Page 23 of Outbreak Protocol
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FELIX
I wake with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar weight across my chest. Sunlight streams through the half-drawn blinds, casting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets.
Erik lies beside me, one arm flung possessively over my torso, his face relaxed in sleep.
The sharp angles of his jawline look softer in the morning light, his usually meticulous hair delightfully mussed.
Last night floods back in vivid detail—his hesitant touches turning bold, the way he surrendered to pleasure with the same intensity he applies to data analysis. The memory of his body opening for mine, his control fracturing into raw need, sends heat coursing through me.
He's beautiful like this. Vulnerable. Human. So different from the composed epidemiologist who stands before projection screens and calculates disease vectors with cool precision.
I shift slightly, my morning arousal pressing insistently against his thigh, the friction of skin against skin sending electric currents up my spine.
The movement causes Erik to stir, his eyelids fluttering before opening to reveal those pale blue eyes, momentarily soft with sleep before sharpening with awareness, darkening with desire as he fully awakens.
"Good morning," I whisper, suddenly shy despite our intimacy hours before, the memory of his hands mapping every centimetre of my body still tingling across my skin.
His lips curve into that rare smile that transforms his face, making my heart stutter. "Felix," he murmurs, voice deliciously rough with sleep. His hand slides deliberately down my stomach, fingers tracing the line of dark hair before finding me hard and aching. "I see you're awake in every sense."
My laugh dissolves into a desperate moan as he wraps his long fingers around my cock, stroking with deliberate pressure that makes my hips buck involuntarily. "God, Erik—the way you touch me—"
He silences me with a kiss, hungry and demanding, his tongue sliding against mine as he continues his expert ministrations below.
Something's different this morning—a newfound confidence in his touch, as if last night broke through some final barrier.
His body covers mine completely, no longer tentative but possessive, his weight pinning me deliciously to the mattress as his erection presses hot and heavy against my thigh.
"My turn," he whispers against my ear, his breath hot and moist, teeth grazing my earlobe as he reaches for the nightstand drawer.
I surrender to him completely, trembling as his slick fingers prepare me with the same methodical attention he gives everything, stretching me open with gentle persistence.
When he finally pushes inside, the burning pressure and fullness steal my breath, my body yielding to accommodate his considerable size.
His face above mine is a study in concentration and wonder, sweat beading on his brow as he restrains himself, muscles in his forearms straining with the effort of holding back.
"Move," I plead, clutching his shoulders, nails digging half-moons into his flesh. "Please, Erik, I need to feel you. "
He complies, withdrawing almost completely before sinking back in with excruciating slowness, establishing a rhythm that gradually increases in intensity until the bed creaks beneath us and the headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall.
The angle shifts as he hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, and suddenly stars explode behind my eyelids as he strikes my prostate with devastating accuracy.
He notices my reaction—the scientist in him cataloguing every response—targeting that spot relentlessly until I'm reduced to incoherent sounds, my hands fisted in the sheets, cock leaking against my stomach.
"Felix," he groans, his voice strained, sweat dripping from his brow onto my chest. "Look at me. I need to see you."
I force my eyes open, meeting his penetrating gaze as he drives into me with increasing urgency.
Something passes between us in that moment—something beyond physical pleasure, beyond the biological release building in my core.
His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing with surprising tenderness, and that simple connection sends me careening over the edge.
I come with his name on my lips, untouched, my body clenching rhythmically around him as hot streaks paint my stomach and chest. He follows seconds later with a guttural cry, his hips stuttering as he empties himself deep inside me, his face transformed by pleasure in a way I've never seen before—all control abandoned.
Afterward, he collapses beside me, our breathing gradually slowing in the afterglow, bodies slick with sweat and other fluids. His hand finds mine again, our fingers intertwining on the damp sheet as the morning light bathes his flushed skin in golden hues.
The spell is broken by a small insistent voice calling from down the hall.
"Uncle Felix? I'm hungry!"
Erik's eyes widen comically, and I stifle a laugh.
"Coming, Emma!" I call back, then whisper to Erik, "We'd better shower quickly. "
"Separately," he adds firmly. "Or we'll never make it to breakfast."
