Chapter Text
The moment the front door clicked shut, Nicole's arms were around his neck, pulling him down with desperate urgency. Their lips collided—fiery, hungry, consuming—as her back gently met the door. Varka's large hands found her waist, his thumbs tracing circles against the fabric of her skirt—the very fabric he ached to tear away.
Nicole's fingers wandered upward, threading through his blond hair, tugging him closer, deeper, demanding he quell the wildfire he'd ignited in that parking lot.
“Mm... Varka...” The moan escaped her, breathless and wanting, as they finally parted for air, their lungs burning.
“Nicole.” His voice was reverent, wrecked. Their lips hovered inches apart, a thin silver thread connecting them before it broke. “Archons—” He pulled back just enough to drink her in, flushed, panting, his— “you have no idea how long I've wanted this.” His grip on her waist tightened, fingers sliding downward to trace the curve of her hip, her thigh.
Nicole shivered beneath his touch.
“Me too.” Desire blazed in her eyes, bright and undeniable. She pulled him closer, lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “Varka, I want you. Now.”
His eyes widened at her declaration. He pulled back, searching her face for any trace of hesitation, any flicker of doubt.
There was none.
Varka swallowed hard.
“I... I want to do this properly.” The words came out rougher than intended, strained with restraint.
Nicole's expression shifted to something dangerously close to impatience.
And Varka knew with absolute certainty that he could not disappoint. Not now. Not after she'd finally said those three words.
Before she could argue, he swept her off the floor. She squeaked at the sudden motion, instinctively clinging to him as he carried her up the stairs toward his bedroom.
Thank the Archons the kids weren’t home.
He laid her on his bed with impossible gentleness, as if she were made of glass and moonlight. Nicole blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard. She'd expected him to let loose, to match her desperation with his own.
But instead—
“I'm going to take a quick shower first.” He was already removing the outer layers of his suit, his voice casual, as if he hadn't just set her entire body on fire.
Nicole sat there, propped on his bed, staring at him in utter disbelief.
“Didn't I just say I wanted him now?”
Nicole folded her arms, her eyes tracing his every movement with an intensity that only made the fire in her core burn hotter.
“Varka.”
She was already off the bed, her hand closing around his wrist before he could shed another layer. He looked at her—at the beautiful, wicked curve of her swollen lips—and felt his resolve crumble.
“How about I join you?”
His breath caught. His throat went dry.
A shower. With Nicole. With his wife.
The image of her at the beach—that bikini, her flawless skin, the way water had trailed down her neck—seared through his mind. He'd replayed that image countless times in the dark, alone with his wanting.
He wouldn't have to imagine anymore.
One word. That was all it would take.
But before he could utter it, the front door slammed open.
“We're home!” Rosaria and Razor yelled from the entrance downstairs.
Varka and Nicole froze. Their heads swiveled to the clock.
Six o'clock.
“Damn.” The word escaped him in a frustrated hiss.
Nicole just laughed.
The sound of it, bright, warm, utterly unrepentant, made his heart stumble. His hands found her waist, and hers were pressed flat against his chest.
“We can pick this up after dinner.” Her voice was honey, slow and deliberate. She rose on her toes, lips brushing his. “Dessert after the meal.”
His breath came hot against her mouth. “More like a feast,” he murmured, barely containing himself.
“A feast.” She kissed him again, a slow, deep promise. “Just. For. You.”
Then her expression shifted, doubt creeping in. The kids. Their first time in a house with two teenagers under the same roof.
Varka read her thoughts with ease. “Relax.” His grin turned wolfish. “Every room in this house is soundproofed.” A pause. “Well, mostly. You might need to hold back the screaming.”
Her eyes lit up. Her fingers traced the hard lines of his chest through his shirt. “Mr. Varka thinks he can make me scream?” Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "My, how confident. I'm even more excited now.”
He pulled her flush against him, hands sliding down to cup her backside, squeezing.
A helpless moan slipped past her lips. And it nearly undid him completely.
