Lucas's pen paused.
Trevor smiled, knowingly, the smile that was built on five years of watching Lucas try to outrun the limits of biology and pride.
"Because," Trevor continued, voice pitched lower now, right behind his ear, "I've seen the signs. You're warm. Snappish. You didn't finish your tea. And that report on the corridor? You've read it upside down for the past five minutes."
Lucas slowly turned the page without comment.
"Love," Trevor murmured, brushing his knuckles along the back of Lucas's neck, "you smell like a thunderstorm trying not to happen."
Lucas set the report down. As slowly as he could.
As he was still pretending he wasn't one deep breath away from burning through every filter and throttling his husband like the feral omega he felt in the last days.
The room was too warm. Or maybe he was.
Either way, the starched collar of his shirt felt like a trap and Trevor's breath behind his ear was not helping.
