

  “Please.”

  Once they had their drinks, they stood side-by-side against a wall, sipping slowly.

  “I’m guessing you accept fewer invitations to balls than you receive,” Milan ventured.

  Raphael snorted. “Many.”

  “You do not like them?”

  Milan expected an immediate ‘no’, but Raphael paused instead. “I haven’t, for a while. But I can’t say I dislike dancing with my husband.”

  Milan smiled into his glass, pleasantly surprised by the response. “Me neither,” he said just loud enough for Raphael to hear. Milan shot him a look, finding Raphael’s eyes already on him. Milan felt another thrill go through him.

  “Do you mind if we find Katerina again?” Milan asked after they finished their drinks.

  Raphael shook his head. “Not at all.”

  Of course, they found Katerina with Edwin. What they could possibly have to say to each other, Milan had no idea. In fact, he was quite sure she was simply trying to rile Raphael up.

  Milan didn’t even have a chance to try smoothing the situation over before Edwin spotted him, a sneer already on his face.

  “I didn’t know they were still inviting these types to balls,” he drawled. Raphael immediately stepped from behind Milan to stand at his side.

  “And what sort are ‘these’?” Raphael asked coldly. It had been a long time since Milan had heard that tone of voice, and he was simply glad it was not directed at him.

  Edwin, apart from being a snob, was obviously not very smart as well. “Is this your Omega, Lord Ledford?” he asked, although Milan knew full well he was already aware of the answer.

  “My husband and bonded, yes. I must say, Edwin, is it? I do not appreciate your tone.”

  “Well,” Edwin blustered, “if you don’t like my tone, it is because you did not hear the way he spoke to me when we first met. You should keep your Omega on a tighter leash.”

  Milan’s and Katerina’s expressions darkened, whilst Raphael’s didn’t move an inch.

  Slowly, Raphael turned to look at Milan. “Were you quite rude to him?” he asked. He sensed Katerina stiffen beside him but somehow knew what Raphael was up to.

  “Yes. Quite.”

  “I’m glad,” Raphael said, and Milan almost laughed at the way Edwin gaped.

  “Did you strike him?” Raphael continued.

  “No, although it was a close thing.”

  “How unfortunate. He obviously needs some sense beaten into him.” Raphael turned back to look at Edwin, who was spluttering incoherently. “Listen to me very closely, Edwin. Milan is more than capable of defending himself. But, as his husband, I will tell you now that if I ever hear you speak to him this way again, or even look at him askance, I will ruin your every prospect and reputation so severely, you would never recover, even if you went to the other side of the continent. Do I make myself quite clear?”

  Now it was Milan’s turn to looked shocked. Edwin, his face bright red, scoffed and made to move away after a stunned moment. Before he could, however, Raphael grabbed his arm in what looked to be a bruising grip.

  “Do I make myself quite clear?” he repeated.

  “Yes,” Edwin gritted out after a moment, pride obviously in pieces.

  Raphael let go of his arm. “Good. You can go now.”

  Edwin didn’t need to be told twice.

  After a shocked few seconds, Katerina cleared her throat. “Well. That was quite the speech,” she said, sounding grudgingly impressed.

  Raphael didn’t respond, looking at Milan. “I hope I didn’t overstep?”

  Milan laughed incredulously. “No. You didn’t. I do believe I need another drink, however. And, perhaps later, another dance?”

  Raphael smiled. “Of course.” He turned to Katerina. “Will you accompany us, Miss Rosewood?”

  Katerina looked between him and Milan. “No,” she said finally. “I have a few more people I must mingle with.”

  “We’ll see you later. And tea next week,” Milan said even though he had sought her company a moment earlier. He had just realised he was not averse to spending more time with only his husband.

  Katerina smiled at him. “All right. Have fun, then.”

  To Milan’s slight surprise, they really did. Or, at least, he did. By the time they arrived back at the manor, it was late, and Milan was happily sore after all that dancing.

  Melissa took away their coats and left them alone in the entry hall. The sconces were dimmed, offering more shadow than light. It reminded Milan of the fantasy books he had taken to reading about odd worlds filled with magic. He couldn’t seem to move, standing there so close to Raphael.

  “I had a lovely evening,” Milan said softly.