“Hello?!” Rosaria's voice cut through the haze. “Your children are starving!”
Varka and Nicole broke apart, laughing.
They'd forgotten to buy dinner in the midst of all their making out.
“We should order something before she breaks the door down,” Varka murmured jokingly against her hair, still holding her close.
Rosaria didn't need to be a detective to piece together what had been happening before she and Razor walked through the front door.
Her parents emerging from the same bedroom was clue enough. But the flushed skin, the way Varka's lips looked suspiciously red—Nicole's lipstick, definitely—and most telling of all, their awkward fumbling while ordering takeout? They were so obvious.
She kept her observations to herself, filing them away with the clinical detachment of a teenager who had long since made peace with the fact that her parents were, unfortunately, still very much in love.
“I'm thinking about trying out for baseball,” Razor announced during dinner, his voice bright with excitement.
Varka's head snapped up, fatherly pride already beaming from his face. “Baseball? That's great, Razor!”
His son's answering smile was worth a thousand words.
“When are tryouts?” Nicole leaned forward, genuinely interested. “Are you going alone?”
Razor shook his head, gesturing with his chopsticks. “Bennett and Noelle are trying out too. Girls can try out, too.” He ducked his head slightly. “Tryouts are after summer—at the beginning of the next school year. So I'm gonna train hard until then.” His gaze drifted to Varka, quietly seeking approval.
Varka's hand reached out to ruffle his son's hair. “That's still months away, but I'm proud of you, kid. I can already tell you're going to work hard. Just don't push yourself too hard, alright?”
Nicole's expression softened with maternal concern. “Your dad's right. I still remember your injury at Family Day.”
Razor felt something warm bloom in his chest. Sister Grace used to scold him for making her worry. It was always laced with exasperation, with the weight of too many children and too little time. But his mother's worry was different. It wrapped around him like a warm and cozy blanket on a snowy night.
“Okay, Mom.” His voice came out softer than intended. “I won't push myself. I promise.”
Nicole rose from her seat and wrapped her arms around her small wolf cub. She knew about his secret training before Family Day. She'd noticed how carefully he'd been eating and exercising before the entire house was awake. He didn’t know how she'd deliberately prepared healthier meals, how her heart had nearly stopped when he'd fallen, blood blooming on his scraped knee.
Razor let himself be held, letting the warmth of her embrace sink into his bones.
Varka and Rosaria watched the scene with matching smiles.
“Oh, right.” Rosaria pulled out Varka's card, sliding it across the table.
“My card!” Varka snatched it up as Nicole returned to her seat.
Rosaria's expression was caught somewhere between sheepish and defiant. “Sorry. I kinda needed it for something.”
Varka raised an eyebrow, but there was no heat in his gaze. Truthfully, he couldn't be upset. His missing card had led to Nicole showing up at Good Hunter, which had led to... well. A lot of things. Rosaria had unwittingly orchestrated the events that finally brought Nicole's confession. He owed her, if anything.
“I don't really care how you spend your allowance.” He looked between both his children. “I trust you to be wise with Mora. But I also want you to have fun—live a little. Personally, I don't mind if you spend a thousand Mora on clothes or food or whatever kids spend money on these days.” He turned to Rosaria, expression softening. “Just promise me—if you're running low, come to me first. Ask.” A pause. “Now, can I ask what you used my card for?”
Rosaria's cheeks went pink. “I, uh... I'll tell you later,” she mumbled.
Varka's lips curved into a knowing smirk. “She thinks I don't know. Seamus has been keeping me updated on how close our girls are getting,” he thought privately.
“That's fine.” He tucked the card back into his pocket. “I wouldn't care if you spent your allowance on dates, either.”
He tossed her a wink.
Rosaria rolled her eyes so hard she probably saw the back of her skull.
But she was smiling.
When dinner ended, the household dispersed to their separate rooms.
Varka made a beeline for the shower, desperate to wash off the sweat and grime of a long workday. He'd have loved to share the shower with his wife—but that could wait. Tonight would be their first time, and he wanted it to be special. Even if doing it under the same roof as their sleeping children wasn't exactly how he'd pictured it. But Nicole wanted to do it—wanted him. And he wanted her with a desperation that bordered on need.
