Nathan scrubs his hand over his face and combs his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it into something that looks less like he has been dragged through The Hedge backwards. His mom had told him in no uncertain terms, “Herschel Nathan Aaron Greenberg it is an honour to be chosen by the Goddess like this. Your Grandmother is so proud of you.”
And it’s true, his bubbe is very proud, if a little confused. Hell, he is a little confused himself. Only the female members of his family, like his grandma and her grandma and her grandma, have ever been known to be Seers; they are the ones that the fae genes have been active in. The fae side has always been dormant in the males in the family. His mom has some gift of premonition, like knowing that it’s gonna rain even though the weather forecast says clear blue sunny skies, but the power his bubbe has, the sight, should have gone to his sister; except he doesn’t have one. And didn’t that lead to a revelation.
Turns out when his mom was pregnant with him, she was expecting twins. Only something happened and the twin sister he would have had didn’t make it. Her cells were ‘absorbed’ into him, making him both him and his sister.
But at least he isn’t going crazy like he first thought. Back when the dreams involving Stiles, and his pack of werewolves, started.
Not that Nathan had realised that they were werewolves, or that Stiles was Fae, or even Sidhe, let alone that he was a Viscount of the Unseelie Court; though he renounced that claim apparently, given that he is now King Tighearnach of the Sith Court of Beacon Hills. And while Nathan’s Fae heritage is stronger in him than any of recent relations, he’s nothing as lofty as Sidhe.
No, he’s only half-human, despite his parents both being more than three-quarter’s human.
His mom is one-eighth boggan as both her parents are. His dad is at most quarter satyr. And somehow, probably related to ‘cannibalising’ his twin in the womb, Nathan is quarter boggan and quarter satyr. Something he’s worked very hard to hide from society; trying to remain unnoticed and in the background. Especially at school. It’s not like he could openly state he was part fae anyway; the general public didn’t know about the non-human races. And his mom’s family are part fae from the Seelie Court, while his dad’s family are from the Unseelie Court. If anyone found out The Accords would have split the family apart, and neither Court would really have accepted him.
But the dreams started. Though that was after he walked in on them, Stiles and his werewolf pack, having an orgy in the bathroom. And didn’t that just pull at his self-control. He’s part-satyr for Goddess’s sake, and his father’s Fae blood comes from the Unseelie Court. Goddess, his infatuation with ‘Jackie’; though he knows better now and given that Jackson is one of the King’s mates that infatuation is a lot more under control.
Then after Aiden got that tattoo, proclaiming himself Stiles’ slave, the dreams become more bacchanalian in nature, followed by the dream where writing appeared flowing over his body and he woke in Coach’s economics class shouting in a language he didn’t even know.
Why wouldn’t he have thought he was going crazy. Nothing of this sounded like what his bubbe’s gift of the sight was like. It was certainly nothing like the intuitive foresight his mom displayed from time to time.
Then the supernatural world jumped out of the shadows and started showing the mundane world that “we’re all around you”. And the dreaming got worse; enough that he couldn’t sleep and couldn’t hide it from his parents. Luckily their family doctor was one that knew about the fae-blood they all carried, being part-fae herself, and after some tests declared that he wasn’t going crazy. The dreams were emergence of the sight as more of his fae DNA had become active. When he pointed out that only the female line of his family had the gift is when he found out about his twin that was never born.
And that he was born hermaphrodite and to fit in to mundane society his parents had elected to have surgery to make him male. The faded scars he believed were from having his appendix removed are actually from the removal of his “possibly not even functional” womb and ovaries. While he looks male, if you don’t pay his chest close inspection, he is actually non-binary. The flabby pecs he thought he had, are his breasts. So, he’s a ginger haired, non-binary, non-human, bisexual, social non-entity, that has somehow been chosen by the Goddess.
His parents better hope his balls are in working order because otherwise, having removed his other, ‘possibly non-functioning’, reproductive organs, he may end up being the last Seer in the family.
With the supernatural out in the open, and the new Accords signed, Stiles and the pack were forced out into the limelight. And having claimed the land that the town is built on, as it was owned by the werewolf pack, Beacon Hills became an independent sovereign state and the Goddess bestowed a crown on Stiles’ head; creating the Sith Court of Beacon Hills.
