DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya
THE CALL OF THE WILD
RENEGADES
FOUR
AUGUST
Most of the clans had departed by mid-July, journeying back to their home territories to begin preparations for the winter. Fields needed to be tended and crops sowed; game needed to be hunted, skinned, and preserved; shelters and storehouses needed to be repaired and insulated; tools and weapons needed to be crafted; and—most importantly—territory needed to be defended. Every day, more packs left the sacred Standing Stones until it was as empty a field as before the summer festival. By August, Arthur's family was one of the only ones left. He had begged his four brothers to stay until his pups were stronger and had encountered little resistance. Scott had declared—while nosing Alfred's apple-round cheek affectionately—that they would stay put as long as necessary. (The newborns were already being spoiled by their proud and overindulgent uncles.) The food that Francis had left turned out to be a gods-send, since hunting was forbidden in the forest. It fed the family for a month before they started rationing their supply for the journey north. Finally, on the first of August, the remaining few families packed up their campsites and started for home.
The pace Scott set was slow, but by nightfall Arthur was exhausted nonetheless. He felt sluggish and hungry, his body still tender as it healed. He sat at the fireside feeding Alfred and Matthew, and this time nobody complained or cracked cruel jokes at his expense. This time, they let him rest. Owen cooked, which was—okay. Arthur devoured a bowl of lamb stew and immediately asked for seconds, while Scott rocked the two pups to sleep. They looked small in his big arms. By sunset, the Omega's eyelids were drooping and his head bobbed tiredly. "Art," Scott said, pushing the sleeping pups into his arms, "go to sleep." It was an order, but Arthur was only too happy to comply. Mechanically, he crawled into his sleeping-roll, holding the pups close to his warm body, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow. He only awoke twice: once by Alfred, who was hungry; and once by Alfred, because Matthew was hungry. If Alfred wasn't so vocal, Matthew wouldn't ever eat, he thought, feeling guilty about his quieter pup. Arthur nearly fell asleep sitting up as Matthew fed. The Alphas surrounded them, sprawled on their backs and bellies, soundly asleep. It'll be a while before I get to sleep through the night, Arthur predicted, eyeing his brothers enviously. Yet, he was grateful. If I was still all alone in that cave, I'd be—Actually, he considered his former paranoid state, I'd probably be dead. As he wiped Matthew's soft face and settled back down, he absently shifted closer to Scott's body. It made him feel safe and comfortable—that is, until Scott roused him at sunrise. Then he went back to hating Scott just a little.
On the third day, Patrick sprinted back to their temporary campsite in excitement. Bored, Scott had sent him to scout the road ahead. His young face was bright-eyed and flushed when he gasped: "Raiders!" He pointed eastward. "Not a mile away! They've got a family cornered in a ravine, an Alpha with an Omega and two pups!"
Scott and Owen leapt to their feet. Scott grabbed a knife; Owen, a bow. "Stay with them," Scott ordered Liam and Patrick, waving back at Arthur. The twins scowled. "I said stay!" Scott growled, snapping his teeth at them when they followed. They weren't big, but they were brave for ten-year-olds, and rather capable. They had been taught well. Both grabbed eagerly at fishing-spears, ready for their first real battle.
"There's five of them and they're big," Patrick reported. "You need us."
"I need you to stay with Art!"
"Go ahead," Arthur interrupted. He had already bundled his pups into the basket, covering them with the old tartan. "I'll be fine. I'll hide."
Scott started to protest, but just then a pup's high-pitched shriek echoed across the foggy moors, followed by the howls and mean-sounding growls of a fight. It urged the party of Alphas into fast action. "Stay out of sight!" Scott snapped as he departed, leading the others eastward toward the cries of distress.
Arthur needed no instruction. Leaving everything else behind, he took the basket and jogged into the forest. It was a deciduous forest, offering less cover than the evergreens did, but Arthur found a canopied copse of trees, one of which was hollow. It stood at the base of a dry gully, dipping below the higher banks. He climbed down cautiously, sniffing for rodents and other animals that could hurt his pups. He caught a vague Alpha-like scent that seemed kind of familiar, but it was faint and the Omega's nose was not sensitive enough to discern it, so he disregarded it. The base of the gnarled tree showed signs of digging, but otherwise it was deserted. Arthur was conscious of the fact that he was cornering himself if he was found, but he knew that he couldn't run. Instead, he shoved the pups' basket half into the hollow tree; the roots prevented him from hiding it completely. Then he searched for a sizable branch he could use as a club if needed.
