Page 36 of All Saints Day
I light the blunt and pass it to Q, who takes a deep drag in between dainty sips of his bourbon.
All of us are so painfully awkward, largely refusing to directly meet one another’s gaze—the gulf between us seemingly uncrossable.
While the bonding with Dennis is certainly a large obstacle to overcome, there’s also the fact that the rest of us Saints haven’t been intimate with one another since we were separated from Louise.
We had decided to suppress Quentin’s heat cycle in order to ensure he wouldn’t go under while we were without our pack sigma or an alpha. Without a reliable source for heat suppressant meds, however, it wasn’t guaranteed that we’d be able to carry on suppressing Quentin’s heats for long.
Even so, none of us has been able to access that part of ourselves since our parting with Louise, and if we’re honest with ourselves… with Frank too.
It was as if our bodies had somehow forgotten all the normal rhythms—the wants and desires of the flesh. Sure, Seb would hold me as I cried myself to sleep, and I would curl up with Q on the couch in the early mornings after we drank our coffee just to comfort one another.
As far as sex or even fooling around went? None of us had exactly been in the mood considering our circumstances.
“This should help spur things along,” Quentin titters nervously as he fits the plastic mask over his nose and mouth firmly.
Seb watches Quentin closely as he passes the blunt to Dennis—who takes it without thinking, but quickly moves to offload the weed back onto me.
“The psychotropic theta compounds you’re gonna getoff me are a class one, Denny. You sure you don’t want to hit this?” I tease.
“No, I’ve only done it a few times at music festivals, and I just get paranoid as shit,” he laughs nervously.
“Bummer.” I nod sagely, taking another deep drag as we all watch Quentin’s eyes flutter closed while he draws the pale blue mist into his lungs. “Hard to imagine you at a music festival,” I snicker, the smoke with its sweet funk already working to ease my nerves.
“You might be surprised at the kind of stuff I used to get up to in undergrad,” Dennis scoffs a laugh. “Oh, and Caz?” He lifts his glass and his chin toward me.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t call me Denny. Nobody calls me that. No one has ever called me that,” he laughs before slugging down more of his drink.
“Sure thing… Denny.” I wink at him, enjoying the moment of levity in all of this madness.
Dennis looks as if he’s about to serve my own teasing right back to me—when the atomizer and plastic mask drop from Quentin’s face to the edge of the table, his eyes open wide, pupils totally blown.
His scent is like a brick wall that rises up to meet us. Dennis and I crash into it headlong without time to get our bearings.
Rich Bulgarian rose, sweet sandalwood, and peaty scotch tendrils curl around us—crushing us with the force of Quentin's sudden surge in passion.
“Holy shit,” Dennis swoons—bracing himself against the edge of the coffee table, his eyes darting bashfully to his sudden powerful erection, one of his arms instinctively moving to press his arousal down and out of view as he remains nearly doubled over.
“Jesus,” I groan, Dennis’s clean, herbal alpha scent blossoming in reaction to Q’s perfume.
Even though I can’t be so easily triggered by the suppressantmelters, the black market ‘supplements’ I downed a few minutes earlier will help me start to produce the proper chemicals now that I’ve been exposed to Quentin perfuming as if he’s about to start a heat.
“Oh my,” Q sighs, sitting back into the couch—his eyes glassy as he takes in the sight of the rest of us, his lips parting as he pants slightly, a flush high on his cheeks.
“Mon dieu,” Seb growls, lurching forward to bring his face in close to the hollow of Q’s neck. “It has been a little while since we’ve been here,non?” One of his big, bronze hands closes over Q’s knee, creeping up his thigh.
Dennis’ lip curls back from his teeth in an unexpected snarl, his fists clenching bloodless white on top of his knees.
“You can tell it’s working, because all of my alpha instincts are telling me to rip Seb off of Quentin so I can fuck Q raw.” He swallows down his nearly overwhelming instincts. “That’s not going to help solidify a bite though, so I’m trying to get a grip.”
Seb looks like he’s about to fight Dennis about it—but Q slithers out from Seb’s grip and plops himself down between Dennis and I.
“Sebby, darling, come here—snuggle up on the other side of Caz, won’t you?” he purrs, and Seb is on his feet—hanging on every word of our perfuming omega.
I can feel myself begin to soften—that rosy haze settling over my vision as Q’s face drifts in toward mine.
“Hmmm, those sweet smoky poppies and dragon’s blood. We’ve all been so sour lately—even you, Cazzy dearest,” Quentin sighs, his tongue darting out to touch my lips, the tips of our noses touching. “But right now you’re sweet as can be, like a little dessert.” Q’s lips touch against mine, and I almost forget why we’re here—our grander purpose.
