I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 13: The Undershirt

The air was cool on Orion’s skin as he opened the fastenings of his grey tunic. He shrugged it off, letting it fall onto a dry, mossy rock. But he stopped there.

Beneath, he wore a simple, high-necked undershirt made of thin, worn linen. It covered him from throat to wrists. It was what any modest Omega would wear. It was practical. It was proper.

He stood at the water’s edge in just his trousers and the undershirt, feeling oddly exposed despite being mostly covered. Abel was still under the waterfall, watching him, his head tilted.

”Come in!” Abel called again, sweeping an arm through the water to create a small wave.

Orion took a hesitant step into the pool. The water was shockingly cold at first, making him gasp, but as it swirled around his calves, then his knees, he realized Abel was right—it wasn’t truly cold. It was fresh and invigorating. He waded in further, the soft silt squishing between his toes.

Angel, who had been happily blowing bubbles near the shore, noticed Orion’s slow progress. With a playful glint in his dark eye, the horse turned and gave a powerful kick with one hind leg, sending a huge wall of water directly at Orion.

Orion sputtered, throwing his arms up as the cascade drenched him from head to waist. His hair was plastered to his forehead, water dripping from his nose and chin. He blinked, stunned.

From under the waterfall, Abel let out a loud, booming laugh. It was a sound of pure, uncomplicated delight. ”He got you!”

Before Orion could react, Abel pushed off the rocks and swam towards him with easy, powerful strokes. When he was close, he slapped the surface of the water with his palm, sending another spray into Orion’s face.

Orion sputtered again, but this time a laugh escaped him too—a short, surprised burst of sound. He wiped his eyes and retaliated, cupping his hands and splashing a weak wave back at Abel.

It was a pathetic attempt. Abel just grinned, shaking the water from his hair like a golden retriever. He surged forward, closer, until they were only a few feet apart in the chest-deep water. Angel circled them, creating gentle ripples, watching the game with interest.

They played. It was silly, childish. Abel would dive underwater and grab Orion’s ankle gently, making him yelp. Orion would try to push a floating leaf towards Abel’s face. They splashed each other until they were both breathless and laughing, the sound mixing with the roar of the falls.

For a few minutes, Orion forgot everything. He was just a man in water, playing with another man. The weight lifted.

Then, as they both caught their breath, treading water, Abel’s eyes fixed on Orion’s chest. More specifically, on the soaked linen undershirt clinging transparently to his skin.

Abel’s playful smile faded into a look of plain confusion. He pointed a wet finger. ”Open it.”

Orion glanced down at himself. The thin fabric was plastered to his torso, outlining every plane. It was indecent. He crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. ”Open what?”

”This,” Abel said, gesturing at the shirt. ”You’re still wearing it. In the water. It’s silly.” He said it with the straightforward logic of a child seeing someone swim in boots.

”It’s fine,” Orion said quickly, turning slightly away. ”It’s... it’s what I’m comfortable in.”

Abel frowned. The confusion deepened. He didn’t understand the concept of modesty, not in this context. Bathing was bathing. Clothes were for outside. This was a simple equation his mind couldn’t parse.

”But you can’t feel the water properly,” Abel argued, his tone earnest. He demonstrated by running his own hand over his bare, wet chest. ”See? It’s nice. The sun hits your skin. It’s free.”

”I can feel it through the shirt,” Orion insisted, though it was a lie. The wet linen was a cold, clammy second skin.

Abel shook his head, not buying it. He swam a little closer, his expression serious now. ”It’s in the way. You should open it. Like this.” He mimicked pulling a shirt open from the neckline.

Orion’s heart began to beat faster. This wasn’t about seduction; he could see that plainly in Abel’s open, puzzled face. It was about comfort, about logic, about doing things the ”right” way. To Abel, the shirt was a pointless barrier to a full experience.

”Abel, really, it’s okay,” Orion said, his voice tighter than he intended.

They stayed like that for a long moment, treading water, the waterfall thundering beside them. Abel stared at him, his golden brows knitted together. He was trying to solve a problem—why his husband would choose to be uncomfortable.

Orion held his gaze, willing him to drop it. He wasn’t ready for this. Not here. Not like this.

Finally, Abel seemed to reach a decision. His confused frown cleared, replaced by a look of helpful determination. ”I’ll help you.”

”No, Abel, don’t—”

But Abel was already moving. He closed the distance between them in two strong strokes. Before Orion could retreat, Abel’s large, wet hands came up. One settled firmly on Orion’s hip under the water to steady him. The other went to the neckline of the soaked undershirt.

His fingers, surprisingly deft, found the simple tie at the throat. He gave it a little tug. The knot, swollen with water, held fast.

Orion froze, a jolt of pure panic shooting through him. ”Abel, stop!”

Abel didn’t stop. He was focused on the task. When the tie resisted, he changed tactics. He grabbed two handfuls of the wet linen at Orion’s collarbones. With a gentle but firm pull, he started to lift the shirt up and over Orion’s head.

The material stretched. Orion felt it peel away from his damp skin, rising up his torso. A sliver of his stomach was exposed to the air and the water.

A sound escaped Orion’s throat—a high, undignified squeak of sheer surprise and alarm. It wasn’t a scream. It was the noise a small animal makes when startled.

The sound broke Abel’s concentration. He stopped pulling, the shirt now rucked up just below Orion’s ribs. He looked at Orion’s face, finally seeing the wide-eyed panic there.

Abel’s hands went still. The determination melted from his expression, replaced by immediate, worried concern. He released the fabric instantly, letting it fall back into place with a wet slap against Orion’s skin. The hand on Orion’s hip loosened its grip but didn’t move away, a steadying presence.

”Did I hurt you?” Abel asked, his voice suddenly small, his eyes searching Orion’s face. ”I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Orion was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He wasn’t hurt. He was just... exposed. Seen. And terrified of what came next.

He looked into Abel’s worried eyes, saw the genuine remorse there, and the panic began to recede, leaving behind a shaky embarrassment.

”You didn’t hurt me,” Orion managed to say, his voice unsteady. He uncrossed his arms, letting them fall to his sides in the water. ”You just... surprised me.”

”But you made a noise,” Abel said, still concerned. ”A scared noise.”

Orion took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. ”It was just a surprise. That’s all.”

Abel studied him for another long moment, his gaze flickering from Orion’s face to the now-rumpled undershirt. The confusion returned, but it was softer now, tinged with a new kind of understanding. He was learning that some of Orion’s boundaries weren’t about logic. They were about something else. Something fragile.

”You don’t want it open,” Abel stated slowly, not asking.

Orion shook his head, a tiny movement. ”Not right now. No.”

Abel nodded, accepting this. He didn’t ask why. He just accepted it as a new rule: *Orion’s shirt stays on unless Orion says otherwise.*

”Okay,” he said simply. Then, as if to make amends, he offered a small, tentative smile. ”Do you want to see where the waterfall comes from? There’s a little cave behind it. I think... I think I remember that.”

He was changing the subject, giving Orion an escape, offering a piece of his past instead of pressing for intimacy in the present.

Orion felt a rush of gratitude so strong it tightened his throat. He nodded. ”Yes,” he said, his voice firmer now. ”Show me.”

Abel’s smile widened, relief smoothing the worry from his face. He turned and began swimming back towards the roaring curtain of water, glancing back to make sure Orion was following.

Orion followed, the soaked undershirt clinging heavily to him, a tangible reminder of the line that had almost been crossed. But as he swam after Abel, towards the hidden cave, he realized something.

The line was still there. And Abel, in his own innocent, direct way, had just learned to respect it.