Every fae-blooded being in the county felt the change; somewhere they could belong.
But, it’s not the only change happening. The dreams haven’t stopped, he needs help. He needs someone to show him how to control this power.
He runs his hands over his face again, up over his brow, remembering to avoid the points on his forehead where his satyr horns are starting to form; he doesn’t want to break the skin again, they need to emerge naturally. Goddess he isn’t gonna be able to hide them when he starts senior year in a few weeks.
The doorbell rings and he can hear his mom answer the door. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he stands and turns to the door.
“My favourite aynikl,” the woman standing in the hall calls to him, “Come, give your bubbe a kiss.”
“Hi grandma,” he grins at her as he walks over, and hugging he gives a kiss to her cheek.
“Now,” she pulls back to look at him, “What’s all this narishkeyt about you not having control of your Goddess given gift?”
The young beta stretches up and pulls the book from the shelf, he turns and with book in hand he toddles back, swaying on unsteady feet as they rush, to where Scott is sitting on the chair with Cianan suckling at his breast.
“Oma read me,” he thrusts the book towards Scott.
“Michael, I’ll read to you once Cianan has finished feeding,” Scott informs his eldest child, “No-one interrupted, demanding all my attention, while you were feeding, did they?”
“No,” Derek smirks from the doorway, “But none of the other children are as demanding and insistent of your attention as this one,” he swoops in and gathers the two-year-old in his grasp, raising him into the air giggling as the book drops to the floor. Derek turns the child in his arms and supports him as he settles against him. That is until he notices that the book is no-longer in his hand. He pushes against his father’s chest and looks down to the floor.
“Dada,” he points at the book, “Book fell.”
“You want me to read to you while your Oma is feeding your cousin?” he asks, kneeling down to pick up the book, unsurprised to see it’s ‘The Tiger Who Came to Tea’; their son has a fascination with tigers. Michael looks at him expectantly. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s go find your brother and I’ll read to the both of you.”
“I think Lucas is colouring with his Oma-Isaac and his other brother and cousins,” Scott smiles up at his mate.
“In Isaac’s and Ethan’s nursery?”
Derek bends down and kisses the top of Scott’s head before he turns and heads out the door to find his other mate and sons.
Derek finds Lucas sprawled on the floor in Issy’s nursery with his half-brother Caden, half-sister Laura, cousin Iokua, and oma-Isaac. All of them laying on the floor on their stomachs drawing; well, as much as eighteen-month and two-year-old children can be said to draw. Isaac has his legs kicking in the air and still has his footed pyjamas on. Crayons are scattered all over the floor, as are sheets of paper.
“What’s all this mess?” Derek tries to sternly demand as he walks into the room with Michael on his hip, but he can’t keep the smirk from his voice.
“Dada!” Caden, Laura, and Lucas squeal as Iokua shouts, “Afa.” They all start trying to explain what they’re drawing at the same time.
“Daddy read tiger book,” Michael states once his siblings and cousin have quietened.
“Let’s tidy some of the crayons and drawings off the floor first,” Derek says, “And those that want to draw can continue to do so and those that want to sit with us and listen to the story can.” He looks down at Isaac adding, “Scott’s still feeding Cianan.”
“The rest of the kids are upstairs with Jackson, Ethan, Aiden, Danny, and Matt,” Isaac answers Derek’s unasked enquiry, “I haven’t had the chance to get changed yet.”
“Well, once I’ve read the story, and Scott’s free to come and take this lot up to play with everyone else, I’ll get you bathed and changed,” Derek says as he lets Michael down to the floor to help clear up the crayons.
“Thanks,” Isaac smiles at him, mouthing, “Daddy.” Derek kisses his golden-haired mate chastely on the lips, before they both join in to help with the tidying up.
Soon enough, Derek is sitting on the two-seater sofa, Michael on his lap, with Lucas and Laura beside him. Isaac is sitting at his feet, his head resting against Derek’s thigh and Caden and Iokua both sitting on his lap. Michael turns the pages of the book as Derek’s free hand cards through Isaac’s hair while he reads to them.
