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Tyler had never actually heard Jamie purr. It was the strangest goddamn thing. The realization hit him out of the blue as he downed the fourth beer of the night, the entire team crowded in a booth to celebrate Dicky’s first NHL goal.

Squashed as he was in between the other two omegas on the team, the contrast was particularly stark. Dicky hadn’t stopped purring since the game ended, and Sharpy had such a strong sympathetic trigger that even just being around another omega was enough to set him off. Some days, it felt like Sharpy was trilling more often than not.

Not that Tyler minded. He was a touchy-feely guy and it felt good, as an alpha, to be around a contented omega. With them being so close, he could even feel the vibration straight from their ribcages and against his skin, which was a mindfuck and a half. The whole experience was sort of like being hit over the head with an incoherent buzz of giddiness, like being tipsy but a thousand times better.

Around the table, the other alphas on the team were having similar reactions. Both Val and Oduya looked halfway between stoned and lost in a meditative trance, and their latest call-up, Oleksiak, hadn’t stopped staring at Dicky all night. Tyler made a mental note to keep the rookies away from one another, just in case.

And yet, despite him and Jamie having lived in each other’s pockets for almost three years now, he’d never heard Jamie purr. Not that he believed that he was entitled to hearing an omega purr, or some backward shit like that! But, well, it was just a bit unusual. A lot unusual, to be honest.

Omegas purred when they felt safe or comfy, or if they were particularly happy – sure, some did it more and some did it less, some were more private about it and some would broadcast it to everyone within ear reach, but they all did. It was just biology. Did Jamie not ever feel happy or secure around the team? Around him? He didn’t mean to sound too full of himself, but that was beyond absurd.   

Right then, Jamie staggered back to the table, derailing his train of thought. “Bought a round for the rookie!” he exclaimed as he lowered the large tray of clear shots he was holding onto the table already littered with empty glasses, careful not to spill any.

He squeezed himself right up against Jason – and consequently against Tyler – and noogied him roughly, drawing a muffled complaint and a round of jeers around the table, balled-up napkins getting thrown in their direction.

When finally Dicky had gotten himself free, now significantly more disheveled and laughing too hard to keep purring, Jamie glanced straight at Tyler, a glint of something unrecognizable in his huge cow eyes as he looked up to him from underneath his stupidly long eyelashes. Tyler took in the familiar flush of alcohol high on his cheeks and the way his lips parted as he breathed heavily through his mouth.

It made something instinctive coil in Tyler’s stomach, hot and tight, before he could push it away. It didn’t mean anything, he reminded himself. It was just alpha instinct. His self-control went to shit after a few drinks and getting double-teamed with omega trills at such close distance. He forced himself to keep his breathing shallow, violently tamping down on the creepy knothead impulse to lean in and sniff at Jamie’s neck. That would just be– no. He’d already shot his shot there and gotten nowhere.

“To our boy! And to making the motherfucking playoffs!” Sharpy crowed with drunken cheer, listing more heavily against Tyler’s shoulder until all he could smell was the eye-wateringly sharp peppermint of his scent.

Tyler turned his head towards it, breaking eye contact with Jamie. It was a welcome distraction. Sharpy smelled strong enough that it washed out Jamie’s subtler scent of clean sheets, dampening the primitive impulse to plant his nose into Jamie’s scent glands and bite down. It wouldn’t do any good to sniff around his very uninterested captain and embarrass himself.

God only knew how much he’d humiliated himself during his first few months in Dallas, falling over himself to make courting gesture after courting gesture only to receive blank stares and the occasional nervous twitch of the eyebrows in reply. Whatever, he was over that. Sort of. Jamie and he were friends.

“Time for someone to get back to his wife, I think. Old man can’t handle his alcohol anymore,” Oduya sniggered, but still took a shot glass and slid it over to Sharpy when he made grabby hands for one.

“Alright guys,” Spezza stood up with a grunt of pain just as Patrick downed the vodka without any hesitation, “I’ll take this one home. Enjoy the off day, and we’ll see you at practice.”

Tyler helped him up as a chorus of goodbyes went around the table, a few more of the older marrieds also making their excuses, and watched him stumble out, holding onto Spez to stay upright and intermittently letting out almost aggressively loud purrs.

The now half-empty booth was silent for a second until Eaks made a considering noise. “Man, Sharpy purrs a lot, doesn’t he?”