Twenty minutes later, we're in the kitchen. Emma sits at the counter, swinging her legs as she watches Erik prepare pancake batter with the same precision he applies to laboratory procedures.
"Can they have chocolate chips?" she asks hopefully.
"I don't see why not," Erik replies, reaching for the bag I indicate in the cupboard.
"Dr. Erik makes pancakes?" Emma sounds impressed.
"Dr. Erik is surprisingly talented at many things," I say, catching his eye over Emma's head. A blush creeps up his neck.
"Is he your boyfriend now?" Emma asks with a child's directness.
I choke on my coffee. Erik freezes, whisk in mid-air, batter dripping back into the bowl.
"Emma—" I begin, unsure how to explain.
"Yes," Erik says simply, resuming his whisking. "I believe I am."
Emma considers this, head tilted. "Good. You make Felix smile more."
The simplicity of her acceptance loosens something in my chest. I catch Erik's gaze again, and the warmth I see there makes my heart stutter.
Breakfast passes in comfortable domesticity.
Emma chatters about her friend Mia, whose house she'll visit today, while Erik produces perfectly golden pancakes.
Under the table, his foot hooks around my ankle, maintaining physical connection even as he discusses the nutritional value of maple syrup versus honey with Emma.
Later, after dropping Emma at Mia's house with promises to collect her by dinner, we sit in the car, the easy morning mood gradually giving way to reality.
"We need to get back to the hospital," I say, my fingers tight on the steering wheel .
Erik nods, his face already transitioning back to professional mode. Yet his hand finds my thigh, squeezing gently. "Whatever we face today, we face together."
If only I'd known how much we would need that strength.
The hospital parking lot is ominously full when we arrive.
Inside, the change from yesterday hits me like a physical blow.
The corridors teem with gurneys, patients stacked in hallways, moans and cries creating a hellish soundtrack.
Medical staff rush between beds, their faces masks of exhaustion behind protective equipment.
"What happened?" I breathe, stopping a passing nurse whose eyes I recognize above her mask.
"It's everywhere," she says, voice hollow. "People collapsing in supermarkets, on buses. The neurological symptoms are accelerating—we've had sixty-seven seizure cases since midnight."
Erik's hand tightens on my arm. "Mortality rate?"
"Eighty-four percent as of this morning," she replies, then hurries away to answer a call for assistance.
We find Sarah in the makeshift lab, surrounded by printouts and digital displays. Her red hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, dark circles prominent beneath her eyes.
"The virus is mutating again," she says without preamble, her voice tight with exhaustion.
"It's incorporating more host genetic material, adapting at a rate I've never seen.
The neurotropism is intensifying—it's targeting the amygdala and frontal lobe more aggressively.
" She slams her hand lightly on the table, a gesture of pure frustration.
"The bloody nerve of this thing. It's not just killing its hosts; it's robbing their graves for spare parts. It's a clever, vicious bastard."
"That explains the personality changes we're seeing," I murmur, thinking of the previously gentle elderly man who attacked three nurses yesterday .
"Where's Yuki?" Erik asks, already moving toward the computers.
"Conference room with Aleksandr. She's updating the models based on the new transmission data."
We find them surrounded by military personnel in addition to hospital staff. Yuki's face is drawn as she gestures to projection screens showing exponential growth curves.
"The R0 has jumped to 9.4," she says when she spots us. "At current rates, we're looking at 400,000 cases in Hamburg alone by next week. The containment measures aren't working, nearly half the city will be infected."
Aleksandr looks up from his conversation with a uniformed officer. "The military is establishing additional field hospitals, but we're already at capacity for critical care beds."
"What about evacuation?" Erik asks, stepping forward to examine the geographic spread on one of the screens.
The officer—a colonel based on the insignia—shakes his head. "Berlin has authorized a full quarantine. No one enters or leaves Hamburg until we understand what we're dealing with. The pockets outside of Hamburg have been contained, thankfully, so the disease must stop here."
The implications sink like lead in my stomach. We're trapped here, all of us, with a pathogen growing more lethal by the hour.
"I need to check on my patients," I say, needing to do something, anything practical.