End of Chapter 7

The next day, hours before dawn, Seraphim slaved in the kitchen cooking for his new husband, rose to the darkness with determination set in his jaw. It was tradition for a poseidon to make the first meal of his husband at dawn, for the first sustenance to graze his lips to be of his cooking from his hands.

He'd done that for his six when they'd mated, but that had been against his culture, against his being.

But this time he would do it as his ancestors foretold.

The water within him refused his denial to submit to tradition, wanted Rue's body to fill with sustenance and nourishment made only by his hands. They wanted to see the joy buzz in a face so genuinely delighted by his cooking. The poseidon in him crooned for a chance to show his gratitude for the orgasm.

He wanted his true mate happy.

And so, he stayed as his soulmates left the dormitory. First Dante's who's slipped free to another emergency call to end the monsters wreaking havoc in planet 12, Altair screaming through the buzzer reporting on a crazed Halcyon rampaging the battlefield.

Then Levi, who left just before the sun arrived, yawning his greetings to join and end their overall stupidity. And finally, Kieran, who'd stared at him confused as Seraphim announced his intentions to stay. The helios had given him a shrug and a strange glance back towards door number 8.

Nervous.

Worried.

'Bro, he's just a weak little shit,' Kieran had jerked a thumb towards the door. 'Don't let him bother you. He's all talk, no bite. A dirty, disrespectful mouth is all he's got.'

'Why do you say so?' Seraphim had asked, curiously raising a brow at Kieran, then a smile stretched across his lips. 'Ki…'

'Rue is like our new little chihuahua okay!' the helios had blushed, his light flickering and already Seraphim sensed something far more. A crush? Seraphim felt a tick jolt in his jaw, annoyance brewing in his gut. 'I don't want to come home to my puppy dead.'

'I won't kill a new student,' Seraphim promised, hands in flour, as he whispered out the rest of his words. 'He can't die from my poisons anyway.' Inside, he was irritated that Kieran thought him capable of killing his husband—His sex toy, Seraphim corrected himself. His cum dump. His flesh light. His only method of orgasm.

'What was that?'

'Nothing, just go darling,' Seraphim had laughed, allowed a little sweetness to colour his voice, 'the babies miss you. I'll catch up later. I've just got something on my mind.'

He worked upon the yeasty bread, the dough pliant and soft beneath his fingers. With bare hands that he knew now would not poison his husband, he created food that his forefathers too had made for their lovers since the beginning of dawn from the crops of their land.

His fingers had dimpled upon the oiled dough, then his mind had gone, seeped into the liquid embedding his dreams to dig his fingers into Rue's ass and then thighs. He shivered and his cock swelled further in his jeans.

He'd dressed in his simplest and prettiest, pearls on his ears, remembered the discomfort in Rue's face when he'd seen him nude. Then decorated the bread with the prettiest display of a sundried tomato sun, of oranges carved into farmhouses, of needles of rosemary like fields of grass and golden wheat. Then the sea—olives sliced into two to create waves. A single pearl at the centre was their union, his gratitude, his joy.

A shudder, a dredge of sea salt and he placed the focaccia into the oven, sat waiting and watching the bubble of bread crusting and growing golden brown. Then had pulled out saucers of homemade sauce—pesto, cherry tomato, and the creamiest butter.

The bread came out lovely, warm and delicious upon the tray.

He was pleased with himself when the knife sang through the crust, the airy bread shivering and sleek with olive oil and so much—Seraphim had licked his lips—need. There were no extras for his soulmates, his seven, not when this was made only for his husband. But Seraphim had a small bite and that had made him groan, soft moans whispery in his throat for the pillowy soft bread.

Only the best for the first day. He'd indulge in this tradition only once and that was it for Rue. It was that thought that kept him waiting, and time ticked slowly by as he watched the sun rise. He worried for a while, fretted over the possibilities of Rue's death in the night. Perhaps his poison had been slow acting, but the door assured him of Rue's vitals, of the quiet drum of his heartbeat, of his survival.

And before he knew it, Seraphim was frying up bacon and eggs, fingers itching for something to do. Then a cup of juice that he squeezed by himself, fingers working around the fruit from a planet that cultivated citrus. It grew late, and he'd scowled as he packed everything up into a lunchbox, stared at the door to dormitory room number 8, wondering if he'd seem too needy if he knocked.

Would he wake?

But Rue finally arrived, yawning and messy with his hands rubbing his neck, adorable in the huge coat that crumbled with age. Seraphim winced at that but couldn't help staring at the fluff of thin short strands of hair that stood out everywhere, and the purse of lips rosy from warmth, at the eyelashes that fluttered pretty on a gentle face too sweet for a boy. But there was a wariness in Rue's eyes, and a flutter of detest. Rue moved clearly on the path to avoid looking at him. A rush wheezed through him, and he stumbled forward.

"Rue," he called just before he could go.

"Goddamn it's you again, but with pants," Rue greeted, in a voice that was rough with the morning, but so dreadfully sugary that it made his insides hot. "Here for round 2?" Seraphim cleared his throat, blinked at his words, and felt the memory of their horrible encounter slip into his mind. He fretted as he watched the younger boy pull on his shoes, sniffing as he ran a hand over his neck. The scent of sickness blossomed from his throat and Seraphim winced, his poseidon wailing at the wrongness of the scent. The mildew, mould and the drip of decay were just not what he'd expect on Rue.

"Rue, I—" There was a dart of his gaze as he watched Rue head for the door. "Wait, Rue. I went too far."