Tyler couldn’t really help the way he immediately turned to look at Jamie and Jason’s reaction to that comment, though at least he wasn’t the only one to do so. It wasn’t really considered good manners to talk about omega biology, even amongst the general crudeness of locker room culture. They’d all gotten the same equality and anti-discrimination seminar at training camp (which had basically boiled down to a combination of don’t harass the omegas and don’t hook up with the omegas), and that shit didn’t fly with the League.

Dicky turned a bit squirrelly, his fingers twitching against the empty beer glass in front of him, but it was Jamie who had the more visible reaction between the two. He did a one-eighty from loose and buzzed to locked up, frowning deeply and schooling his media face in place. Not even his generic low-energy media face, but the kind he’d put up for a scrum at the end of a blowout to extend a two-digit losing streak. That media face.

Tyler braced himself for the angry lecture that was about to come, stifling down deep the itching need to bare his teeth against Eaks for daring upset Jamie. He wasn’t his, no matter how many times he daydreamed about it. Even if he was, there was no place in the twenty-first century for that kind of macho bullshit, nevermind amongst teammates.

It was not Jamie, however, but Stephen Johns who replied first, “Not cool, dude. You know he can’t control that, don’t be a dickhead.”

Eaks shrugged, unconcerned by the negative reaction his comment had elicited, “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s actually quite nice to know that he’s fit in so well with the team that he’s purring all the time, you know?”

“Good for team morale,” added Daddy, getting a few nods around the table.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler saw Jamie drop the defensive stance, shoulders sagging and losing the frown. He still didn’t look as happy as he had before Eaks opened his fucking mouth, but at least he didn’t look poised to start a dynamics-based fight in a bar anymore. Unconsciously, he mirrored the posture, relaxing back against the backrest of the booth.

He guessed they weren’t wrong – purring did have a positive effect on cross-dynamics group interactions. Or at least, so the experts said. Tyler didn’t know anything about any of that, but his last girlfriend had been a psychology major and she’d been really into explaining all the weird-ass theories she’d learned in school about how betas’ and alphas’ behavior deteriorated towards aggressiveness when not exposed to omegas.

It was all bullshit if you asked him. The league had done perfectly fine with only alphas and betas before Kariya smashed the glass ceiling in 1993. And the late 90s Red Wings had an all-alpha superteam and they won back-to-back Cups with it, so. Nobody had asked him, though, so whatever.

It didn’t matter what Tyler thought about that, anyway. He was paid to whack a puck around on the ice, not think hard thoughts.

The conversation moved on to lighter topics, from Kobe Bryant to everyone’s Worlds plans and passing through comparing the rookies’ chances for the Calder, but an undercurrent of unease remained, killing off the laidback vibe. People started to trickle out until it dwindled down to him, Klinger, the Benns, and Dicky, although Dicky was nodding off into his latest drink.

“Do you want me to take him home?” asked Klinger eventually, gesturing towards the kid.

Tyler glanced down at him at the same time as Jamie did on his other side. It felt overwhelmingly domestic, to have their omega rookie nestled between them and smelling like a combination of Jamie’s sun-dried laundry and his own earthier notes. His heart swooped below his feet as he imagined what it would be like to let those scents mingle directly onto Jamie’s skin – onto Tyler’s skin – undiluted by anyone else.

He paused to swallow hard. Fuck. That stupid crush of his was getting completely out of control. He was used to wanting and not having, to shoving his desire to a corner of his mind and not thinking about it. But at times like this, when his walls were down and Jamie hit him with a look or a smile or just existed too close to him, it was almost overwhelming to want and not have.  

“I think we can handle him, right Chubbs?” replied Jordie, making Jamie swirl around to face him and breaking the spell.

He nodded, “Yeah, we’ve got him, thanks, Klinger.”

Jamie slung an arm around Dicky’s shoulders (close enough that Tyler could almost feel the heat coming off his skin). The kid barely even reacted except to tuck his head almost under Jamie’s armpit and let out a single, subvocal little trill. But where Tyler would have expected any other omega to mirror the sound and let out a purr of their own, Jamie just inhaled sharply, as if preparing to sneeze, and then held his breath for a few long seconds.

