'For fuck's sake.'
Dean swore under his breath as the personnel of the manor and probably Windstone were already getting out to help.
The curse slipped out when his fear and anger collided, and he had no fucking idea what to do with them. His heart was still racing, the car too small, Arion a mountain of a man, the heat of him and the raggedness of his breathing impossible to ignore.
He lifted his hand.
For a split second, Arion tensed, already bracing for Dean to refuse. For being pushed away. For being told no and being reminded yet again that he had crossed too many lines and asked for too much.
Dean's slender, elegant fingers brushed through the strands of soft black hair at the nape of his neck, then tugged back.
He drew Arion back from the hollow of his shoulder, forcing him to lift his head. Their faces were suddenly close, breaths mingling, the space between them charged and fragile and far too intimate for the inside of a darkened car.
Arion opened his eyes.
Gold, unfocused at first, then sharpening with startled awareness as he met Dean's gaze. He started to speak, maybe to apologize again, maybe to withdraw, maybe to tell him he'd gone too far…
Dean surged forward, crushing his mouth against Arion's in an equally desperate and frustrated kiss.
Dean's mouth was hot and demanding, his teeth scraping against Arion's bottom lip before his tongue delved deep, tasting him with violent passion. Arion's initial shock melted into a guttural groan, his hands fisting in the fabric of Dean's shirt, pulling him closer. The scent of vetiver filled the car, mingling with the sharp, coppery tang of Arion's blood and the heady, masculine musk of his skin.
Dean moaned in the alpha's mouth, releasing his pheromone, a minty lemonade scent mixed with Arion's vetiver.
Dean's other hand slid down Arion's chest, his fingers digging into the hard muscle of his shoulder, holding him in place as he deepened the kiss, exploring every inch of his mouth with a possessiveness that bordered on aggression. Arion responded in kind, his own tongue meeting Dean's, their breaths coming in ragged, desperate gasps.
Dean broke the contact first, breathless, a shaky laugh escaping him as he pulled back just enough to draw air.
"Okay… okay," he said, voice unsteady. "That's… that's enough."
Arion didn't let him go.
Instead, he followed the movement, pressing in again, his forehead brushed Dean's temple, and then he nuzzled into the curve of his neck, breathing him in as if the simple closeness were the only thing keeping the storm inside him from surging again. His arms wrapped around Dean's back, strong yet careful, holding him with a protective intensity that no longer felt like a threat.
Dean let out a soft, incredulous huff of laughter. "You're going to suffocate me if you keep that up."
Arion's breath was warm against his skin. "Stay," he murmured, the word rough, a plea shaped by instinct.
"I am staying," Dean replied, still smiling despite himself. "I just… need a little space to breathe."
Arion reluctantly eased back slightly, just enough to give him room while remaining in his arms. The tension in him had finally begun to settle, the earlier burning edge dulled.
Windstone chose that moment to appear at the open door.
Perfect posture, an immaculate suit, and the composed concern that had guided a household through wars and teenage heirs alike. His gaze took in the scene in a heartbeat: the Crown Prince half-collapsed, Dean in his arms, the driver pale, and the approaching physician visible at the end of the drive.
"My lord," Windstone said gently, as if addressing a skittish animal rather than a dominant alpha in the aftermath of a pheromone backlash. "The physician is here. Perhaps you should step inside while His Highness is examined."
Arion's arms tightened.
The movement was subtle, like a brick through a window, a protective curl of muscle that drew Dean closer against him, as if the world had just announced itself a threat. His golden eyes lifted to Windstone, sharp and territorial, the look of a man who did not intend to relinquish what he was holding.
Dean felt it and sighed.
Of course he did.
"Arion," he said quietly, already resigned and slightly questioning his sanity. "It's Windstone, my butler or grandfather, however you want to name him. He's not trying to steal me."
Arion didn't answer. He simply held him, the line of his body angling in a way that made it very clear that any attempt to remove Dean would be met with resistance.
Dean let out a soft, incredulous huff of laughter. "You are unbelievable."
Windstone's expression remained polite, but there was the faintest glint of understanding in his eyes. He had seen this kind of alpha before.
Sebastian's words surfaced uninvited in Dean's mind.
'He has the same energy as Dax. It is the same type of alpha and, frankly, worse than Dax.'
The sort of man who didn't let go once they'd decided someone was theirs to protect.
Dean closed his eyes for a second, then looked back at Arion. "Relax," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere. You don't need to guard me from the butler."
The tension in Arion's jaw eased a fraction.
Then, instead of loosening his hold, he drew Dean closer, if that was even possible, tucking him more securely against his chest, one hand splayed warm and firm between his shoulders.
A compromise. Of sorts.
Windstone waited, unruffled, as only a man who had outlasted kings could.
Dean tilted his head back slightly to look at Arion. "You realize you're making a very strong impression on the staff."
Arion's gaze never left him. "Good."
Dean snorted. "Dax would be proud."
That earned him the faintest flicker of a smile.