"Glad you've learnt that" the corners of his lips quirked upwards, and he felt his insides shiver as Rue turned to face him with the prettiest of eyes. Seraphim licked his lips, felt a thrill at the domesticity of this new interaction.

"But we're even now," he fastened a hopeful glance at his face. "I'll forgive you for that, if you forgive me."

"Look," the little alien sighed, "I guess, I'm sorry for destroying your kids, and threatening you. And hurting you, but I had to get rid of the chances, y'know? If I passed out then, I don't want you trying something."

"Yes," Seraphim agreed, although he was pretty sure Rue had the wrong idea of his species. The average poseidon could make new eggs with an Omega within minutes. Seraphim was an outlier that needed to wait for his Ruts to sync with the others. "Of course."

"Truce?" Rue offered, and raised his hand.

Seraphim took his offer with a shake, was in awe at the lack of effect that his touch had on Rue's skin. He wondered how strong he was then, and how much poison Rue could take. A blink and Seraphim's mind was on his most potent poison—semen.

Perhaps, Rue was the only being in the world that could deepthroat him properly. Seraphim's lips parted, feeling sweat bead on his forehead, his cock swelled and writhed within his pants. The possibility made his mouth grow dry.

A true mate.

Not a soulmate, not pack, but a true mate.

"I've got class," Rue's voice shocked him from his stupor, and he released his hand, his cheeks growing warm. Fuck, he must think Seraphim to be daft.

"I made something for you." He stood, the lunchbox in his hands, his offering towards his new husband. "It does not have poison, I promise." There was poison. His fluids stained the bread, but it could not hurt Rue. Nothing could.

"I don't believe that," Rue laughed, shaking his head. "Take it back. I won't eat it."

"You can check," Seraphim assured, "look." He pulled a scanner from his pocket, allowed the tech to read the food. The screen showed green only because it was tuned not to read his venom. For any other, this could poison a hundred grown aliens. "You liked my cooking, and I thought you might want some breakfast—"

"Seraphim," Rue groaned, let out a low sigh. "If you hand that to me, I'm going to throw it out. I'm not falling for the same old trick again, no matter how good you are at cooking. Yesterday, was the last time I'm putting anything you touch in my mouth. You drugged me."

"Fine," Seraphim nodded, and stood, pushing the box into his hands with a haughty sniff. Rue would take back his words once he'd tasted the bread. It was the peak of Seraphim's culinary skills, and he'd placed his heart and soul into the dish. "Just take it. You can throw it out if it really tastes bad."

"Sure." Rue shrugged, dropping the lunchbox straight into the trash. The food clattered within the depths of the space eating machine. His hard work vanished within a second, and Seraphim stared, heart falling as his first offering disappeared.

The anger flashed too quickly within him, the rejection a slap to the face. And he almost dropped to his knees, the pain blinding and hot in his nose, burning at the back of his eyes. At the audacity of it all.

His husband didn't want his cooking.

He was not worthy.

He had been rejected.

"I was trying to apologise!" Seraphim gasped out, but the hurt was too obvious, too strong. It sang in his voice, easing into a siren's call. His insides were writhing. His heart aching. "I was trying to be nice."

"I told you what I'd do." Rue raised her palm towards him, a pinch between his brows. "I'd agree on a truce, but not food." He licked his lips, then winced. "Shit, but I didn't mean for it to be that fast. I should have done it outside. I'm not thinking straight. That bin's fantastic at incineration, huh—"

"There's no truce once you throw out MY cooking, you fucking bitch!"

Seraphim was snarling, lunging towards Rue with a scream that was unlike his usually calm behaviour. His poseidon was strange with Rue, and the rejection was too strong for him to deny. But he seemed to grow weaker the moment their skin touched, lighter as Rue turned him over and slammed him against the wall, hands clasped behind his back. He gasped, oxygen leaving his lungs, his eyes dazed from the speed of it all.

It hadn't been a dream.

Rue was stronger than he was.

And Rue was absorbing somehow, twisting out whatever residual power left within his body, eating at the heavy weight of energy that scorched his muscles and burnt his flesh. Rue drew energy the way a guide could only when deep within the troughs of rough sex, with an ass fucked raw. Rue drank, and all he had to do was touch him.

"You're really weak," Rue commented. "I'm only just blood, flesh, and bones."

"Fuck," was his hissed-out response, flexed his muscles but even that did not work. "Release me," he spat in a whispery voice. There was a loud clack of something clicking into place, handcuffs digging into his flesh. He snarled, tugging at his restraints. "You locked me up?"

But inside his heart was thundering, his cock swelling with need at the idea of Rue holding him down. The metal was easy to bend, but he allowed Rue to keep him there because it made his cock grow mad with lust. The limbs splitting, each head leaking, his pants growing wet, sticky and tacky with so much fluids his lips pressed to form an 'o'.

"I'm just going to go," Rue mumbled out, did not know of Seraphim's predicament. "It'll unlock in five minutes, I swear. Sorry, I'm going to be late for class." There were footsteps towards the door, and he heard the rush of the outdoors as Rue pulled open the door. "Bye. I'll see you around. We can fight after—I'll let you take the first punch." The door closed and Seraphim groaned, hips jerking forward, eyes rolling back but nothing came because the only person that could allow him an orgasm was gone.

Fuck.

He let out a scream, breaking the handcuffs in two. The metal melting as he released his venom upon the material. The pieces disintegrating in his hands. Seraphim didn't give a damn about his new husband. For all he cared Rue could rot and die, but what Seraphim needed was release.

A/N: Read ahead on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/tinyeyecat