In many ways, yes. "No."
He cocked a brow, challenging, "Are you certain? I do not wish to contaminate our nest."
Unwilling to invite negative attention, she moved to her knees to nose his stomach, hoping the action would satisfy him enough that he might leave her in peace. "You smell as you should."
It was another one of those new games of his, Shepherd's crafty ways of drawing her out, the manipulation to earn attention outside of her persistent anger. Climbing over her, arranging her body so their skins were flush, he reached for the covers and pulled them over their heads, recreating the soft, dark burrow she liked best.
Feeling her nose at his neck, hearing her absently sniff, it was clear his Omega was appeased—even humming her strange music, contented when his fingers started to manipulate the muscles along her spine. Soon enough, Claire was utterly tranquil, her soft breaths revealing slumber was a heartbeat away.
A rasping breath preceded, "What have you done in my absence?"
Half-asleep, she grumbled, "The same thing I am trying to do right now."
"I have other plans for you."
He felt her body tense, the Omega expecting to be manhandled. A catch of breath hitched before a tone devoid of emotion seemed to strangle her words. "I'm tired."
Correcting her, Shepherd flexed the arm strewn across her lower back and answered with his own low reassurance, "It is natural at this stage that your body feels lethargic while it adapts to its new task. This malaise will pass."
It seemed like such a predictable explanation for her reluctance.
Claire put her chin to his chest and glanced towards the man burrowed in her nest. He ran his palm up her body until it rested flush against her cheek. Watching her reaction, knowing she thought darkness concealed her, he found her expression was not grimaced in the miserable distrust he'd stomached since her return. Instead, it was softly rendered into a state of the resigned acquiescence she refused to show where she thought he might see it.
Taking time to trace her lips, to watch her close her eyes and find a moment's peace under his touch, Shepherd wondered aloud, "You are still angry with me for inducing estrous, even though you were well-cared for during and since."
Claire stiffened, her face forming back into a reflection of sadness. "I suspect you desire a specific answer. I am too drained to figure out what it is."
There had been little conversation between them in their short acquaintance; most dialogue usually ended the instant Shepherd no longer found her replies acceptable. The frustration of fighting to be heard had passed into disillusioned acceptance. As things were, Claire possessed little interest in anything but sleep.
In that dark little tent of blankets she looked towards the sound of his breath, chewing her lower lip and wishing that moments like these—the times he would seem gentle—were her reality; that the dark nameless warmth and male body was someone else.
Speaking through the purr he projected gently into her smaller body, he asked, "Beyond leaving the safety of this space, what would lessen this discontent?"
"A window."
Burrowing the pads of his fingers against her scalp, rubbing just enough so she'd close those unhappy eyes, all seemed so much better when his mate almost leaned into his hand. "There are several shelves of windows waiting across the room, which you have pointedly ignored."
"I don't need to learn how to be a dictator. I don't want to be anything like you."
Shepherd smiled. "I agree. You would make a terrible Follower and would require constant punishment for insubordination."
A palm cupped her face and brought it fractionally higher. His voice in the dark breathed, "You are smiling."
Was she? No, she could not have been. "And how do you punish your Followers?"
The pad of his thumb traced over her forced pout, Shepherd teasing, "Would you prefer corporal punishment over being physically attuned to your proper course?"
There was a stifled coughing noise, and Claire moved out of his palm and pressed her face to his chest. A shudder wracked her body, Shepherd feeling her lips curve against his skin. And then it escaped—a second burst of strangled laughter.
The purr returned in full force. "And now you are laughing..."
"Of course not." She cleared her throat, trying her damndest to keep her lips from twitching.
The pads of his fingers skimmed her ribs. Claire flinched, stiffened, and then bit her lip to stop her forced, laughing shrieks. "Shepherd!"
"Yes?" He trilled his fingers over her ribs as she shied and tried to slip away, only to be caught in all her blankets.
They twisted as he mercilessly tickled; all the while, Shepherd noting each slip, each little quake of a giggle to escape. He seemed alive, full of a new, unusual energy as his ribs expanded and contracted above her in rapid, excited breaths. "Little one, you are alight again."