"You liked it."

Arion’s hand remained steady around the leather, his thumb tracing the buckle with a possessiveness that sent another shiver down Dean’s spine.

The collar sat snug against his throat, and Dean felt the last of his resistance crumbling like ash.

"You’re cruel," Dean whispered into the pillow, but his body betrayed him, arching back into Arion’s touch, seeking more of the weight that held him anchored.

"Only fair," Arion murmured, settling his hips flush against Dean’s, the slide of skin against skin making Dean’s breath stutter. "You’ve been torturing me for weeks. All those..." His teeth found the shell of Dean’s ear, biting just hard enough to make him whimper, "accidental brushes in the field. Leaning into me when you could’ve stood on your own. Making that sound when I pulled you back from the line."

Dean flushed hot, remembering.

He didn’t think Arion noticed.

In the chaos of fighting, with blood and ichor and the stench of infected beasts, he’d thought his reactions were lost to adrenaline and noise.

But Arion noticed everything.

He always had.

"The first time," Arion continued, his voice dropping lower, rougher, as his free hand traced down Dean’s spine, counting vertebrae with deliberate patience, "when I shoved you behind me to block a swipe, you went hard in your combat gear. I could smell it, Dean. Could smell you through all the rot and death."

Dean’s face burned hotter against the pillow.

He remembered it with painful clarity now that Arion dragged it back into the open.

The beast had broken formation faster than expected, claws already mid-swipe when Arion caught Dean around the chest and threw him backward behind the line of alpha agents. Dean had stumbled hard enough to hit the barrier post.

And then...

Arion standing in front of him.

Violent.

Protective.

Absolutely furious at the thing that had almost touched him.

Dean had nearly lost all coherent thought right there in the mud.

"Oh my god," Dean muttered weakly into the pillow. "You noticed that."

Arion’s laugh rumbled low against the back of his neck. "Dean, I nearly lost my mind."

"That was not my fault."

"You made a sound."

Dean covered his face with one arm instantly. "No."

"Yes."

"No."

Arion kissed the exposed curve of his shoulder, entirely too pleased with himself. "A very soft sound."

"I hate you."

"You were turned on because I protected you."

Dean groaned into the bedding. "Stop saying it out loud."

"Why? You’re blushing so hard I can feel the heat from here."

"That is because you’re weaponizing memory during a vulnerable biological event."

Arion’s hand slid slowly down his waist again, broad palm warm against overheated skin. "You leaned into me the rest of the day."

Dean froze.

"...I did not."

"You absolutely did." Arion sounded delighted now. "Every time I touched your back to move you away from a breach point, your scent spiked."

Dean wanted to dissolve into the mattress permanently.

The worst part was that Arion was right.

He remembered the horrible flutter low in his stomach every time Arion guided him physically during the season. A hand at his waist. Fingers against the back of his neck. Arion stepping too close while shielding him from a collapsing beast line.

At the time, Dean had blamed adrenaline.

His omega instincts, apparently, had been writing a completely different report.

"You’re unbearable," Dean accused while being very aware of his cock dripping on the sheets.

"And you’re sensitive right now."

Arion proved it immediately by tightening his hold lightly on the collar again while he put his cock between Dean’s ass cheeks.

Dean’s breath caught hard enough to turn into a humiliating little gasp.

Arion went still behind him.

Then Dean felt the alpha smile against his shoulder.

"Oh," Arion murmured. "That does something to you."

Dean buried his face deeper into the pillow. "I’m going to die."

"No, you’re not."

"You sound optimistic for a man discovering new psychological weaknesses in his mate."

Arion kissed the bond mark at the back of his neck again, slower this time.

"I already knew your weaknesses."

Dean shivered.

"That is deeply threatening."

"You like when I take care of you." Another kiss. "You like when I pull you back from danger." A pause while Arion’s fingers stroked once beneath the leather collar. "And apparently you like when I tell you what belongs to me."

Dean’s entire body reacted before his pride could.

Heat rolled through him, sharp enough to ache, sleek, covering his thighs and Arion’s member.

Arion exhaled softly behind him, clearly feeling it too.

"This," Dean informed the universe hoarsely, "is the worst moment of my life."

Arion laughed quietly and pressed his forehead briefly against Dean’s shoulder blade.

"Is it?" His fingers tugging the collar just enough to make Dean feel it. "You admitted you loved me before, that you want me before... but you admitting liking my violence... Is making me want to..." He paused for a moment like he was savoring the moment, his gold eyes murky with the feral side of him, "devour you."

Arion’s voice had dropped to something barely above a whisper, but the word ’devour’ reverberated through Dean’s spine like a physical weight. He felt the alpha’s fingers tighten incrementally on the collar, reminding Dean exactly who had him pinned.

Dean’s mouth went dry. "That’s not—I didn’t say I liked—"

"You didn’t have to." Arion’s free hand slid down Dean’s trembling stomach, ignoring

his aching cock to grip his thigh instead, spreading him wider, opening him completely. "Your body is saying it for you. Every time I get rough, you go soft. Every time I shove you where I want you, you submit."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, mortification and arousal warring in his chest, but his hips jerked helplessly backward, seeking more.

Arion’s mouth found the bond mark at the base of his neck, licking over the sensitive skin; his eyes gone mad with desire. "Tell me to stop, then. Tell me you don’t want me to take you apart."

The command hung in the air, a test Dean couldn’t bring himself to pass.

"I can’t," Dean admitted, the words cracking open something vulnerable in his chest. "I want... you know I want..."

"Say it."

Dean’s pride screamed, but the heat building in his gut, the helpless arch of his spine, the way he was presenting without thought, all of it drowned out the last of his resistance.

"Take me apart," he whispered, the admission shattering him. "Please. I want you to devour me."