There was only one day left before heading back to Zurich—it was Friday. Most of the packing had been done the day before. Andrea was quick when it came to pulling trips together on short notice, but anyone who knew him also knew just how unpredictable he could be.
"Ugh… I think I need water. My head's killing me," Lucas groaned as he woke.
He felt drained—body heavy, stomach growling, head pounding. More than anything, the constant buzz of client messages was gnawing at him. His to-do list for when they got back could suffocate a man, and he knew the next few days would be nothing but stress.
The last thing he wanted was to worry Andrea. Even the smallest hint of stress could delay his rut even more.
After breakfast, he noticed Andrea still had one suitcase open and even less patience than a few days ago. As a good partner, Lucas thought that if the rut didn't come within a week, a doctor's visit might be a good idea.
He also toyed with the idea of introducing him to his sister—just for advice—but then doubted it. In his current state, Andrea didn't seem like the type to take advice from anyone. Things had been going well on their own, and Lucas didn't want it to look like an excuse to parade him in front of family. Yes, he'd met Andrea's parents before—but only because of the circumstances.
"Babe, I need to go to the pharmacy for some meds. Won't be long," Andrea sighed.
"What? Nooo, don't leave me," Lucas pouted.
"It's close by. I'll be right back."
"I refuse. I can't be away from you," Lucas grinned, dragging Andrea into his arms.
Andrea was in a foul mood. He wasn't going far—just to grab his medicine—but he wanted a breath of air and had planned to go alone. Feeling pressured, he finally gave in and let Lucas tag along.
The pharmacy turned out not to be a pharmacy at all, but more of a herbalist shop.
Lucas had never been a believer in plants as medicine—he preferred traditional prescriptions from an actual doctor.
"Hi, do you have my package?" Andrea asked the clerk.
"It's not here, but I can send it to you tonight."
"But you promised it would be ready by now," Andrea said, arms crossed.
Lucas stepped in, telling him it was fine—they weren't leaving until tomorrow anyway. And if the shop didn't have it, Zurich would. With its diverse migrant population, the city had everything.
Andrea gave him a sideways look. Lucas realized his mistake, left Andrea talking to the clerk, and stepped outside to call Valentina. Once again, he'd forgotten to check in.
"What's with that face?" Andrea asked, tugging his ear when Lucas came back in.
"She's not answering," Lucas said, putting the call on speaker.
Andrea stared at him, arms crossed, breathing heavily—on purpose. Lucas didn't want to stress him out further, so he eventually apologized. To calm things down, he explained his concern and why he kept in constant contact when traveling with someone. He felt like he was overexplaining, but when he noticed Andrea's breathing start to slow, he kept going.
He told him Valentina had had a few uncomfortable encounters with people around her—not in detail, but enough to make it clear some had crossed the line. And not just that—he emphasized the unspoken but very real rule among betas: you protect each other.
"Enough. Valentina's not a child. She's with Bastian. Did you come here for me, or to babysit her?" Andrea snapped.
Lucas let the subject drop. He didn't want this to be the first fight or to put a dent in the goals they had together.
He pocketed his phone, stepped in front of Andrea, and scooped him up in his arms. Andrea shouted for him to put him down, clawed at his back—but then burst out laughing and yelled that he forgave him.
Passersby laughed, some pulling out phones to take pictures. It was a small town—no doubt they'd be the gossip of the week.
When they reached the villa, Andrea was still in his arms. Lucas shifted him so Andrea's legs wrapped around his waist. Andrea felt butterflies every time Lucas kissed him—he loved their gentle touch, their unspoken glances, and, most of all, their tender kisses.
And as the kisses deepened, so did the heat between them.
Inside the apartment, Lucas froze for a moment—heart pounding, almost like a small tachycardia. The room was thick with the scent of condensed vanilla, flooding the air.
The hit of it brought back something Raffael had once said, but the situation was different now.
"Lucas, what's wrong? Baby, look at me," Andrea said, shaking him.
Lucas looked at him—angelic face, caramel eyes, flawless skin, and, more than anything, the irresistible way he looked in that moment. The scent was his. Lust radiated from him.
At first, Lucas calmed under Andrea's embrace. But then something inside him demanded control.
Sweat rolled down his forehead. His hands tensed. His cock was already straining, painfully hard, his body begging for release like it was a matter of survival.
Andrea's eyes widened, but instead of pulling away, he kissed Lucas with pure hunger. It wasn't tender—it was a kiss without restraint, breathing into each other, sharing heat, breath, and the heady rush of power.
Touches, marks, and moans didn't stop until nightfall. They were insatiable, until they'd screamed themselves hoarse.
By the sixth round, Andrea was so exhausted he passed out.
Lucas, though, needed more. He didn't know why—his body was physically drained, but still desperate. His cock stayed hard, swollen, flushed an angry red, like he had nothing left to give but somehow still needed to.
He went to the bathroom and jerked off—not once, but twice. When the last drops finally spilled, his stomach churned, acid rising into his mouth, pain twisting deep enough to make the veins stand out along his belly and neck.
The effort left him so drained he couldn't make it back to bed—he passed out on the bathroom floor.
By Saturday morning, Andrea noticed Lucas was gone from bed. He assumed he'd stepped out for air—until he found him unconscious on the floor.
"Lucas! Lucas!" Andrea yelled, panicked.
Tears already burning his eyes, he bolted out of the apartment to get his family—but tripped, splitting his eyebrow. His parents rushed in as someone called emergency services.
Within hours, the villa was the talk of the town—what had been the story of the "romantic couple" now smelled of tragedy.
"...Andrea? Where are you? Andrea…" Lucas's voice was rough, strained.
Pain lit up his back and stomach, dizziness swarming his vision. It felt like wasps buzzing in his ears, dark spots dancing in his sight. Even the slightest move threatened to drag him back under.
Andrea had fallen asleep beside him. Hearing his name, he woke instantly—almost ripping out Lucas's IV in his clumsy rush to kiss his hand, his forehead, his whole face.
Andrea's parents slipped out quietly to give them space.
Lucas didn't understand what had happened. He'd been fine that morning—eaten normally, taken breaks between rounds, even had a drink.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry," Andrea cried.
"Slow down—my head's splitting," Lucas said, shielding his eyes.
From what Andrea pieced together, it was indigestion—his body didn't seem to handle the local food well. Lucas doubted it at first—he traveled constantly—but maybe this was his body's way of reminding him of his age.
By Sunday, he was almost recovered, thanks to the IV fluids and medication the doctor prescribed.
He still refused food. Andrea's family insisted, but he declined—polite but firm. He didn't want the same symptoms again, especially when the dizziness still came in waves.
Andrea's parents offered to drive them to the airport instead of taking the train.
Everything went smoothly—until they reached Zurich airport and Lucas spotted a kebab stand. As tradition, he started walking toward it.
"Don't even think about it. From now on, I'm cooking. And you're taking your pills an hour before you eat. Oh, and I ordered some natural remedies for your liver," Andrea said, steering him away from the stand.