It was far from the first time he’d seen him do that. In fact, thinking about it, it was not uncommon for him to just hold his breath for a few too many seconds at a time before exhaling. Maybe some type of breathing exercise? He wasn’t sure, but he’d stopped paying much attention to it; it was far from the weirdest quirk Jamie had.    

Talking about quirks – had he already mentioned that he’d never heard Jamie purr? Like, ever? Because, man, what the fuck. Tyler was almost ashamed of himself for not realizing it until now, mid-way through their third season together.

***

He started paying more attention after that. After goals. After hat-tricks and shutting other teams out. After scraps on ice that made Jamie smile all shark-like and exhilarated and made Tyler go a bit weak at the knees. At team outings or barbecues with just him and Jordie and the dogs. Every time he went over to their place to play videogames or just to mooch off Jordie’s superior cooking skills. He kept watching and waiting for the purring to come, but it never did.

Sure, sometimes he’d get all glowy and droopy-eyed the way omegas did when the purr was on the tip of their tongues, but then he would just squeeze his eyes shut and hold his breath for a few moments before continuing on as normal. It was driving Tyler insane.

And, well, Tyler wasn’t exactly known for his constraint or his patience, really. He was more of an instant gratification, pleasure-before-duty kind of guy. He only lasted a couple of weeks with his uncontrollable curious itch before he burst.

He waited until he was sacked onto the Benns’ couch in a post-lunch slump, absently scrolling through his phone as they watched a shitty Tim and Sid debate on whether Virtanen’s two-game suspension was a sign that omegas didn’t belong in a high-intensity, high-aggressiveness game like hockey. Like they hadn’t had this exact conversation two weeks ago when Landeskog had gotten himself suspended. Or when Marchy had, two months before that.

Jamie had fled to a bathroom break as soon as the talking heads had introduced the topic, because his two moods when it came to omega issues in the NHL were either complete avoidance or extreme hostility. It left a cold chill where he’d been pressed along his side from shoulder to toe, but it was worth it when he realized that it left him in the company of a scowling but engrossed Jordie.

“So,” he kept his eyes trained on the TV to avoid facing the awkwardness he felt about asking such a private question headfirst, “How come Jamie never purrs?”

Jordie gave him a weird, baffled look, “What are you talking about, dude? Of course Jamie purrs.”

Well, that was news to him, but it made sense that Jordie, of all people, would have heard him make at least some noise that could be cataloged as trill-like before. Maybe he was like one of those incredibly private nutjobs that thought that purring was only acceptable around family and lovers? Not that Jamie struck him as the type. Literally nobody in their right minds thought like that anymore; it was neither natural nor healthy to suppress purring.

“I mean, he doesn’t really purr in public? Or, like, around the team?”

“Uh,” the confused look on Jordie’s face intensified, “He does? Not super often like Sharpy or anything like that, but he does.”

The embarrassment that had been simmering inside of him flashed bright and deep, turning into something sharper and more painful. So it was just him that Jamie didn’t purr for. That was… Cruel. Humiliating. A blindside hit he would have never been able to anticipate in a million years. His instincts were screaming at him that this would be a good time to curl up into a ball and die, because holy shit, he was a pathetic excuse for an alpha.

Of course the lack of purring was a Tyler-thing and not a Jamie-thing, what sort of broken omega didn’t trill? He couldn’t stay here. There was no way he could keep looking Jamie in the eye knowing that he felt uncomfortable (that he felt unsafe) around him and always had.

This put a lot of things into horrifying perspective – especially how maybe those overtures when he’d first arrived in Dallas had done more damage than he’d thought. He’d just been so caught up in his immediate attraction that he’d never really stopped to think that maybe Jamie wouldn’t appreciate his courting gifts or his attentions. How much of a dumb fuck was he that he never realized Jamie felt this way? He needed to–  

“I need to go walk the dogs,” he blurted out, jumping up from the couch and fleeing the flat before Jordie could do more than call after him in confusion.

***

The problem with avoiding Jamie was that, realistically, there was no way of actually avoiding Jamie. He would be lying if he said that seeing him in practices and video and all the fucking time during away games didn’t make him feel like there was a cement brick crushing his chest, but he at least owed it to him to try and stay as far away as possible.