“Sophie opened the door, and there was a…”
“TIGER,” Michael shouts interrupting his daddy.
“Yes,” Derek, smiles, “A big, furry, stripy tiger.”
Stiles scrubs his hand over his face, stifling a groan of frustration as he sits back in the chair, his head resting on the top of the seat back.
“Change the report will not,” Drazin states from the other side of the desk.
“I know that,” the King of Beacon Hills sighs. He lifts his head from the back of the chair and looks at the report on his desk again. He’d rather be going over these in his office in his Sithen; but he has a meeting with the Board of Supervisors, all nine of them, to go over this report and he doesn’t want them coming into his Sithen. So, he’s stuck here at his official office in City Hall. It used to be the Mayor’s office, until he removed the position after the Goddess granted him a crown and his Sithen became the Sith Court of Beacon Hills. As King he didn’t want there to be any doubt that he ruled Beacon Hills and a position of Mayor would just have muddied the waters.
Beacon Hills is not entirely independent yet; Independence Day is scheduled for Friday January 16 th, 2015. This is only August, there are just over five months to go, meaning they are currently in a period of ‘transition’ while the bureaucracy of the federal government slowly disentangles Beacon Hills from the rest of the United States. Yet, in the six months since it was announced that sovereignty had been granted, over a quarter of the human population of Beacon Hills decided to move out. But that is not the problem facing him. There are nearly twice as many people looking to move in, some human but most are non-humans rushing to the first supernatural sovereign lands in the United States. Property prices are rising fast and there are not enough homes for the number of people moving into the city. There are a lot of homeless families suddenly in the city; who are all priced out of the housing market.
There are also more children than there are places for them in the schools, and that is only going to get worse; there has been a large spike in pregnancies in the county since he gained his crown. And that has only added fuel to the reports of him being a fertility god.
His thoughts are interrupted by Drazin indicating that the Board of Supervisors are waiting.
“So, instead of the population reduction that was imagined due to the Human First supporters leaving, we have an over-population problem because more people are moving to the city than are leaving. Not only that, those that are moving in either can’t find property to buy or rent, or they simply can’t afford it. And not one of you has been able to put forward a proposal to help solve the problem?” He glares at each of the Councillors sitting around the conference table. “What good is an elected board of advisors if you can’t offer any advice?” he forcefully asks them.
“It’s not as if we can suddenly build new houses to home the faithful that flock to the city,” Supervisor Valerie Brown of District Five retorts. He’s sure she is a Human First supporter that is just bidding her time to make as large a profit from the sale of her own home before she sells up and leaves Beacon Hills.
“No, no it’s not,” Stiles agrees, “However,” his tone turns harsher as he points out to all of them, “Most of the homes sold have been bought as second homes or with buy to let. They are either sitting empty as the owner will only be residing in them for as little as a month in the entire year, or they are being rented out at eye gouging rates.” He lets that sink in, and before Brown can make the statement of ‘well that is the pricing that the market demands’, he continues, “Those forced to live on the streets can’t get a job because they can’t afford to pay unreasonable rents, and there are jobs not being filled because the owners of most of the homes don’t actually live in them. This will stop.”
“How?” Brown demands.
“Quite simple, rent control,” Stiles smiles at her, “I am capping the rent allowed to be charged in the city, and I am also declaring that no home can be owned unless it is the owners’ primary residence and occupied at least ten months of the year.”
“WHAT?!” Brown’s chair topples backwards to the floor as she jumps to her feet, “You can’t do that!”
“Yes. I. Can.” Stiles decrees, “I will not allow anyone to be charged an unfair rent. It will be capped based on the average for the type of property and the size of property in the neighbourhood before Sovereignty was granted. And, I am not allowing neighbourhoods to become ghost towns with businesses closing because the nearby homes sit empty for most of the year…”
“You can’t force some left-wing communist liberal agenda on…” Supervisor Brown tries to interrupt.
“Also,” Stiles continues right over her, “I am decreeing that at least a living wage will be paid to all employees within Beacon Hills; I’m thinking maybe twenty dollars per hour.”