He watched the water swirl down the drain, still half-convinced he'd dreamed the whole thing. Nicole loved him. She'd said it. She'd kissed him. She'd marked him—that hickey she'd given him, a flag planted on his skin for Mavuika to see. He was hers.
Varka stepped out of the shower, toweling off, and caught his reflection in the mirror. The love bite still bloomed on his neck, vivid and undeniable. He touched it, grinning like an idiot. Part of him wished it would stay forever, like one of his battle scars. But then again, if it were permanent, Nicole might give him fewer. And he wanted more—wanted every inch of him to show the world he belonged to no one but her.
Once dry from head to toe, he slipped into his pajamas and strode toward Nicole's bedroom, his heart thrumming with anticipation.
“Oh, honey, are you—”
He swung the door open.
“Oh, hey, Dad.” Rosaria's greeting was dry as old paper, her eyes fixed on the textbook in her lap.
“Hey, Dad!” Razor's voice was considerably warmer.
There, on Nicole's bed, their children sat on either side of their mother, homework spread across the duvet. Nicole offered her husband an apologetic smile as he stood frozen in the doorway, valiantly hiding his crushing disappointment.
“I'm helping the kids with their homework,” Nicole said, as if the scene wasn't already painfully obvious.
“I can see that.” Varka stepped inside, no longer feeling like he was trespassing on sacred ground. He settled on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.
“Do you mind if I stay?” His voice was softer than intended.
Nicole's eyes widened slightly.
“I really love listening to you talk.” His smile was warm, genuine.
Her answering smile could have lit up the entire room. She shifted, patting the space beside her in silent invitation. Varka slid into the spot eagerly, wedging himself between Nicole and Rosaria, his arms wrapping shamelessly around his wife's waist and pulling her against his chest.
“I don't think Mom can concentrate with you hugging her like a bear,” Rosaria observed dryly.
Varka pressed a kiss to Nicole's hair. “Don't underestimate your mother. She could talk your head off for hours even if she was in physical pain, and I’ve seen it.”
“Alright, that's enough.” Nicole's voice carried gentle reprimand, but she was already leaning comfortably into his embrace, her body fitting against his like she'd always belonged there. She turned to Rosaria. “You said your class is studying Enkanomiya?”
And then she began to lecture, thorough, passionate, utterly captivating just like her.
Varka held her close, content to listen to the woman he loved share her heart with their children.
This was good, too. This was right.
The rest could wait.
Alice, Favonius Corp.'s Vice President of Marketing, was rarely seen wearing her serious face. She moved through the halls with an easy grace, always ready with a laugh or a wink, the kind of executive who made everyone forget she could be just as sharp as her more stoic colleagues. But when she worked, she worked with a focus that bordered on ruthless. A single glance at the framed portrait of her daughter Klee was enough to fuel her through the longest days.
Today was one of those days. Alice sat behind her desk, expression almost cold, fingers flying across her keyboard as she reviewed document after document. Everyone on her floor knew better than to interrupt.
A knock came at her door.
She looked up, prepared to be brisk.
“Nicole?”
Her face transformed instantly, the hard lines softening into warmth. “What brings you here? You never come to see me at work.”
Nicole stepped inside, and Alice watched her friend take in the office—walls papered with pictures of Klee, shelves overflowing with Dodoco plushies, a children's drawing taped to the monitor. It looked less like a VP's domain and more like a shrine to a very beloved five-year-old. Alice had never cared.
Then she noticed Nicole's face.
Pink, flushed—the color of someone carrying something too big to keep inside.
“I sort of...” Nicole hesitated. “Need your help, Alice.” She lifted her chin, meeting Alice's gaze with determined eyes. “I want to assassinate Varka. Again.”
Alice's face split into a grin. She completely understood Nicole’s meaning. She was already on her feet, her work abandoned in favor of helping her dear friend.