So he tried. He ignored his usual seat on the plane – right across the aisle from where Jordie and Chubbs sat, in the middle of the cards table – and bunked at the front with Nemeth, Faksa, and whichever bits and bobs they’d called up from the Texas Stars that day. When Klinger whined about losing his cards partner, he boisterously bullshitted about imparting his veteran knowledge on the rookies. He sat as far away as possible during team meals and video reviews. He avoided friendly checks and tackles during practice. He didn’t go over to the Benns’ anymore.

He did start doing his laundry more (like, a lot more), which he guessed was the silver lining in the entire situation. It was only because the smell of laundry detergent reminded him vaguely of Jamie, although there was too much lavender and not enough smell of clean-home-sun that was all Jamie’s. If he sunk his nose into the freshly dried pillowcases to fall asleep or to jerk off, well… Nobody had to know.

It was possible that his attempts weren’t as subtle as he thought, maybe more so because he’d been visibly mopey, because he could sense the rest of the team scratching their heads about the new distance between the two of them.

Jordie, in particular, had taken to shooting death glares at him from a distance, also hopping onto the silent treatment train. He had no idea what Jamie thought about any of it because he was carefully not looking in his direction. It wasn’t like he approached him or anything, so either he’d caught on to the fact that Tyler didn’t want to speak to him or he was enjoying his new Seguin-free existence. He was betting on the latter.

Spez had even approached him to outright ask him if they’d had a falling out or something, which Tyler had floundered to find an appropriate answer to. Jason was a beta, so he couldn’t really understand any of the nuances that came with scent attraction and wooing and alpha/omega interactions, but he would sure as fuck know that it was a big no-no to act as Tyler had towards an omega teammate.

And, well, Tyler was ashamed of his own behavior, but he didn’t want to air his sins to the rest of the room, not now that he was finally settled in and thriving with his new team. So he made up a flimsy excuse and felt like an even bigger piece of shit alpha, but at least Spezza wasn’t looking at him with disgust.

He wasn’t sure the situation was sustainable, really. He’d gotten so used to having what his body perceived as his omega (nevermind that Jamie wasn’t anything of the sort) near him that the distance ached physically, almost like a bone bruise in his entire body. His hormones weren’t doing great either. The team doctors had called him in for an extended check-up after his latest bloodwork returned with wildly elevated testosterone values, but he’d told them nothing had changed in his sexual habits or stress levels, leaving them with a limited number of leads.

It all came to a head three weeks in. Tyler was lazing in Dallas’ April heat after morning skate, watching the dogs chase each other around and occasionally throwing a ball for them to chase from where he was soaking up the sun on the patio, when he heard footsteps crunching around the grass behind him. Marshall and Cash perked up in the direction of their guest, tails wagging excitedly but not interested enough to actually drop the stick they’d found to come looking for scritches. He froze as his nose caught up to his ears and hit him with a heavy waft of detergent and line-dried laundry.

“So,” Jamie stated as he let himself fall onto the chair next to him with a grunt and a deep frown, sounding lost, “What did I do?”

His heart twisted unhappily, jarred by the hurt in Jamie’s voice. He wanted nothing more than to gather the omega up, nestle him into his bed, and pamper him until he was glowing and purring. That last instinct was an unpleasant reminder that Jamie was probably only doing this check-in out of captainly duty, rather than actual desire.

In some ways, Tyler guessed that they really did need to clear the air between them. He’d have a lot of apologizing to do, but he could cope with that. Perhaps, with time and repeated exposure, Jamie would come to trust him more and Tyler would get over his stupid, stupid crush.  

“It wasn’t you, Jamie.”

“Bull-fucking-shit,” Jamie snorted, crossing his arms tight against his chest.

His usual mellow expression was nowhere to be found, replaced by a glower he’d only ever seen directed against him once before. Almost a year ago to the day, actually, when he’d been scratched from the last game of the season for being late to practice. Jamie had still won the Art Ross, because of course he had, but it had been so disappointing not to be able to help him, and for such a stupid reason at that. He’d been so fucking pissed at Tyler, he hadn’t spoken to him for the first half of that off-season.

He shrugged helplessly. It was all in the spirit of honesty, wasn’t it? Turning a new page and all that. “Look, I was just made aware of the fact that I was maybe making you uncomfortable, okay?”

“Uncomfortable?” one of Jamie’s massive hands scratched as his stubble the way he always did when he was taken aback by something and needed some time to think of a reply, “You mean more uncomfortable than having to explain to half the team why my A – who is also my liney, by the way – suddenly decided to ditch me?”

