He ducked down when Greg’s gaze swept closer, pressing his face into his knees. Sixty seconds later, Dale peeked up over the beta seated in front of him, breathing a sigh when he found Greg jogging back to his team. The red jersey clung to his back, damp with sweat. Dale dragged his gaze away. He’d probably dream about Greg tonight, like he had last night, and the night before last.
When the halftime whistle blew, Dale straightened in his seat. Greg had called again yesterday, two hours after Dale left the clinic. Dale had rejected the call, and Greg had left another voicemail. Dale had listened to it three times, damned creature that he was. But at least Greg didn’t know.
The game passed far more quickly in the second half. The score was 53-27 in favor of the Meadowfall Lions, but the other team was now on the offense. Dale gulped, watching as Greg flew through the court, his muscles flexing, his skin gleaming with sweat.
He couldn’t deny that he still wanted Greg. Wanted Greg in his jersey, his strong, toned body pressed against Dale, his callused hands dragging over Dale’s skin.
Dale swallowed, his nails biting into his palm. The pregnancy hormones had only made him want Greg more.
Greg sprinted through the court, accepting passes, shooting the ball at his teammates, dunking them into the hoop. He was a joy to watch, his expression sharp, his movements smooth like a prowling beast.
Dale could understand why he’d escaped into basketball after Tony’s death.
The game ended far too soon. The Lions won 91-54, and the team gathered around, clapping each other on the back. Dale twitched. He had to leave now, before the team broke for the day. Before Greg spotted him somehow, found him secretly watching.
Pulse thrumming in his ears, Dale stood, keeping his face away from the court. He jogged up the stairs to the furthest exit, hesitating when he approached the door. When would he see Greg in person again? Maybe never.
He gulped, turning back.
Greg stood stock-still by his teammates, scanning the crowd again. Dale’s breath caught. He couldn’t see Greg’s expression from this far away, didn’t know if Greg had spotted him against the white backdrop of the arena wall. But Greg stepped toward him, and Dale’s instincts said, Run.
He turned for the door, not daring to look over his shoulder. Greg would leave for the debrief. He’d joke with his teammates, forgetting about Dale. That was the way it should happen.
Dale barreled down the stairs. At ground level, he pushed through the stairwell door, blinking to adjust from bright fluorescent lights to the dim sodium lamps that lit the parking lot, trying to remember where he’d parked his car. This soon after the game, no one had left the arena yet.
He didn’t see me. He couldn’t have.
Dale stepped toward the half-full parking lot, gravitating toward an alcove, where decorative trees cast dark shadows on the arena walls.
A hidden door flew open in front of him. Dale yelped, stumbling backward, his heart crashing into his chest.
Greg charged out, glancing around. Then his eyes locked onto Dale, and Dale couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop staring at Greg’s face, at the dark gleam of sweat along his jaw, at the glisten of damp on his neck, his shoulders. He smelled like aspen, like fresh sweat, and Dale had dreamed of seeing him too many times to even run.
Greg crossed the space between them in three strides, snagging his hand. His palm was hot, callused. He parted his lips, but no words came out.
He was trying to figure what to say. Dale wasn’t judging. He had no words, either.
Greg reached up with his other hand, tracing the backs of his fingers over Dale’s cheek, the heat of his body whispering into Dale’s skin. For two months, Dale had missed his touch. And Greg was being far too tender.
“No,” Dale whispered.
Greg leaned in and kissed him.
His lips were soft, careful. Familiar. In the shadows of the parking lot, Dale needed more. Needed to feel the press of Greg’s body before he left him. So he parted for Greg, licking at Greg’s lips, and Greg groaned, sliding into his mouth, his tongue tangling with Dale’s. He tasted like the electrolyte drinks he loved, and the possessive stroke of his tongue weakened Dale’s knees, had him sinking against his alpha.
Greg pressed him against the cool arena wall, his large hands smoothing down Dale’s chest, following the curve of his belly. Dale arched into his caress. He almost thought Greg would touch lower, but Greg’s hands slowed, rounding his sides, then back again to hold their baby. His fingers were right above Dale’s cock, and Dale whined, his blood rushing south.
“Greg,” he whispered, his hips rocking. Greg growled, stroking him through his pants, a firm, hard pressure. They’d done this before a few times, pressed up at home, or in school, when Dale had needed to jerk off quickly, and Greg had helped.
In the shadows of the parking lot, Greg tugged open Dale’s pants and reached inside, his palm hot through Dale’s briefs.
Dale hissed, jerking, and Greg kissed him harder, swallowing his moans. His fingers slid down the bare skin of Dale’s cock, dragging down his foreskin, touching his sensitive tip.
In a few minutes, there would be people flooding out of the arena. All Dale could think about was his alpha, his alpha’s touch on him, his cock throbbing for Greg.
He ran his hands down Greg’s damp chest, sliding his fingers under Greg’s jersey. Greg’s abs were solid, his pecs flat and smooth, and this wasn’t the after-match sex Dale had envisioned for them ages ago.
“Missed you,” Greg growled against his lips, his breath hot on Dale’s cheek, his callused fingers squeezing Dale’s tip, slipping under his foreskin, circling his head. Pleasure jolted down his nerves.
Dale shuddered, panting, his cock so hard he couldn’t think. Greg traced two fingers down his balls, stroking them, rubbing his slick hole, and Dale’s breath