Please don't be needed, he prayed.
Arthur crouched beside his pups, one hand petting their heads, the other clutching the club tightly. "Don't be scared, my darlings. It's okay," he cooed softly. "I'm here."
In the distance, he could hear the terrified cries of someone else's pups. And he shivered.
Francis stood barefoot in a cold stream, his trouser-legs rolled up to his knees as he scanned the clear surface for the shadow of fish. His hands hovered inches above the rippling water, curled into claws, ready to strike as soon as he saw movement. He was starving. His stomach growled loudly in encouragement and absently he licked his lips. He struck quickly, squeezing the life from his unsuspecting prey. The fish wriggled as he pulled it out of the water, but he held it tight. He had to stop himself from sinking his teeth into its scaly body, wanting to taste its blood, its flesh. I'm turning into a barbarian, he thought in disgust. He had prepared a small fire to roast the fish before consumption, which was on the bank close by. But just as he was wading to shore, a terribly familiar voice erupted from the forest.
Francis dropped the fish in shock. That terrified voice sent a chill down his spine. It growled; then yelped. He didn't even realize that he was running, barefoot with his trousers rolled up, until he was crashing through the thorny underbrush. The breeze whipped his face, his blue ribbon sailing behind him like a flag. He raced toward the sound of the confrontation, his heart pounding in fear. The closer he got, the more definable the Alpha's scent was. He was one of the Northerner's pack who had chased Francis off a few weeks ago. Francis spotted him as the trees parted. He was a pale-haired brute who easily outweighed Francis—or Arthur, whom he had cornered.
The Omega brandished a large branch clumsily in defence. The size of the club made him look pitifully small.
Francis couldn't see Arthur's face, his back was turned, but his voice was a fearful growl.
"Get away!" he snapped at the Alpha, who stepped closer.
Francis could see the Alpha's weathered face, and it infuriated him. The Northerner grinned fiercely, scaring the Omega by showing his canines. Instinctively, Arthur stepped back. The Alpha said: "My pack is short on Omegas." (Settlers always were.) "And here I find you hording two. It's just my luck. I'll take them back with me. You too, green eyes. You're not completely spent; you've got lots of pup-bearing years left. Come here." It was an order, not a request. The Northerner extended his hand. When Arthur tried to attack, the Alpha grabbed the club and flung it aside. It hit a tree and broke into thick splinters. "I said," he repeated, stalking closer and raising his fist, "come here!"
As the Northerner struck, Francis leapt in front of Arthur and blocked it. He snarled, fear becoming fury as he shoved the attacker back, off-balance. His lips pulled back, revealing his teeth in anger. He drew himself to his full height in an attempt to intimidate (or at least look evenly matched), but his appearance did not stall the Northerner for long. He retaliated full-force, angry that his abduction had been interrupted. His fists pounded at Francis, serving powerful blows that knocked the younger, slighter Alpha back. Francis kept his footing, but just. He was weakened by hunger and sleep-deprivation. He dodged more attacks than he served, using his superior speed to his advantage. He tried to draw the Northerner's attention away from Arthur, but every time he got too far away, the Northerner started toward the Omega, who refused to move. Why don't you run? Francis wondered in frustration. Can't you see that it's your only option? I'm giving you the chance to run! He didn't think he could hold the older, stronger Alpha at bay for much longer. But Arthur stood rooted to the spot in front of a very familiar hollow tree; the tree he himself had taken refuge by more than once. It was a place for hiding, not attacking. You fool! Francis worried. Distracted, he took a sudden blow to the head that sent him sprawling to the ground. He blinked rapidly, momentarily dazed. The angry Northerner advanced on him, intending to kill. Francis tried to rise, but his limbs trembled and he slipped. The other Alpha spat something in a foreign tongue that sounded like a threat, or a farewell.
Then the Omega jumped on his back.
Francis stared in bewilderment. Then he yelled: "Arthur—run!"
Arthur, of course, ignored him.
Stubborn, reckless Omega!
Arthur had snaked his arms around the Northerner's neck and was trying to choke him. The Alpha gasped as he whipped his body back-and-forth, trying to pry the light Omega off himself. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before he succeeded. He pulled Arthur overhead and threw him hard against a nearby tree. Arthur emitted a painful yelp and then lay unmoving.
