Help! Five Beast Alphas Want To Breed Me!!(BL)-Chapter 286: Mobility Exercise

Zephan;

The grass beneath me is still wet from morning dew, cold enough that it seeps through the fabric of my trousers when I shift my weight, and I am so tempted to shift so my beast form can enjoy the feeling.

Unlike many other beasts, Nagarian’s have an addictive relationship with our beast forms. Especially when we’re home. Our people prefer their beast to their man.

It helps us feel more grounded, and feel... more. That’s why there are usually more snakes than people here.

Zethar and I, though, are forced to regulate how often we shift. From a young age, we’ve been taught that such indulgence with our beasts isn’t regal enough for Royal blood.

So, I welcome the discomfort of this cold seeping through my clothes. At least it’s keeping me present, instead of my mind drifting into the thousand quiet calculations that never really leave my head.

Elian laughs in the field ahead of us, and my eyes dart to him immediately.

His laughter is an unguarded sound. It is so bright. The kind of sound that slips out when he forgets to be careful.

Zerana stands opposite him, her posture neat as with mastery, as she demonstrates a stretch. Elián mirrors her, though his version is far less... organised. He bends forward, then sideways, then laughs again when he nearly topples over, and Zerana quickly reaches out to catch him.

I watch the way his shirt rolls up just a little at the hem, and my eyes stay fixed there.

Just then, Zethar clicks his tongue beside me, and my mind remembers that he’s still sitting beside me.

"Is it just me," he whispers slowly, "or has Elian added more weight?" He concludes, and I huff.

"It’s not just you," I reply, still not looking away from the field.

Zethar hums, pleased, and I wonder what’s going on in his mind.

"Good. I thought my eyes were finally lying to me." He says, and I turn to look at him. He blinks at me with his dual colored eyes, and I smile.

"They aren’t," I reply, and he smiles.

"His shoulders are broader, too. Not much, but enough that his balance is shifting." I explain as I turn back to our omega, and even though I’m no longer looking at my brother, his grin is audible.

"You noticed the shoulders." He notes with a tinge of excitement in his voice, and the ghost of a smile coats my lips.

"I notice everything," I say dryly, and he laughs now, bumping me in the side.

"That’s my brother," he says, and my gaze remains on the little bud in the field.

He attempts another stretch, lifting one leg behind him while reaching forward. Zerana murmurs instructions, calm and steady, her voice rising just enough to be heard if one is listening for it, but her every instruction is patient.

Elian wobbles, curses softly, then laughs at himself.

His shirt clings on for dear life, now. The fabric stretches faintly across his stomach when he inhales deeply, with his chest rising with the effort. It is subtle. Most wouldn’t see it. But subtle changes are the most dangerous kind. They are the ones you miss if you stop paying attention for even a moment.

"I tried to help him into a shirt this morning," I begin, even though I know Zethar didn’t ask, and my brother turns fully toward me now, intrigued.

"Oh?" He replies, and I let out a breath.

"He couldn’t fit into it," I whisper as I look back at him, and Zethar’s eyebrows lift. Slowly. Annoyingly delighted.

"He... couldn’t fit6?? Did he notice?" He whispers, in astonishment, and I shake my head in negation.

"No," I inform immediately.

"He didn’t," I add, and Zethar’s confused expression follows.

"He didn’t notice that he couldn’t fit into a shirt? How?"

"I switched it," I reply flatly, and Zethar’s jaw drops.

"Same colour. Slightly different cut... But I made him think it was the same one. He was distracted, complaining about how itchy the sleeves felt, and I told him there was a bit of lint in it I had to take out." I narrate, and this time, the lunatic I have for a brother bursts out laughing.

"Quiet," I hiss, though I don’t entirely mean it.

Zethar leans back on his hands, laughter still shaking his shoulders, and delight in his eyes.

"You changed his shirt without him noticing. Light, Zephan. You’re a menace."

"I did it so he wouldn’t spiral," I snap, though there’s no real heat in it, and Zethar tares at me in silence.

"He already worries enough about being a burden. Getting bigger is already a worry he has. Imagine him finding out his clothes have stopped fitting at just the first month of pregnancy." I rant, and Zethar’s grin grows.

"Oh, he’s going to be so chubby!!" He grins, and I sigh.

