[BL]His Devotion Has Teeth

Chapter 50: Chapter 50: Proximity

Nero discovered that Sebastian had, at least temporarily, escaped sharing a bed with him.

The medical team kept him in the observation suite overnight, then extended that decision through a second night after the first twenty-four hours produced enough irregular data to justify continuous monitoring without anyone needing to manufacture an excuse.

Sebastian considered that a victory.

Nero allowed him to believe it.

The observation room sat beyond the main diagnostic suite, considerably less sterile than the rest of the medical wing but still unmistakably designed for patients rather than guests. Warm wood panels softened one wall, the lighting could be dimmed almost completely at night, and the narrow windows looked toward the forest rather than the laboratory corridor, but the bed remained surrounded by equipment, and a discreet monitoring station occupied the adjoining room.

Nero spent enough time there that someone eventually brought him a proper chair.

Sebastian complained about that too.

By midnight on the first evening, the equipment Nero had demanded began arriving.

The first transport reached the villa eight hours after Idris had promised it, carrying two shielded diagnostic systems from the Royal Research Institute and several technicians who looked simultaneously exhausted and delighted to have been dragged into a classified royal medical emergency.

The second shipment arrived shortly before dawn.

Nero met the senior physicians in the corridor while Sebastian slept under a carefully maintained pheromonal field.

”Do not tell him what these machines do.”

Claude looked at him sharply. ”Excuse me?”

Nero glanced through the glass toward Sebastian.

”He knows he can manipulate the current readings when he masks. If you tell him these are designed to ignore pheromonal presentation and measure beneath it, he will try harder.”

Claude opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

The Sahan specialist beside him looked thoughtful rather than offended.

Nero continued, ”You may tell him the equipment is more sensitive. You may tell him it is being used to recalibrate his baseline. You do not tell him that it gives us a second set of readings he cannot influence.”

Claude rubbed a hand over his face.

”You are asking physicians to conceal information from a patient.”

”I am asking you not to explain the engineering specifications of diagnostic equipment until we know whether knowing them changes the result.”

”That is different wording.”

”It is also accurate.”

Claude looked through the glass again.

Sebastian was asleep on his side, one hand beneath the pillow, his dark hair loose across the white linen. Even unconscious, the tension around his eyes had not entirely disappeared.

The new machines already showed why.

Pain response elevated.

Inflammatory stress was higher than Sebastian had admitted.

Receptor restructuring was active enough that the specialists had begun mapping changes in blocks of hours rather than days.

Claude sighed.

”I hate that you have a point.”

Nero smiled faintly. ”Everyone does eventually.”

That part, unfortunately, was true.

The next two days established a routine Sebastian despised.

Blood. Scans. Pheromonal response testing.

Food when he could tolerate it.

Sleep whenever exhaustion overwhelmed his arguments.

And repeated questions about pain that Nero made certain Sebastian answered honestly, even when Sebastian attempted to redefine eight as ”irritating” and six as ”hardly relevant.”

The new equipment quietly recorded the truth beside him.

Sebastian improved.

That was obvious.

He no longer looked as though standing might cause something catastrophic, the bleeding did not return, and the dangerous pressure in his pheromonal system receded beneath Nero’s continued support.

He was still in pain.

A lot of it.

By the evening of the second day, Nero sat in the familiar chair beside the observation bed with a report open across his tablet while rain tapped softly against the narrow windows.

Sebastian had been unusually quiet for nearly half an hour.

That alone was suspicious.

Nero looked over.

Sebastian was lying against the raised head of the bed in a dark shirt borrowed from Nero and loose trousers, one hand resting across his abdomen while the other lay beside him beneath the pulse sensor.

His expression was calm.

The hidden monitor disagreed.

Nero set the tablet aside.

”How bad?”

Sebastian’s eyes shifted toward him.

”I didn’t say anything.”

”That was my first clue.”

Sebastian exhaled slowly.

”Seven.”

Nero glanced toward the physicians working behind the glass.

”Where?”

”Glands. Chest. Less behind the eyes.”

At least he was answering properly now.

Nero stood.

The senior specialist entered before he could ask for her.

Sebastian looked at her.

”Can his output be raised?”

Nero stopped.

That was new.

For two days Sebastian had tolerated every increase as though accepting Nero’s pheromones were an administrative inconvenience imposed by medicine. He had never asked for more.

The physician checked both sets of readings before answering.

”It can.”

Sebastian’s shoulders loosened slightly.

”But,” she continued, ”simply increasing ambient output may not be the most efficient method anymore.”

Sebastian immediately became suspicious.

Nero did too, though for entirely different reasons.

”What would be?” Sebastian asked.

The specialist glanced at Nero, then back at him.

”Direct contact.”

Silence settled over the room.

Sebastian stared at her.

Nero was suddenly extremely interested.

”What kind of contact?” Sebastian asked carefully.

”Skin contact produces a stronger receptor response than ambient exposure. Hand contact, sustained physical proximity, holding, and contact near active pheromonal glands.”

Sebastian’s face had begun flattening.

Nero kept his expression neutral through considerable effort.

The physician continued with the detached professionalism of someone who either did not understand the danger or understood it perfectly and had chosen science over self-preservation.

”Kissing would likely produce a stronger response.”

Sebastian closed his eyes.

Nero looked toward the window because looking at Sebastian felt medically irresponsible.

Claude, standing near the diagnostic station, coughed into his fist.

The specialist was not finished.

”For maximum pheromonal exchange, sexual contact would theoretically be more efficient still.”

Sebastian opened his eyes again.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Then Sebastian looked at Claude.

Claude raised both hands.

”I did not write the biology.”

Sebastian looked at the senior specialist.

She remained composed.

Finally his gaze moved to Nero.

Nero had spent twenty-five years learning how to control his face in front of diplomats, assassins, hostile governments, international courts, and his father.

Apparently all of that had prepared him for this moment too.

He managed not to smile.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed.

”If you look pleased, I will recover purely to kill you.”

Nero folded his arms. ”I am exercising extraordinary restraint.”

”That is not reassuring.”

The specialist checked the monitor again.

”To be clear, we are not prescribing sexual activity. You are still medically unstable, physically exhausted, and in substantial pain. It would be inappropriate at this stage.”

Nero nodded immediately.

Sebastian looked marginally less horrified.

”However,” she added, ”closer contact would reduce the amount of ambient output His Highness needs to maintain while potentially giving you better symptom relief.”

Sebastian stared at the ceiling.

The rain continued against the windows.

Nero waited.

Eventually Sebastian asked, ”How close?”

”Start with sustained skin contact.”

Nero held out his hand.

Sebastian looked at it.

Then at Nero.

”You had that ready far too quickly.”

”It is a hand, Sebastian. I carry it everywhere.”

Claude looked down, apparently concealing amusement.

Sebastian regarded Nero’s offered hand for several more seconds before putting his own into it.