By God, did Tyler hate this conversation. Fucking Jamie and his fucking naïve cluelessness. It was cute when he turned it onto other people, playing dumb just to force them to say things straightforwardly, but it wasn’t nearly as fun to be on the receiving end of that particular trick.

“Uncomfortable about coming on to you too strong, I mean.”

Jamie’s already massive eyes turned the size of the moon. He inhaled sharply, holding his breath for longer than he ever had before he was forced to exhale with a long round of coughing that made his eyes water. “What did you just say?”

“For fuck’s sake, Jamie,” he said through gritted teeth, feeling his face heat up with a blush, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry about trying to court you when I first moved here, I know that must have put you in an awkward spot. And I know my feelings for you are inappropriate, but I’m trying, okay? I just need some space.”

“No!” Jamie made a half-aborted gesture towards him that made him instinctively rear back, fearing a punch, “I don’t want space! I thought… You still like me?”

Tyler tried to pick out something – anything – that could help him decipher what the fuck was going on through that birdbrain of his. Was he pissed off? Realistically, he probably should be, but he didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked kind of… happy? He had certainly perked up considerably, his eyes twinkling. He had no idea what to do with that.

“Yes?” he wondered if this was when he got his nose punched in.

“Holy shit, Seggy,” he murmured before he started holding his breath again. Tyler counted up to thirty-one before he exhaled, only to start holding his breath again for another forty-one counts. That was one whack-ass breathing exercise he was on, he thought for the millionth time.

“Tyler, listen to me: I wanted you to court me,” Jamie continued finally, looking close to vibrating out of his skin.

His mind emptied out completely, any semblance of conscious thought taken over by white noise. He was pretty sure his mouth had dropped open, but he had no control over any of his limbs anymore. He what?

“But–” Tyler spluttered indignantly, “But I did court you. For months! I kept bringing coffee and food and asking you out and you gave me nothing.”

Jamie flushed a sudden and violent shade of red, immediately tucking his face down to stare a hole in the grass. He mumbled out a reply that was far too quiet for Tyler to hear, and then cleared his throat.

“Look,” he started before letting out a long sigh, “I’ve never had an alpha try to court me before, okay.”

And then, lower and a lot bitterer, he added under his breath, “Surprise, surprise. Can’t believe that one.”

Which– for the record? Tyler didn’t believe that for one second. It was ridiculous of course, because, Jamie? A prime, grade-A hunk who literally had to shoot down multiple alphas every time they went out. Sure, maybe he didn’t look like the stereotypical dainty, pretty omega, but so fucking what? He was fucking hot as shit and Tyler was into everything about him. Well, actually, he’d be down for less hair gel, but that was beside the point.

Tyler opened his mouth to give him a piece of his mind, but before he could Jamie continued again, “I was so into you when you first moved here and I thought it was wishful thinking, you know? That you were just being friendly. And by the time I realized you were courting me… Well, actually Jordie had to convince me, but that’s not the point. By that time you’d already stopped giving me gifts, so I thought I was too late. And then you got a girlfriend so it didn’t matter anyway.”

Tyler stared. And then he stared some more. Was brain whiplash a thing? Because if so, he’d surely gotten it right then and there. There must have been something wrong with his ears, though, because that sounded like Jamie was also into him? Or had been?

Jamie chuckled, but he didn’t seem particularly amused, “Seggy, I’m pretty sure people can see my crush from another galaxy.”

Fuck, had he said that out loud? And then Tyler’s head reared back as he realized what Jamie had just said. Holy shit, Jamie had been into him. Jamie was still into him? But that wasn’t possible, was it?

“That’s impossible. You’ve never purred in front of me!” he exclaimed, more accusing than was probably warranted. But none of this made any sense, and surely if his stupid crush had been reciprocated all this time, he would have known. There would have been signs – flirty looks, subtle attempts at scenting, loud purrs meant to entice a potential mate and tell him he was doing a good job with providing.

It was Jamie’s turn to look stunned, “What are you talking about, I purr for you all the time! An embarrassing amount, actually. I thought you were just ignoring it to be nice because you didn’t feel the same way.”

“Jamie,” Tyler closed his eyes for a second, trying to recalibrate. This whole thing was starting to feel like a bad practical joke. “I have literally never in my entire fucking life heard you make any sound that could even remotely pass as a purr of any sort.”