"You little bitch!" the Northerner snarled. Marching forward, he reached for the still Omega. "You're going to be sorry you did that! I'm going to—"
"Die," said Francis, stabbing a splinter into the Northerner's jugular. "You're going to die."
Hot blood spurted from the lethal wound, splattering Francis, and the Northerner's body fell with a gurgling growl. It jerked, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he died.
But Francis didn't wait for the confirmation. He ran to Arthur's side and fell onto his knees, half-cradling the injured Omega as he tapped his cheek. "Please, wake up. Are you okay? Arthur—?"
Arthur groaned as he came slowly back to consciousness. His blonde eyelashes quivered. His eyes squeezed shut, and then opened slowly. It was a minute before he recognized Francis, but before he did he tentatively cupped the Alpha's stubbled cheek and his lips curled into an absent smile. His body relaxed. Then his gaze shifted and he spotted the Northerner's corpse, and he emitted a sharp gasp as reality hit. He shoved Francis and scrambled eagerly to his feet. It looked like he intended to run, so, fearing losing him, Francis grabbed him. He held the Omega's forearm as he pulled and struggled, trying to escape.
Arthur was speaking too fast: "Let go! Please, let me go!" he begged.
Francis thought that the attack had scared him. His face softened (though his grip did not). He wanted to tell Arthur that he was safe. That he, Francis, would protect him. That he, Francis, would not lose him again. But he never got the chance. Before he could utter a single syllable, a pup's cry erupted.
Francis hadn't noticed before, too focused on rescuing Arthur, but as he inhaled deeply, sifting past the other scents—the wet forest; small birds; the dead Alpha—he suddenly couldn't not smell the mild, baby-sweet scent of two pups. Two very young pups: newborns. On the surface, Francis could smell Arthur's Alpha-brothers, but it came from the fibre of an old article of clothing. That, mixed with the dry hemp-scent of a basket weave surrounded the pups, but it didn't penetrate their skin. He recognized Arthur's scent instantly, a discernible skin-to-skin touch, and the residue of the Omega's milk; he could smell Arthur's genes in the pups' blood. But it wasn't Arthur's alone. Aside from lacking any distinct qualities, or perhaps because of it, the pups smelled exactly like—
His eyes widened in disbelief.
Me. They smell like me.
In shock, he released Arthur, who ran to the hollow tree to quiet the crying pups. One cried loudly; the other whimpered in threat. Francis stood stalk-still, paralyzed. He couldn't move, or speak; his mouth felt dry. He stared in bewilderment as Arthur produced a basket from inside the tree and reached into it, cooing gently, trying to soothe two frightened newborns who did not want to be soothed. One of them wailed louder, encouraging the other. A powerful urge seized Francis then, which felt just as strong and natural as racing to Arthur's aid. Without conscious volition, he took a step closer. He wanted to see the pups. He wanted desperately to touch them, to hold them. He wanted them to know that he, Francis Bonnefoi, was their Alpha-father and that he would protect them. Like a sleepwalker he stepped forward, pulled by a primordial instinct that couldn't be explained.
Mine. My pups, he thought, feeling overwhelmed. I have pups. I have two pups. I—
"Stay back!" Arthur snarled.
The Omega stood in front of the basket with his arms spread to hide the pups from view. His body-language was reflexive more so than defensive, but Francis stopped as bidden. Arthur seemed to exhale in relief, but remained tense. He looked like he wanted to run, but his Lincoln-green eyes told a different story. He was small and weak, but if there was a more determined Omega in the world, Francis had yet to meet him. He would face the destruction of the world if it meant protecting those pups, Francis thought. He felt a surge of pride knowing that his pups—their pups—had such a dedicated and brave Omega-father.
"Arthur," he said gently. The Omega tensed, watching Francis' every move. In peace, Francis surrendered his hands. "I just want to know"—he knew; he already knew, but he had to hear the Omega say it—"are they mine?"
"Yes."
Francis felt his knees go weak, but he stayed upright (without leaping in joy). His face was not so disciplined, however. His lips widened into a shaky smile and tears of disbelief unwittingly filled his eyes. He swallowed. "Can I—see them?"
"No."
It took Francis a moment to register Arthur's refusal. "Why not?" He tried to keep the panic and anger from his voice, but when Arthur didn't reply, he repeated: "Why not?"
The louder pup shrieked.
