As if refusing to believe that the door was truly locked, Lord Jethro walked unevenly toward it while Grey was still struggling with it, pushing and pulling, his movements growing more frantic and desperate with every second.
But the door didn't so much as move, not even a little bit.
When Lord Jethro came close, Grey moved away, putting distance between them. He stood rigid a few steps back, fighting the overwhelming urge to tear his clothes off right there.
Lord Jethro tried the door himself.
With the strength he possessed, Grey had expected at least a violent rattle, but the handle barely moved under his grip.
He looked weaker than Grey had ever seen him, than how he had heard about the strength he possessed.
And that was when it struck Grey,- this wasn't just happening to him, it was happening to Lord Jethro too.
When Lord Jethro turned away from the door and walked back toward his desk, his steps were uneven, his balance visibly off.
Grey was stunned.
So this wasn't his heat.
Then what was it?
The realization sent a ripple of unease through Grey. If it wasn't his heat cycle, then why did it feel like one?
It couldn't be that Lord Jethro was in rut at the same time. That made no sense.
Had they been poisoned?
Grey watched as Lord Jethro began searching through the drawers of his desk, opening and closing them with growing aggression.
Papers were pushed aside. Objects were discarded without care. Finally, he found a set of keys and immediately turned back toward the door.
But his hands weren't steady when he tried to open. He fumbled, trying to fit the key into the lock, but it slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor.
He swore under his breath, bent down, picked them up again. This time he found the keyhole, but no matter how much he struggled, the lock refused to turn.
He groaned in frustration and struck the door with his fist, but the effect was still weak. He turned sharply and threw the keys across the room.
Grey's breath hitched, seeing him angry and disoriented sent a jolt of panic through him. He pressed his back against the wall, forcing himself to stay where he was, even though every part of him screamed to move.
His body burned.
The need inside him was intensifying rapidly, spreading through him in waves that left his muscles weak. He clenched his jaw, trying to hold himself together.
Lord Jethro tugged at the collar of his turtleneck as if he meant to pull it off, but he didn't. Instead, he turned and walked toward another door, just inside the office.
Only when he opened it did Grey realize it was a bathroom. The moment Lord Jethro stepped inside and shut the door behind him, Grey's legs gave out.
He slid down the wall and sank to the floor, breathing unevenly.
His hands moved to his shirt without him fully realizing it. He unbuttoned it hastily, pulling it open as the heat on his skin became unbearable.
His pale skin was flushed, almost red, the sensation too intense than it had ever been.
During his usual heat cycles, he could manage it on his own. It was never easy, never quick, but eventually the torment eased.
This time felt different, the thought of touching himself didn't bring relief, it felt pointless. All he could think about was Lord Jethro.
He wanted him to touch him. He wanted him.
But despite that realization, he still went through the motions he repeated every heat cycle, his hands moving over his chest, but the touch felt distant, as if his palms were dragging over someone else's skin, not his own.
He squeezed his eyes shut, not knowing what to do anymore.
Every instinct urged him toward the bathroom, toward Lord Jethro, but fear held him in place. Fear of what he wanted. Fear of what he might do if he got close.
He couldn't even bring himself to imagine touching him.
At the same time, he knew with frightening certainty that if Lord Jethro came out now, Grey would lose what little control he had left.
He might beg.
The thought alone made his breathing falter.
He pressed his head back against the wall, silently wishing that Lord Jethro would stay in there.
That distance would be maintained long enough for this, whatever it was, to pass.
But as soon as the thought surfaced, the bathroom door opened.
Grey's heart slammed violently against his ribs.
No, he screamed inwardly.
But the door closed again, without Lord Jethro stepping out.
Grey almost cried when the door closed again. At that point he didn't even know what he wanted. A part of him didn't want Lord Jethro to come out, but another part of him wanted him to- and that part was stronger.
Strong enough that it hurt when the door locked without Lord Jethro appearing.
Without warning, doubt crept in. He started questioning himself, wondering if he simply wasn't attractive enough to be wanted by a man.
He had always known, deep down, that he desired men, but he had never questioned his worth because of it, not until now.
And he knew it wasn't just any man he was thinking about. It was Lord Jethro. He was wondering if Lord Jethro didn't find him attractive enough to just step out of that bathroom and just… kiss him.
And just take him.
Another thought struck him, sharp and painful, sinking deep enough that he felt it in his soul.
Lord Jethro had spoken against homosexuality not even an hour ago.
He had said firmly that he wouldn't allow it in his empire. He had handed those rules to the priest, ordered them printed, ordered them taught.
They were probably already spreading through the empire.
So there was no way Lord Jethro would do what Grey so desperately wanted.
That realization made him tremble. Tears burned his eyes, especially when he remembered that Lord Jethro had withdrawn the name he was going to give him- only because he didn't want even the idea of homosexuality attached to himself.