"That was just a joke." Grayson’s voice had flattened carefully. As if saying that ’I’m fine and definitely not affected’.

"No, I—" Neville turned around, scrub brush forgotten, hands dripping soap suds onto the floor. His cheeks burned in shame. "I know. I know you were joking. I just—"

He overreacted like an idiot.

The logical part of his brain caught up with his panic response, and mortification replaced the fear.

Of course, he knew that Grayson was just joking. Even through the haze of rut, he was a man who had maintained iron control over himself. More importantly, there were enforceable laws in the Imperial Galaxy governing all sorts of things related to ABO dynamics.

Alphas and omegas who weren’t in formal marriage negotiations, aka engagement or marriage talks, couldn’t mark each other.

It was illegal.

Penalties ranged from fines to imprisonment, depending on circumstances. The interstellar era had developed these protections precisely because biology couldn’t be an excuse for violating consent.

Add in whatever mysterious factors Neville still hadn’t figured out about this world’s ABO dynamics. There was only truth left: unless an alpha had genuinely malicious intent or suffered from a medical condition that prevented control, they could definitely manage their instincts to a certain degree.

Grayson might be in a rut, but he was neither malicious nor did he have a medical condition.

Which meant Neville had just freaked out over a simple joke.

So stupid.

The awkwardness in the kitchen became so thick that it was hard to breathe. Neither of them seemed to know where to look or what to do. Grayson’s expression had gone wary and guarded, making him even more nervous.

"I apologize," Grayson said in a calm tone. "That was inappropriate. Regardless of my intentions, I shouldn’t have—"

"Stop." Neville held up a hand, soap dripping from his fingers. "Just... stop. Don’t go all ’Mr. Maxwell Corporate Apology Mode’ on me. It’s weird."

Neville sighed, running his clean hand through his hair.

"Look, I overreacted. You said it was a joke, and I believe you. It’s just..." His hand unconsciously lingered at the back of his neck. "This whole biting thing is a much bigger deal than I think you realize. Or maybe you do know about it, and that’s why you were casual about it. But it freaked me out that you even joke about it."

Neville scratched his head, making his hair messy in frustration. "I don’t know what I’m talking about. Haaa, what am I even saying?"

Grayson’s rigid posture softened a little, but he still had a look of uncertainty on his face.

"I understand." His voice had lost some of its formal stiffness.

"And I want you to know—unless you explicitly said you wanted it, I would never..." He trailed off, seeming to struggle with the words. "Never. I need you to remember that."

Neville looked at Grayson, whose hands were at his sides, every line of his body, faint scales reflecting on the light, exuding the effort of restraining himself.

Those silver eyes held no demand, no expectation.

Just a quiet, almost vulnerable sincerity.

Cute. He thought as he watched Grayson practically wilting under the weight of Neville’s displeasure, like a puppy who got scolded for chewing furniture.

Before he could think more, Neville crossed the distance between them. Grayson watched him approach with wariness, clearly unsure what to expect.

Then, Neville stopped directly in front of him.

He tiptoed—

And kissed him softly on the cheek.

Grayson blinked. "What—"

"That’s a reward." Neville pulled back slightly, fighting to keep his expression blank despite the heat rising to his own face.

The transformation in Grayson’s expression was almost comical. His eyes widened, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite obvious efforts to smile so widely. A pleased flush crept up his neck, and his pheromones took on an almost sweet undertone.

Grayson’s hands quickly came up to frame Neville’s face. Before Neville could react, his lips were already taken by the other. It was not the chaste peck that Neville had offered, but something deeper.

Grayson’s lips moved against his with clear intent, tongue sliding along the seam of his mouth in a request that somehow felt more like a command.

Neville gasped, and Grayson took the opening.

He found himself pressed against the kitchen counter, one of Grayson’s hands tangled in his hair while the other gripped his hip. Grayson kissed with overwhelming intensity.

If alphas in novels are basically wolves, some hysterical corner of Neville’s brain thought, maybe I should try throwing a ball to distract him from biting omegas, from biting him?

He almost laughed into the kiss at the absurdity of his own thoughts.

Would that even work? Did they sell alpha-distracting toys on the StarNet? ’Guaranteed to redirect your partner’s primal instincts!’ The mental image of Grayson chasing after a tennis ball was too much.

A small sound escaped his throat, amusement or arousal, he genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

The heating unit chose that moment to ding a cheerful chime, announcing that the baked mashed potato with beef was ready.

They broke apart, breathing harder than before.

"Food’s done," Neville said, reminding Grayson.

Grayson looked at him.

Looked at the heating unit.

Looked back at him.

His expression clearly said that food was very much not his priority right now.

"Later?" Neville said, trying to coax him.

"Later," Grayson agreed, though his tone suggested ’later’ might mean ’approximately thirty seconds from now.’

Still, he released Neville to retrieve the dish from the heating unit. The aroma that wafted out was genuinely appealing to his stomach, which growled at just the right time.

He could see the rich beef, creamy potato, and melted cheese forming a golden-brown crust on top.

The results were worth the effort. How about the taste?

Neville plated the portions quickly as he was deeply aware of Grayson’s gaze tracking his every movement. Grayson had settled onto one of the barstools at the kitchen counter, waiting for him.

When Neville turned with the plates, Grayson was already reaching for him.

"Come here."

"I’m holding the food."

"Bring it here, then."

Grayson pointed at the couch in the living room. Neville was slightly distracted by an unnecessary recollection of the things they had done there before.

Grayson sat down on the stain-filled portion of the couch.

"Sit."