Immediately, Francis felt guilty. Oh, no! No,chéri, don't be frightened! In a softer voice, he said: "Arthur, s'il vous plaît—?" and took a cautious step forward.
"No."
Arthur's body trembled; but from fear, grief, or anger, Francis didn't know. One thing was certain, though. Arthur couldn't fight Francis and both of them knew it. And that, he realized, is what frightened the Omega. If Francis decided that he wanted the pups; if he decided to take them, or hurt them, he could, and there was nothing Arthur could do about it.
Francis had heard several horrible stories about Alphas who refused to acknowledge their pups, because they rejected the Omega-parent, or because they didn't believe that the pup was truly theirs, or because they simply didn't want offspring. Regardless, it was shameful and socially unacceptable, but not unheard of for an Alpha to abandon his family. And, worse, it wasn't uncommon for the pack-leader, in that case, to order the rejected pup be killed (provided it was less than a year old). Francis had even heard the odd nightmarish tale of an Omega who murdered his own pup to satisfy an Alpha, or of others who did it to hide the evidence of an affair. In the past year, Francis had heard of what the Islanders called the Hunts, where clan-members had hunted and murdered the pups of their rivals. The horrors of it filled Francis with pure rage, closely accompanied by debilitating fear since he knew he had pups of his own. Lastly, he thought of the Northern Alpha whose corpse lay bleeding on the ground a few feet away, and how he had intended to abduct Arthur and the two Omega-pups to be used as breeding-stock for his pack. Considering all of that, there was no question as to why Arthur was nervous, perhaps rightfully so, but—
I would never, Francis thought in devastation. I would never take a pup from his Omega-parent, especially not my own—not Arthur's. I would never hurt a pup. I swear it. I just want to see them, please, Arthur. I don't want to hurt them, or reject them. I want to protect them. I want to love them. Please, I just want to see my pups.
"Please..." he whispered helplessly.
If Arthur refused, Francis knew that he wouldn't fight. He knew that he would leave without protest if that's really what the Omega wanted. And he knew, without a doubt, that it would break his heart.
But Arthur didn't refuse. This time, he said: "Fine."
Francis approached slowly, but it wasn't caution. It was nerves. He was eager, yet afraid to meet his pups for the first time; afraid, perhaps, that they wouldn't recognize him. Arthur's heart beat fast, fighting the urge to change his mind and yank Francis back. The Alpha passed within an inch of the Omega, but he barely seemed to notice. His gaze was focused on the woven basket that cradled the crying pups. He had eyes only for them. As he crouched, Arthur heard him inhale in awe, then exhale a breath of happy disbelief.
"Hello, my darlings," he said softly in French. "I'm so happy to meet you, my sweet pups. I'm your Papa."
Francis' words touched Arthur's heart, destroying his defenses all at once. He didn't understand the foreign language, but the implication in the Alpha's voice was unmistakable; the emotion was raw. Francis sounded so happy, which somehow made Arthur happy. He relaxed as he watched the Alpha greet his newborns, abandoning any fear he had harboured of Francis hurting or rejecting them. He didn't even flinch when Francis reached down into the basket to cup each pup's soft, round cheek. It seemed natural. It seemed right.
He's their Alpha-father, Arthur thought, feeling suddenly guilty that he had denied his pups for so long. My pups—our pups—need him.
As Francis' soft, indulgent voice and his gentle touch registered, the pups quieted. Matthew stopped whining almost immediately; Alfred stopped a moment later. It might have been their curiosity, or them recognizing a blood-relative—No, not just a blood-relative: their Alpha-father. Regardless, Francis' mere presence managed to achieve in a single gesture what it sometimes took Arthur hours to do. Both of the pups quieted. They trusted their Alpha-father. Instinctively, they knew him.
"What did you call them?" Francis asked without looking away.
Arthur swallowed; his voice felt weak. He knelt down beside Francis and patted each pup's blonde head as he spoke their names:
"Alfred and Matthew."
Francis tested the names: "Alfred and Mathieu. Yes, that's right. That's exactly who you are, mes chéris."
Then, deliberately, he looked at Arthur and the Omega suddenly felt the full weight of the Alpha's heartache.
"Please let me stay," he said. A tear fell unabashedly from his eye, landing on Alfred's pudgy little fist. "Please don't leave me again. Not now. I'll be whatever you need me to be, whatever you want me to be," he promised desperately. "But don't run, Arthur. Please, please don't take my pups from me. Please let me stay with them. Let me stay," he took Arthur's hand and squeezed it tenderly, "with you."
