I just watched Oliver as he let the hot water cascade over his body, his eyes closed, his cock refusing to deflate. With his heat ramping up, I bet I could go down on him right now and make him blow his load in five minutes or less, even having just come. I was tempted, but Oliver was right. My head was a little clearer now, though I couldn’t say by much.

I pushed off the wall and pulled back the shower curtain to grab a washcloth off the rack. Oliver’s eyes stayed closed as I poured some shower gel onto the cloth and then knelt at his feet. His eyes popped open as I started at his ankles, washing him, tugging his leg up to wash the bottom of his feet, then traveling upward.

“You don’t have to,” Oliver said softly.

“I want to,” I said. “I promised you I’d take care of you.” Soon enough he'd come to realize I meant in every way, not just in bed, not just during his heat.

His eyes stayed firmly fixed on me as I moved all the way up, focusing to not pay more attention to his ass and groin than I did his knees, but it was hard. When I reached his head, I switched to shampoo, and relished in the feel of his hair in my fingers, of the soft, satisfied moans as I massaged his scalp. When I finished rinsing him off, I turned off the shower and wrapped him in a towel.

"But you—" he protested.

"This isn't about me," I said. "And if we're going to talk, we probably don't have much longer until the next wave hits." Besides the fact that I'd just be getting all sweaty again soon. I looked forward to it.

I toweled off and then wrapped the towel around my waist, figuring the slim barrier was better than nothing at reminding me that we were supposed to be discussing things. We'd both pushed for this conversation at some point in the evening, but the pheromones kept getting us sidetracked. With Oliver freshly washed and on the downside of a wave, the stale pheromones in his room still urged me to take him, but they were easier to resist now.

He seemed a little dazed as I sat him at the head of the bed and retreated to the foot.

"Where do you want to start?"

Oliver pursed his lips as if thinking, and it was hard not to lurch across the bed and capture those perfect pink lips. "You've never been with a man."

"Are you worried I won't know how to handle myself if you're too far gone to give instructions?" I couldn't help but tease him.

"Damn it, Wyatt, I'm being serious. Doesn't it—I don't know—bother you?"

I sighed, but kept myself from scooting closer. We'd be right back to square boning if I did that. "It doesn't."

"But why not?" 

Oliver looked like he was going to tear himself to pieces in frustration.

"Why does it matter so much to you?" I asked. 

He stood and started pacing, leaving the towel behind him on the bed. It was distracting, but his words were too important, he was too important, to let myself be pulled away for too long.

"I don't want you to regret this. Kissing is one thing. Sex, especially heat sex, is another completely. Especially with me. I'm not asking you to commit to forever, but it has to at least be a possibility, and I don't know if you're ready for that. It's clear you love Chloe. Don't you want more children? I can't give you that. And what if you decide you're not attracted to men? What if this is just an experiment? I can't handle that. And what if—"

I couldn't let him continue winding himself up any longer. I jumped to my feet, captured him in my arms and shut his mouth with a kiss. When I felt him surrender, his lips dancing with mine, I pulled away. "I won't regret this. I want you. If you were a genderless furry frog, I'd still want you, as long as you kept that kind heart and giving soul. It would be nice if you could keep that hot mouth, but I could learn to kiss frog lips if I needed to. As for children, that's certainly a ways off, but I have thought about it. I'm not dismissing your concerns, but I think everything you're worried about is something we can address. It's not the end of the world. If we want children, we will have children. There are many ways that don't require either of our bodies being capable of carrying one. I would never have moved forward with anything with you if you were an experiment. I care too much about you. You're not a toy. You're not just a childbearing vessel. You're Oliver, and that's all I want."

He leaned his head against my chest, and I felt a couple cool drops hit my burning skin. 

"Do you believe me?"

"Yes," he whispered.

It would probably be a while before his battered heart and mind agreed fully on that, but I didn't mind. Life was a work in progress. 

"Why don't you curl up in bed?" I suggested. "I'm going to go make you a quick snack, and then we're just going to cuddle and watch TV." I didn't have to say, "until your heat crests again." That was a given. 

He nodded and I pulled back the covers for him, and as soon as I had made us a couple of quick quesadillas in the microwave, joined him in bed. We ate, then I tucked him against my side and we put on an old spaghetti western. It didn't matter what it was, we just needed something to pretend to focus on while we waited. While Oliver thought about and accepted that this was where I wanted to be. At any point, I could choose to bow out, escape the house. But I wouldn't. I stroked a hand up and down the bare skin of his side. I was exactly where I wanted to be.