“You’ll put companies out of business…”
“What partners in a business take out as their salary is entirely up to them,” Stiles ignores the protests as he continues, “But if they pay themselves exorbitantly at the expense of their employees then they may well go out of business. But people need to be paid a wage that means they only need to work one job, not three, to keep a roof above their head and their family from starving. They need to be paid fairly…”
“Fairly?! How is paying some high-school dropout twenty dollars an hour to server you a burger and fries fair?!”
“Because for all you know the person serving you your burger and fries is working to pay for their college tuition while they try to ensure they don’t end up laden with debt before they even start their career and they are having to deal with an asshole like you looking down your nose at them while shovelling greasy fries into your stupid mouth,” Stiles fumes at the only person to have spoken out against anything he’s said so far, “Maybe you ought to find out what the real world is like when you don’t have mom and dad buying your education for you.”
“Shut up. I’m not finished yet,” he snaps, “There will be a new local tax, set at five percent of a person’s salary. This will be used to provide universal healthcare for every resident of Beacon Hills. Then there are other necessities like power and water; these will be taken out of private hands and owned and controlled by the Independent Supernatural Nation of Beacon Hills. The local power plant will be converted to a renewable energy source; solar, wind, hydro, the specifics will need to be investigated. The employees will be retrained as required…”
“I’m not finished,” Stiles practically snarls at Brown’s further interruption, “The rail and bus public transport in the city will be owned and run by the city. The abandoned rail track, stations and depot will be restored to working order. Now, there are also a lot of other abandoned buildings that are boarded up and have been left to crumble, like the mall complex and the First National Bank building, these are gonna be repaired; starting with the bank which I want with power and water up and running to give the homeless a safe space before winter…”
“And just how is all of this spending going to be paid for…?”
“Through minimal community taxes and,” Stiles smiles, “I will be reviewing the salaries paid to local government employees where that salary is above the state average. So, I’ll be starting with the Board of Supervisors, yours, to see just how you justify being paid more than twice the average.”
“You can’t interfere in the free market like this; this is America…”
“I can!” Stiles silences the dissent, “You are living in the Sovereign State of Beacon Hills. This land is part of the Sith Court of Beacon Hills, and I am King Tighearnach. The free market is all well and good for luxuries, but it is no place for the necessities of life. Something that is needed for someone to live, like fresh water, is not a commodity that anyone has the right to profit from. Meeting adjourned,” he stands and walks out of the room; exhaling as Drazin closes the door behind him. He turns his head and looks down to Drazin beside him, whispering, “And I thought the toughest thing I had to do this year was graduate high-school.”
Jordan will be glad when he’s finally allowed to work again; as a deputy in the sheriff’s department.
There has been a lot of resistance to him resuming his job at the sheriff station now everyone knows he isn’t human. His master’s father faced a backlash against him as sheriff for reinstating him. Even after Beacon Hills was granted sovereignty under the Independence Accords, became an independent Sith Court and Stiles its king. Even some of the non-humans that have moved in – replacing the humans that have left – are not keen on a Fire-Bane/Incubus hybrid working in the sheriff’s department. Even though he is collared; and it’s not easy to miss the collar. Like impossible.
No, even collared there are those that are afraid of him.
So, while the transfer of power from the State of California to the Náisiún Neamhspleách Osnádúrtha Chnoc Beacon as the Court Comhairleoir, Drazin, proclaimed it, is under way, Jordan is stuck behind a desk in the Sheriff’s office.
For now, the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department reports to the assigned liaison of the Marshal’s Office, who had taken over the offices in town that Agent McCall had acquired for the Special Investigation Division of the FBI, until Independence Day when the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department will report to the constitutional government of Beacon Hills. The head of the Sith Court; Stiles. Jordan is not sure how the Sheriff is resolving the dilemma of his son being his boss.
Right now, Jordan and the Sheriff are both sitting behind a desk going through resume after resume from people wanting to join Beacon Hills Law Enforcement; humans, fae, mages, hunters, and therianthropes – coyotes mostly but there is a jaguar, a tiger, and a bear too, but no werewolves.
Marshal Hanscum, their liaison, is helping them. Stiles insisted, given this wasn’t just about staffing the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Station; this is setting up a completely new department of law enforcement.
