Page 12 of That Defining Moment

From the doorway, Lysander’s voice cut through the moment. “Cass, he didn’t hunt down a mastodon for you and bring you its testicles. He walked to the Coles five minutes away and bought this with the eggs.”

Cassian turned. Lysander was leaning against the kitchen doorframe wearing one of Hamish’s t-shirts, his hair sticking up on one side, looking rumpled and smug.

“I don’t know what a mastodon is,” Cassian said.

“Big furry elephant. Extinct. Doesn’t matter.” Lysander crossed the kitchen and poured himself coffee, his bare feet quiet on the tiles. “My point is that Hamish going to the supermarket doesn’t require a spiritual orgasm from you every single time.”

Cassian tipped his head to one side. “I don’t know what an orgasm is.”

Lysander’s mouth opened, and Hamish moved faster than Cassian had ever seen an alpha move. He crossed the kitchen in two strides, snatched a piece of toast from the rack, and stuffed it directly into Lysander’s mouth. Lysander’s eyes went wide over the crust, his jaw forced open around it.

It was a beautiful thing, really: an alpha so attuned to his omega’s needs that he could sense hunger before it was even expressed, and move to nourish him with swiftness and grace. Lysander was lucky to have such a provider, even if Lysander didn’t seem to fully appreciate it, given that he was currently trying to spit the toast back out while Hamish held it in place with his palm.

Cassian turned to the counter and spooned the muesli into his bowl with the reverence the gesture deserved, drowning it in Greek yoghurt before adding honey in a long, continuous pour that went on well past the point of reason. Hamish, having finished tending to Lysander, reached across and took the bottle from him.

“That’s enough, Cass.”

“It’s not sweet enough yet.”

“It’s forty per cent honey. It’s sweet enough.”

Cassian took a bite and let his eyes close. The apple pieces were tart and chewy, the pepitas had a clean nutty crunch, and the yoghurt and honey turned all of it into something that was almost as good as the feeling of standing barefoot in wet grass while the Universe poured its blessings through his open hands. He hummed his approval.

Lysander, still scowling, drew up to the coffee pot to claim a mugful of it, then slumped onto the stool opposite.

“I’ve got to head off,” Hamish said, checking his watch. “I have a meeting in South Melbourne. I’ll grab the tram from Nicholson Street.” He looked between the two of them. “You’ll be alright?”

“We’ll be fine,” Lysander said, not looking at Cassian.

“We’ll be fine,” Cassian echoed, not looking at Lysander.

Hamish did not appear reassured by either of them, but he kissed Lysander on the mouth and touched Cassian briefly on the shoulder as he passed. Then the front door opened and closed, and the cottage was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the distant rattle of a tram on Lygon Street.

Cassian ate his muesli while Lysander drank his coffee, and neither of them spoke. They both pretended to be fascinated by opposite walls.

Lysander was rubbing the grit out of his eyes when Cassian broke.

“Hamish taught me about Google,” he said conversationally. “I know that it’s customary to Google everyone now.”

Lysander lowered his mug slowly and glared at him fiercely, but Cassian kept talking anyway.

“I googled you,” Cassian continued, spooning up another mound of honey-soaked muesli. “Last night, while you and Hamish were being loud.”

“Right.” Lysander’s voice was very even. “And what did Google tell you?”

“Lots of things.” Cassian licked the back of his spoon. “About you and your twin. About an alpha who attacked the wrong one of you. About your videos.” He set the spoon down carefully in his bowl. “You’ve been penetrated.”

Lysander went still.

“Repeatedly,” Cassian continued. “By many alphas and things. Things, Lysander.” He paused, taking in the colour that was climbing Lysander’s throat and the way his jaw had tightened until the muscle flexed at his temple. “I watched your videos.”

The shame on Lysander’s face was there and gone in under a second, but Cassian caught it. He felt a sharp thrill of satisfaction at having landed the blow and found the crack beneath all that swagger and profanity.

But Lysander didn’t explode. That was the puzzling part. Cassian had braced himself for shouting, for the sort of volcanic rage that Charles used to unleash when Cassian said something wrong at dinner, the shattered crockery and the roaring and the long cold silence afterwards. Instead, Lysander just sat there, his gaze pinned to Cassian’s face with an intensity that would have made a lesser omega look away.

Cassian didn’t look away. Instead, he grounded himself in the certainty of the Light and its principles. Perhaps Lysander was more open to guidance than he’d assumed. Perhaps beneath the filthy mouth and the spiritual contamination there was a vessel that could still be cleansed, if someone showed him how.

“It’s not your fault,” Cassian said softly. “You didn’t know any better.”