“Well, yes, but that’s just because I hold them in.”

“You hold them in,” he parroted back at him. Scratch the brain whiplash, maybe it was a concussion. Tyler couldn’t remember getting one, but amnesia was a thing, no? And his current brain fog definitely fit the bill.  

Earnestness and uncertainty warred on Jamie’s face, his eyes flitting across his face to catalog his every reaction, “Yeah. Our uncle holds his sneezes in and when we were kids we thought it was the coolest thing, you know? He told us not to do it because it could burst a vein and we would get a brain bleed, but… Well, it’s hard to stop doing it once you’ve tried it. It just became sort of an automatic reflex to hold them in.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” he let out before he could help himself, befuddled. He’d had the feeling they were having two parallel conversations since the very beginning, but this was the last straw.

Jamie rolled his eyes, as if the connection were so fucking obvious. “When I presented, the first time I felt the need to purr I thought it was just a weird sneeze of some sort. So I held it in. And then I kept doing it because it was just easier. So yeah, it’s not a big deal. It’s not like I’m not purring, it’s just less noisy, you know?”

“Is that even safe?” he wondered aghast, itching to drag out his phone and start googling. That couldn’t be good for like, hormonal balance and shit. Was this common knowledge on the team? Why hadn’t the trainers done anything about it yet? And why hadn’t Tyler known about it?

And then, like being hit by a meteorite, a tiny lightbulb went off in his brain, “That stupid fucking breathing exercise! It’s not a breathing exercise at all, you’ve been purring this whole fucking time!”

Jamie groaned, dropping his face despairingly into his hands, “Can we please stop talking about my trills and move back to the important part of this conversation? Like the fact that we’re both into each other?”

Oh, yeah. Tyler wasn’t letting him forget that any time soon. He was going to court the shit out of Jamie. For a second time. He was absolutely on board with that plan. And wow, wasn’t that thought a mindfuck – Jamie liked him. And Tyler really, really liked him back.

But rather than tell him that, what came out of his mouth instead was, “Can I hear you purr?”

He immediately regretted asking, because that wasn’t something you just demanded of an omega, it had to be spontaneous. But the corner of Jamie’s eyes just softened in that way that made him melt and he shared a small quirk of a smile as he nodded.

It started the same as it always did, with a sharp inhale and an instant of pause. But then, instead of holding his breath, Jamie let it out. Tyler couldn’t help himself from instinctively reaching out for him as soon as the purring started. It was beautiful beyond anything Tyler had ever heard, a low-pitched hum that punched him in the gut and activated his brain into relaxing every single muscle in his body.

The next thing he knew, he had one hand firmly pressed against the front of his neck, one thumb insistently rubbing over his scent gland. It was wildly inappropriate, but Jamie’s scent just got stronger (sweeter), his purr never wavering or stopping at all.

And, wow. Holy fuck. The trill vibrated from his hand and tingled its way through the rest of his body, sturdy and self-assured like Jamie himself was. He had the best fucking omega in the world. Literal choruses of angels wouldn’t be able to compare to his omega on his worst day.

Tyler never wanted to spend a second without listening to Jamie purr ever again, but right then the need to kiss the fuck out of him took precedence. He threw himself straight into Jamie’s lap, swaying before being quickly settled by Jamie’s grip on his hips.

If he’d thought feeling the purr through his fingertips was awesome, it didn’t compare in the slightest to actually being able to swallow it down his own throat and feel it echo across his own vocal cords. The kiss was an open-mouthed messy thing, all tongues and teeth clacking against each other, and Tyler loved it so much he thought we might implode.

Eventually, though, the purring had to die down, since neither Tyler nor Jamie were allowing enough breaks to take a breath in. They were both panting, clutching at each other while Jamie insistently and repeatedly rubbed across the back of Tyler’s neck. Scenting him, he realized. How many times had this exact scenario played out in his head? Reality was a thousand times better.

“I’m going to woo the shit out of you,” he proclaimed once they’d finally caught their breaths, still sitting on Jamie’s massive thighs and with no intention of ever moving again.

Jamie smiled dopily, burying his face into Tyler’s neck and leaving the single, sweetest kiss straight on his scent gland.

“I can’t fucking wait.”