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.

"You're imagining things," Lucas said, calmly, as if his pulse wasn't galloping and his glands weren't already aching with restraint.

Trevor hummed, amused, dangerously close to his skin. "I'm imagining dragging you to bed before you melt through that chair."

Lucas didn't dignify that with a response. He tapped the corner of the report like he could summon rationality by force.

"You promised not to interfere when I'm working."

"I promised not to interfere with work," Trevor said, fingers tracing the edge of Lucas's jaw now, featherlight. "But you're not working. You're overheating in a power chair, pretending it's fine."

Lucas gritted his teeth. "I'm managing."

Trevor's tone softened, but he didn't retreat. "You are managing to make me insane while drowning in your pheromones. What do you say to trying to have the second child now?"

Lucas turned his head with the slow, smoldering warning of someone five minutes from either giving in or setting something on fire.

"I hate you," he said.

Trevor grinned, completely unfazed. "You're the one who said you wanted a second child."

"That was before," Lucas hissed, "before I was in the pre-heat equivalent of a war bunker, trying to read a sabotage report upside down while you molested me with your breath."

Trevor didn't even blink. "You're being dramatic. I'm seducing you."

"You're hovering."

"You're helping me fulfill your request." Trevor leaned closer, his voice pitched low and persuasive. "You said, and I quote, 'maybe this summer would be a good time for another.' You even checked the calendar. Twice."

Lucas looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that led to this moment.

"I meant summer in theory," he snapped. "In concept. In some distant, well-organized future where I'm not buried in trade sabotage and internal reports, and our son isn't playing tyrant with Court dispatches."

"Then let me make it real," Trevor murmured, brushing his knuckles along Lucas's jaw. "Now is good. Now is perfect. Now, you're mine."

Lucas tried to breathe, but Trevor's scent was already everywhere, catching at the edges of his control like heat lightning. And his own body, traitorous and aching, wasn't helping. Not when his glands had been throbbing all morning, not when every sharp retort he gave only seemed to pull Trevor closer.

"You are more dangerous than anyone I know," Lucas whispered, voice thinner than he wanted it to be.

"I've even bought something to play with in bed, without Windstone knowing." Trevor whispered like the temptation he was.

Lucas exhaled through his nose, sharp and trembling, as if that could will his control back from the brink.

"You're deranged."

"I'm persuasive," Trevor corrected. "And prepared."

Lucas gave him a long, incredulous look. "Prepared? Prepared? We have foreign sabotage, two galas, a trade dispute with Vorthia, and you, you, thought this week was a good time to bring home toys?"

Trevor had the audacity to smile like it was a marriage proposal. "I checked the calendar."

Lucas looked moments away from launching the nearest paperweight at his head or kiss him.

"And," Trevor continued, unbothered and lethal, "I know you. You'll finish all the reports in two hours, rewrite policy over breakfast, and still pretend you're not trembling by noon. So, let's skip the part where you pretend this is about politics and admit you want me to drag you upstairs and ruin your composure."

"You are sabotaging my work." Lucas narrowed his green eyes at the alpha in front of him.

Trevor leaned in, close enough that Lucas could feel the heat of him through the crisp fabric of his shirt, close enough that his scent curled around Lucas's senses like a noose made of cedar and silk.

"I'm trying," he repeated, voice lower, slower, "to pamper the love of my life, who is clearly, visibly, about ten seconds from shifting this chair into second gear and ramming it through the window."

Lucas clenched his jaw. "That happened one time."

Trevor didn't back off. If anything, he looked proud. "And it was majestic. But this time, I'd rather get you out of that chair voluntarily. Maybe into a bath. Or a bed. Or my lap. You choose."

Lucas turned his head, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "You brought home toys."

Trevor's expression was nothing short of sinful. "Two. One for fun. One for function."

Lucas blinked. "Function."

"You'll see." Trevor's smile was slow and steady, the kind that made Lucas forget every reason he had to stay grounded. "But you're going to have to let go of the sabotage files first."

Lucas looked down at the upside-down report, back up at his very smug husband, and then, despite himself, sighed.

Trevor's fingers ghosted along the base of his throat. "Is that surrender I hear?"

"No," Lucas snapped, but it was weaker now. "That's exasperation."

"I'll take it."

"I'm not finished with…"

Trevor pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You will be. Ten minutes. Upstairs. I'll run the bath, you pretend to resist, and Windstone won't have to arrest me for bending you over your own desk."

Lucas choked on his breath.

Trevor winked. "Don't take too long. I lit the fireplace."

And with that, he vanished from the room with the same casual confidence he brought to diplomatic warfare and breakfast negotiations alike, leaving Lucas flushed, feral, and very close to admitting that maybe, just maybe, he did want that second child now.