"What do you think? He’s carrying a bear cub. His body is trying to make adjustments for the baby’s comfort." I explain, and Zethar bounces slightly on the balls of his feet, unable to contain himself.

This causes me to give him a long look.

"You’re happy," I say flatly, and his stupid grin grows.

"You’re glad he’s finally gathering that pregnancy fat you wanted." I accuse pointedly, and he doesn’t deny it.

He doesn’t even pretend to. He just grins wider.

"Absolutely." He replies proudly, and I roll my eyes.

"You’re impossible." I hiss, and he chuckles.

For a while, we sit in silence, watching Elian move. Zerana guides him through slow, deliberate motions... rotations of the hips, gentle bends, controlled stretches that focus on range rather than strength...

Elian follows her instructions with earnest concentration, brows furrowed, tongue caught absentmindedly between his teeth as he tries to get it right.

And Zethar leans forward, watching them closely.

"What are they doing, exactly?"

"Mobility stretches," I reply, and he turns to me with knotted brows. He doesn’t understand.

I sigh.

"Flexibility work. It helps prevent stiffness later in the pregnancy. iT... Keeps his joints loose as his centre of gravity shifts." I explain, and Zethar’s eyes widen in genuine mortification.

"Is that... wise?" He questions, and my brows knot.

"What do you mean?"

"It means," He says slowly,

"...Without enhanced mobility, Elian is already a thunderbolt. He runs down hallways, flies up and down the stairs, and treats palace railings like optional suggestions." He completes, and my eyes move back to Elian, who’s straining, but still smiling.

"And now," Zethar continues,

"We’re making him MORE flexible!? Faster... Less hindered. Is that really a good idea??" He probes, and I can’t help but find his panic amusing.

"Stop being an ass." I snort, but his panicked expression doesn’t drop

"I’m serious!" He retorts, and I sigh.

"Zethar, he needs the scratches. Discomfort during pregnancy is never good. Especially not for the overthinker we have on our hands. If his body hurts, he’ll overcompensate. If he feels restricted, he’ll push harder. This keeps him comfortable. Stable... Safe," I reply, and Zethar pauses as he considers my words... Then he shrugs.

"Fine. But if he starts bouncing off the castle walls at month nine, I’m blaming you." He warns, and I smile.

"Deal."

Elian straightens, hands on his hips now, breathing hard but smiling. Zerana nods approvingly, murmuring something that makes him preen just a little. He stretches his arms overhead, arching his back carefully, face turned up toward the sky as sunlight spills over him.

He looks happy. I like it... Seeing him this way.

Truly happy. Not the careful version. Not the guarded smile he wears to hide his heart.

"I’m glad he’s not thinking about them right now," Zethar whispers, and without needing to ask, I know the exact two he’s talking about.

"Me too," I reply with a nod.

The moment stretches. Peaceful. Fragile. Then something shifts.

It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic. It’s the quiet tightening in my chest, the instinctive alertness that snaps into place without conscious thought.

I follow Zethar’s gaze, and that’s when my gaze lands on her.

Asa. Walking toward the field.

Zethar is on his feet before I can even finish the thought.

I quickly grab him— my hand clamps around his wrist just as he pulls a blade from somewhere near his forearm, the metal flashing briefly in the sunlight.

How many weapons does this man have on him!? And how does he always hide them!??

"Zethar, don’t..." I begin, but he cuts me off as he tries to shake me off.

"Get your hands off me."

"Not here," I say urgently. "Not now," I add, and his eyes grow dark.

His eyes are locked on Asa. His breathing has changed. Sharper. Faster. I recognise the signs. This is not calculation. This is instinct stripped bare.

If I let him go, with how much he despises the girl, he might hurt her.

"You should know better than to think I’m someone who pretends about his emotions," Zethar growls softly, but I tighten my grip.

"You’ll scare him," I note, and that gives him pause.

But just a fraction.

Asa is close now. Too close to Elian for comfort.

Zethar shoves me.

Hard.

My hand falls, and Zethar’s blade disappears just as quickly as it appeared, concealed again with practised ease. Zethar doesn’t look at me as he strides forward, every line of his body screaming intent.

"Zethar," I call after him.

He doesn’t stop.

Elian turns at the sound of approaching footsteps, a smile still on his face, unaware of the storm heading his way.

What’s my crazy brother about to fucking do!??