“So,” Hanscum looks up from the raft of resumes, “You’re gonna need to ensure you have people to cover the tasks that are currently handled outside of Beacon Hills.” Stiles had officially called their lands the Independent Supernatural Nation of Beacon Hills, but most people still just call it Beacon Hills. “Meaning, that as well as police officers, you’re gonna need correctional police officers, and special agents. They are all gonna need to know what the local sovereign laws are as they will take precedence over state.”
“There isn’t a correctional facility in Beacon Hills currently,” John states, though everyone at the table knows this, “And I’m not sure there is anywhere suitable to use as a prison that can be converted before Independence.”
“Arrangements can be made for prisoners to be held in state facilities until you have the situation sorted out, or as an on-going deal,” the Marshal informs them, “But Beacon Hills will have to cover the costs…”
“Plus, the profit margin,” Jordan intercedes, “Around five percent of prisoners are held in private facilities in California, and that number is growing.”
“We’ll leave that to Stiles and his advisors to sort out,” John sighs.
“You also need to consider,” Hanscum continues, “How many of your existing deputies are going to continue and how many are planning on leaving. Any indications?”
“Beacon Hills may be roughly the same size as San Francisco, but we’re mostly woodland and the preserve; our population is less than fifty thousand contained in about a third of the land,” seeing the look on Hanscum’s faced he gets to the point, “We have on rota sixty-seven officers, sixty-eight including myself, and another twenty-two administrative personnel. About half of the personnel are from Beacon County; not Beacon Hills directly…”
“Well, all those staff that are not Beacon Hills, those positions you’re looking to fill,” Hanscum informs them.
“I can’t fire…”
“Either they move to Beacon Hills or you’re gonna need to let them go,” Hanscum plainly states, “This is no-longer part of the United States and you can’t employ people that are not from Beacon Hills to work in your law enforcement, they’re foreign nationals.”
“Goddess,” John curses, scrubbing his face with his hands, again.
“I think there are some that would choose to move to Beacon Hills,” Jordan states, “Probably more than those that will leave.”
“Based on?” Hanscum arches an eyebrow at him.
“How they react to me,” Jordan shrugs.
“Some of them have less of a problem with the King’s Bane working beside them than others?”
“Or at least less of an issue than some of those that we’re here to serve and protect,” Jordan doesn’t hide his unhappiness at the disdain some of his fellow deputies have shown.
“This is something that you need to resolve,” Hanscum directs her comments to the Sheriff, “You need your officers to be able to work together and they need to be able to treat each other as equals; no matter if they are werewolf, fae, or human.”
“Or Fire-Bane and Incubus,” Jordan adds.
“Then we need to go through these applications and figure who we can hire to rotate into the schedules to replace those from Beacon county,” John says with an air of resignation.
“And those that are gonna leave,” Jordan adds.
“Yeah,” the sheriff sighs, picking up the resume on top of the pile.
They are slowly, far slower than they’d hoped, working through the pile of resumes deciding on who to invite for an initial interview; sorting them into first choice, second choice, hard no’s, and those that have useful skills but don’t have the any law enforcement training.
“Everyone, including the current officers are going to need training to cover the new local laws,” John states as he looks over another resume where there is no reference to them having taken any law enforcement classes or the California PELLETB – or to give its full title POST (Peace Officer Standards and Training) Entry Level Law Enforcement Test Battery – aptitude test, “Once Stiles decrees what they are…”
“The ones he has mentioned are mostly around recognition of poly-relationships, dominant/submissive relationships, and werewolf and other supernatural mates; like making the age of consent laws more flexible for mated supernaturals…”
“How flexible?” John’s gaze falls hard on his collared deputy.
“He discussed with the pack about exemption for supernaturals that are mated in situations where one is an omega and in heat…”
“Did he,” the sheriff’s eyebrow arches as his gaze remains fixed on the deputy, “And just what did he have in mind for mated supernaturals where neither are an omega and one of them is not yet eighteen?”