  “So did I.”

  To Milan’s shock, Raphael took his hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing lightly. A shudder went through him. How a simple touch could ignite such heat, Milan couldn’t comprehend, but he couldn’t deny it, either.

  Raphael did not let his hand go as they walked to Milan’s room. Even when they prepared separately for bed there was a tension in the air that was filled with a strange pleasure.

  When they finally blew out the candles, in bed with their hands touching, Milan had the sense that, not even if their bodies were pressed together—and just the thought of that made him blush—the moment could not have been more intimate, for even the distance between them brought them together.

  “Good night, Husband,” Milan said softly. He heard Raphael shift closer until he could feel his warmth.

  “Good night.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was amazing, how many little details time revealed about a person when they allowed you to see them.

  Milan had already known about Raphael’s fondness for animals, but he was sweet to all of them—not only the pigs but doting on the horses and even whistling at birds sometimes. Milan learnt how Raphael had the habit of tapping the front of his shoe on the floor at least twice when he entered the manor, as if shaking mud from the sole even when there was none. About Raphael’s fondness for the smell of cedar burning, or how he liked to rub something soft, like fur, when he was deep in thought.

  Then there was the day that Milan learnt about Raphael’s love of poetry. And not just any poetry—romantic poetry.

  At least it explained the vast collection of it in the library.

  “What do you like about it?” Milan asked the day he caught Raphael reading some and made him confess.

  Raphael shrugged. “Despite what happened with my father, my parents loved each other very much. I have early childhood memories about how sweetly they would talk to each other, how caring they were. It was my first example of love—that’s how I thought it would be. When my father died…when the war took his mind, it was a tragedy not only for him but for my mother. For their love, or what it could have been if the war hadn’t happened. It made me want that love all the more, knowing it could slip away at any moment.”

  “That’s quite a brave feeling to have. Someone else could have shied away from the idea of love, having witnessed what its loss could do.”

  Raphael shook his head. “It was worth it. That was all I knew. Despite how it ended, their lives were richer for having experienced it.”

  “And that’s why you like poetry? For having seen love and loss?”

  “Yes. I like…how soft the words can make it seem, or how ardent. Something growing, or flowing, or eating you away. When I was young and foolish, I liked the idea of my soul being taken over by this feeling. Of course, once it happened…”

  Milan felt a desperate hurt rip through him. “That was not love. To truly love is to want to make another person feel l
oved—it is not malicious and selfish. That was not love.”

  Raphael looked at him steadily from the stuffed chair he sat upon.

  “Will you read me a poem? Your favourite?” Milan asked quietly. There was a pause.

  “All right.”

  Milan watched him get a book from one of the shelves, not even having to search for it. Raphael sat down again, flipping the pages tenderly before stopping.

  He took a deep breath and with that low, soothing voice, started reading about love.

  He read about love as if it were nature. As if it were a force that you would never want to escape. As if it were the mud and the trees and the wind and the moonlight that is cast down upon your naked body. As if it were the air you breathe and the blood that rises inside you. As if it were something beautiful, and giving, and all-encompassing. A catharsis, like screaming and crying and finally acknowledging your suffering.

  Something intimate. Something burning. Something warm.

  Milan could tell by the sound of Raphael’s voice that these were worlds he had believed in completely but doubted now, even as they moved him.

  Milan wished desperately at that moment to have the chance to make Raphael read them with conviction once again.

  When it was done, when the echoes of Raphael’s voice inside Milan were starting to settle, Raphael closed the book gently, avoiding Milan’s eyes.

  If only Milan had met him years ago, before Jack. If only…

  Milan got out of his chair, moving slowly towards Raphael, who was looking at him now. When he reached him, he took hold of Raphael’s hand gently and lifted it up to his lips as Raphael had done a few days ago. Milan felt the tremor that went through Raphael.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me,” Milan whispered against his knuckles, for he knew what Raphael had expected—or what had happened in the past.

  Mockery. Contempt.

  Raphael closed his eyes, and Milan took pity.

  “Should we take a walk?”

  “All right.”

  It was not long ago that the clasp of their hands meant nothing but necessity. Now, as they walked together in the open air, Milan felt it was so much more.