Arthur tried to fight the feelings that suddenly flooded him, but it was useless. He had been trying to run and hide for almost a year, but he had always failed, and now, staring into Francis' fathomless blue eyes, he knew why. He only had to admit it: He didn't want to. He had been running from something that he wanted; something that he and his pups needed. He could tell himself that accepting Francis had only been the decision of a desperate, Heat-crazed Omega, and back then he might have been right. But choosing to accept Francis now as a true pair-bonded mate made him feel just as desperate. He could tell himself that he was only accepting the Alpha because he had pups to support, but that would have been a lie. He was doing it now because he wanted to; because he had always wanted to; because he hadn't ever wanted anyone else. Francis, it had always been Francis. Arthur finally realized (privately, at least) that a part of him was undeniably, accidentally falling in love with Francis. And despite the odds, instead of it fading with time, that love was only growing stronger. Francis was no longer a memory that Arthur was afraid to remember. He was there: tall and strong and handsome, and begging the lonely Omega to let him stay.
Wordlessly, Arthur nodded and let Francis pull him into an embrace. He felt the Alpha's overwhelming relief and, before he knew it, he was crying and clutching at Francis' shirt. In reply, Francis held him tight. It felt better than what Arthur could have imagined. He didn't want to let go, and he didn't. Not for a long time.
Eventually, Francis pulled back. "Thank-you," he whispered. Spontaneously, he pulled the blue ribbon from his messy curls and tied it around the Omega's wrist.
It was a small gift, but it carried huge weight. In acceptance, Arthur said: "Don't make me regret this." It was a half-hearted joke, but the words rang true.
I'm trusting you, Francis, so please don't hurt us.
Francis seemed to sense the deep, innate fear in Arthur, a fear that would take time to heal, because at that moment he lifted the Omega's chin, and said very seriously:
"I promise."
Then Francis was kissing Arthur, and Arthur was kissing him back, and their two small newborns were quiet between them. And nothing else—not the past, present, or uncertain future—mattered. It was just them. And, finally, it was just right.
I can't believe I didn't realize," Francis said, shaking his head. He was pacing back-and-forth, gently rocking Matthew, who was asleep. "I should have smelled it. How did you keep it a secret for so long, from me, from everyone?"
Arthur glanced at the befuddled Alpha. "I took precautions." He shrugged as he re-dressed Alfred, who was wiggling like a beached fish. "I'm not stupid, you know."
Francis lifted an eyebrow, then conceded. "No," he smiled. "You are many things, chéri, but stupid is not one of them."
Arthur rolled his eyes. He tickled Alfred's belly, but the pup only yawned sleepily. His tiny pink tongue poked out and he produced a high-pitched mewling sound, which made Francis gush fondly. As the Alpha rambled on about how adorable his sweet, perfect pups were, Arthur resisted the urge to laugh. It was like Francis was trying to make up for lost time by cuddling his pups as much as possible. Since returning to the Kirkland's temporary campsite, Francis had been switching between Alfred and Matthew, wanting to hold one of them at all times.
"I want them to know who I am," he had said. "I want them to know my scent, my face, my voice."
It was unnecessary, Arthur thought. Both of the pups were perceptive; they knew their own family members. "They're not actually that brave," Arthur explained. The pups were relaxed in the presence of their blood-relatives, but they shrieked bloody-murder if a strange Alpha got too close.
You have nothing to fear, Francis. They already love you.
Just then, a loud howl echoed in the distance.
Francis flinched. "What was that?"
Arthur noted the way he clutched Matthew protectively. It made him happy. As he watched Francis move to stand defensively in front of he and Alfred, the Omega felt a wave of affection for him.
"That," he said, laughing as he lifted the blue-eyed pup, "was my brother. I guess they won the fight."
Francis paled. "Your, uh... brother?"
Arthur grinned wickedly. He leant up and pecked Francis' stubbled cheek. "Now I get to see how brave you really are."