“He suggested lowering the age of consent to sixteen in line with most other states and majority of European countries,” Jordan tries not let his uneasiness show as he knows the sheriff is pointedly making reference his situation with his fifteen – almost sixteen – year-old mate, “Though he did mention that there are more countries in Europe where the age of consent is lower than sixteen than where it is sixteen.” Seeing the line of the sheriff’s lips tighten, Jordan decides to stop talking.
“Anyway,” John frowns and changes the subject, “Irrespective of the experience or training that anyone currently has, everyone is gonna need retraining to some degree…”
“True,” Hanscum looks over the top of the resume she’s holding at him, “So, are you thinking of putting some of those from the fourth group,” the ones with no law enforcement experience or qualifications and is the largest of the four piles of resumes they have so far gone through, “Into groups one and two?”
“Yeah,” he confirms, “If after the interview we think they may be suitable, we can arrange for them to go on ride-along and volunteer at the station while they study for the PELLETB, and if they pass that and the medical and psychological exams we have a deputy.”
“It will give them a taste of what the job entails,” Hanscum postulates.
“Especially if we get them to do most of the paperwork,” Jordan smirks, at the sheriff’s pointed clearing of his throat he quickly adds, “As a draft to be completed by the actual officer.”
“Some of them may decide it’s not for them, before they’ve completed the training and exams,” John adds, “If we can start the process sooner rather than later, we may end up with enough staff that we’re not all working double-shifts to keep the station running.”
“So, I’ve started the course on xenobiology and medicine that the California State Health Board are now offering; so that I can treat werewolves, fae, other therianthropes,” Liam’s stepdad says as they are sitting around the Geyer family dining table.
“And I’m updating my social sciences degree to include modules on werewolf pack hierarchy and dynamics, and fae court politics,” his mom adds.
“That’s great,” Liam enthuses. He was finally allowed to stay over with his parents, sleeping in his old bed in his room. It’s not his first visit, or even his first unsupervised visit, but it is the first time he has slept here; away from his pack and his mate. It was great being with his parents, and it’s great that they are being so supportive, but even though he’s only been here overnight, he’s missing his pack; and his mate.
“You have that look again,” he hears his mom saying.
“Yes, the one that says your mind is somewhere else,” she smiles, or tries to, but he can see the hint of hurt in her eye and smell the sourness of disappointment from both his parents.
“No,” he quickly tries to reassure them, “It’s great being here with you again, I just…”
“Just…?” his stepdad prompts him to continue.
“I do miss my pack, but I miss you too when I’m not here,” his brow crinkles as he replies, “I just wish there was more of my pack’s scent here, it would make it easier being away from my pack and my mate…”
“Mate?” his mom exclaims in surprise, “You’ve only just turned sixteen. Aren’t you a little young to have a mate? Werewolves mate for life don’t they.”
“Um… yeah… I…”
“From what I understand,” his stepdad thankfully interjects, “Werewolves can tell their mates through scent, so, when you meet the one, you know they’re the one. Is that right?”
“Yeah, most supernaturals have a way to identify their mate,” Liam smiles, thinking of his incubus mate’s dreams.
“So, who’s the lucky girl?” his mom asks with a smile, but he can tell it’s forced; he can smell the worry from her.
“Well, um… he…”
“He?” his mom exclaims, her face showing startled surprise, while his stepdad merely arches an eyebrow.
“Mom, dad,” Liam looks earnestly between them, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling before he continues, “I’m gay.”
“Well, if your mate is a guy that’s hardly surprising,” his stepdad smiles.
“I’m sorry, I just assumed that…” his mom stumbles over apologising, “I shouldn’t have. I know better than that, I don’t… I’m sorry.” She takes a deep breath, and calming herself smiles as she asks, “So, who is your young man and when do we get to meet him?”
Internally, Liam groans.
“Well, technically, I’d be the young man,” he cautiously replies.
“Oh, is he a senior?” his dad asks, “Is he planning on going to college?”
He can’t see any other option at this point.
“It’s Jordan,” at their blank expressions he clarifies, “Deputy Parrish.”
The glass of water is knocked from his mom’s place at the table, and shatters on the floor.
“Just great,” Jackson frowns down at the eighteen-month-old bundle in his arms that has just thrown up the milk they had drank over his pale-blue satin bra.