The redheaded twins appeared first, racing each other over the rocky, undulating terrain; the next was Owen, who reached overhead, stretching and flexing his taut muscles; and then Scott, who stalked toward the campsite like a wolf on the prowl. In preparation, Francis passed Matthew to Arthur, who balanced both small pups against his chest. They were lightweight and fit comfortably; Arthur, too, loved holding them. He took a step back and watched his four brothers' steady advance. Even from a distance, the Kirkland Alphas visibly tensed when they caught Francis' scent on the wind. They recognized his scent from the Standing Stones, of course, but even more they recognized his blood, his genes, in their nephews. The revelation was clear on Scott's face as he neared, his pace increasing. When he was close enough, he growled a low warning. Arthur heard it; so did Francis, but the blue-eyed Alpha didn't retreat. Instead, he stayed rooted to the spot and waited for the head of the Kirkland family to reach him.
Scott stopped directly in front of Francis, just within striking distance. They made eye-contact for a minute, sapphire-blue eyes staring intently into fierce Lincoln-green, and then Francis bowed his head, showing respect and submission to Scott's higher position. Owen, Liam and Patrick stood close, waiting for Scott's verdict. They waited for a long time. Arthur started to feel nervous; Francis must have been terrified. Scott's face was unreadable, but nothing about his posture was friendly. His gaze slid from Francis to Arthur and finally landed on the ribbon tied around the Omega's skinny wrist. He exhaled and said:
"Ah, fuck."
He placed his hand on Francis' blonde head. "Welcome to the family, Mainlander."
That night, Francis watched over his sleeping Omega-mate and pups. It wasn't necessary. Arthur's four brothers were all there to guard them as well, and, precious as they might be, three Omegas did not need five Alphas to guard them. But even if Francis hadn't felt duty-bound to his new post as his family's protector, he couldn't have slept. He was too wired (elated was a better word). After a long year of wandering aimlessly in search of a place to belong, he had finally been accepted—not just into a clan, but into a family. They're so beautiful, he thought, staring down at Arthur, Alfred, and Matthew. The Omega was lying on his side, legs curled up and arms outstretched, cradling both pups. A big tartan blanket covered them like a cocoon. Francis sat beside them, feeling peaceful. When Matthew sighed in his sleep, his Alpha-father raised a hand to pet the pup's kitten-soft curls. The Kirklands had fed Francis, and Owen had even gifted him with one of his old shirts to replace the threadbare one he had been wearing for weeks. With a full stomach and a safe place to rest, all Francis wanted to do was lie down with Arthur and hold his family in his arms. He wanted to feel the Omega's body against his, soft and slight and warm. He wanted to bury his face in the scent of the Omega's wheat-blonde hair. He wanted to kiss the Omega's freckled skin.
For a year, Francis had felt like an addict desperate for relapse; desperate for Arthur's touch. He had dreamt of kissing him (and, uh, of doing other things...), and when it had finally happened again, when they had finally been reunited, Francis had taken full advantage. He had tried to communicate just how happy he was in that kiss, and now he was afraid that his vigour had scared the emotionally-distant Omega. Since then, Arthur had kept physical-contact to a minimum, though that could have something to do with his brothers' constant presence. (Despite his attitude, the Omega was adorably shy.) Francis could have ordered his Omega, but respectfully he refrained. He had promised long ago that he would not be a demanding, overbearing Alpha-mate. He would never force intimacy. It meant waiting out Arthur's unease, but he hoped it would be worth it (while, at the same time, promising himself to show his pups extra affection to ensure they grew-up to be more emotionally-available than their Omega-father and uncles).
"Je t'aime, mes chéris," he whispered to the pups.
Maybe it was a subconscious desire provoked by Francis' voice, but Arthur's lips parted and he sleep-talked in reply. Softly, he said: "Francis..."
"Yes, Arthur." He placed a hand on the Omega's blanketed shoulder. "I'm here."
Arthur's eyelids fluttered; half-asleep, half-awake. He said: "Come closer."
"An Omega shouldn't give his Alpha orders," Francis teased, while moving immediately to comply. Pleased, he laid down behind Arthur and, wrapping he and the pups in a hug, pulled the skinny Omega snug against his chest. Arthur arched his shoulders, then visibly relaxed. He sighed in contentment, not unlike his violet-eyed pup. Matthew instinctively turned his head, nosing Francis' skin; Alfred pressed his cheek to Francis' forearm, making Francis smile. The Alpha bowed his head and touched that smile tenderly to the back of Arthur's exposed neck. The Omega shivered.
"Don't leave," he said softly. And this time Francis was sure he was awake.
He pressed his lips to the shell of Arthur's ear, and whispered: "I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay right here as long as you want me. If you let me, I promise I'll take care of you and Alfred and Matthew forever.
"Je t'aime, Arthur."