“What?” Danny calls to him from the floor where he has two other toddlers on his back.
“Oh, sorry,” Ethan calls from the seat across from him where he has two more on his knee, “Brady does tend to get a bit over-excited when there’s a lot going on around him.”
“A bit over-excited?” Jackson scowls down at the now giggling child in his arms, then turns to glare at his mate, “How about getting me something to clean up with or come and take the puke machine while I go and clean up and get changed.”
“Here, I’ll take him,” Aiden says as he walks into the room.
“Thanks Aiden,” Jackson replies still glowering at Danny, as he hands Brady over to his father to clean the boy up, “At least someone comes to my rescue.”
“I have two children on my back,” his mate defends himself.
“Ha,” Jackson scoff’s, the low heel of his mule slipper shoe slapping on the floor as he makes his way out the room to clean himself and change his lingerie.
Walking into their bedroom, Jackson unclips his bra and throws it into the hamper before stepping out of his panties and tossing them in with his bra. He walks naked into the adjoining bathroom to wash his chest and stomach.
He startles at little at the feel of the arm snaking around his waist. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing in front of the full-length mirror, the fresh pair of panties in hand staring at himself. Nor does he know how he didn’t sense his mate coming up behind him.
“Want to tell me what’s worrying you?” Danny asks, nuzzling at his neck.
“Nothing,” Jackson lies.
“Do I need to put you over my knee and spank the truth out of you?” Danny’s voice is a low rumble as he pushes his mate for the truth.
“Goddess!” Jackson pulls out of his grip, “I am not Scott.”
“I know that,” Danny retorts, his hand snatching hold of Jackson’s wrist, “Otherwise that would have been an invitation to foreplay, not a threat of punishment.” Jackson’s cheeks colour as his gaze falls off to the side and down to the floor, not daring to meet Danny’s eyes. “Please Jacks, just tell me what is wrong,” the beta wolf insists.
“Look at me!” the blond omega shouts, “Isn’t it obvious? I mean you never even play with my nipples anymore, and why would you?! You’re gay, and my… my pecs are gone, and I’ve grown these massive tits, I can’t even fit into my bras properly anymore and…”
“Jacks,” Danny pulls him into a hug, “Your breasts aren’t massive, and Scott’s breasts have gotten bigger too, you know that.” Really, they all know that Jackson is barely an AA cup size – if that – and Scott’s breasts are at most a AAA cup size, “With you both being the only omegas that are producing milk for the kids, and the littles…”
“Scott just looks like he has flabby pecs,” Jackson huffs, “I. Don’t. Fit. My. Bras.” Danny pulls back to look his mate in the eye, and Jackson continues, “And you don’t like touching them.”
“I only stopped touching them when you complained about leaking milk when I did play with them,” he corrects him, “And Scott’s are only slightly smaller than yours because he had twins while you had quadruplets. But you are both producing the milk for seventeen kids and two littles,” Jackson opens his mouth to protest, but Danny continues, “We all know that when the four of you have your omega nights, that Scott and you both have Ethan and Isaac suckling from you.” Jackson closes his mouth.
“Now, is it the size of your breasts you’re concerned about? Do you want Stiles to see if he can use his magic to reduce them to the same size as Scott’s?”
“Maybe then people would find me attractive again,” Jackson mumbles, but Danny hears him clearly.
“Everyone finds my slut attractive,” Danny grins at him, “You know you’re everyone’s type.”
“Used to be.”
“Not used to be. Are.” Danny pulls Jackson to him and brushes their lips together, “You are one very sexy male omega…”
“Intersex beta,” Jackson corrects him.
“Very sexy, sassy, IB, and me and Stiles are so lucky that you are our mate. We love that you are our slut and we love every part of you.” One hand falls to fondle Jackson’s little cock-let and balls, pulling a soft moan from his lips, while he leans in, his head ducking to kiss over his breasts, “And now that I know you want me to play with these,” he nips at Jackson’s nipples, licking around the areola, “I will be, no matter how much you complain about your milk leaking.”
“Danny, please,” the blond wolf whines as his mate pulls them towards the bed.