Abo alpha Bailey reacting to PC presenting late as an omega. His omega.
(DoL relationships; omegaverse; knotting; dubcon)
Bailey shouldn't be at the orphanage this late. He was, though, eyes aching as he reads the same line of numbers for the umpteenth time. Bailey was good with numbers, always had been, but whatever he was looking at was all kinds of fucked.
Fuck, he needs some coffee. It might help. The smell alone would perk him up, at least.
Bailey slips from his office wearing an old pair of grey sweatpants. It's late on a hot summer night. No one is awake, so what does he care?
The kitchen is empty, thankfully. The last thing he wants to deal with right now is a brat creeping around.
Bailey's peace is short-lived, the front door of the orphanage flying open.
The overwhelming scent of omega in heat catches him off guard. Only fools wouldn't be on suppressants in this fucked town, yet here one is, barging into Bailey’s orphanage. The smell is so powerful that it takes him a moment to catch the second scent, that of an enraged alpha.
Bailey's at the front door in a flash.
"Please," the omega whimpers, trying to fight off the alpha. "I d-didn't know, Avery, please!"
Bailey is used to kicking perverts out of the orphanage. Even with the scent of the omega making him dizzy, he’s still able to force the other alpha out of the door with a well-aimed kick to the head.
Bailey grabs blindly at the omega, not even that interested in if it's one of his brats or not. They can pay him back for his protection later. Bailey hauls them up to their feet, intent on shoving them in an isolation room he has set up for shit like this. It's only then that he recognizes the omega.
It's you. You. He'd thought you were a beta, but apparently not. No. Bailey's life couldn't be that simple. You're an omega. A late bloomer. Going into heat.
And it's doing something to him. More than the usual he has to suffer through when a stupid omega forgets to take their suppressants and goes into heat in public.
A slight tingling travels up from where his hand wraps around your arm. A strange, warm sensation that grows more intense, spreading rapidly across his shoulders and down his body until settling heavily in his groin.
You whine, shivering and attempting to curl in on yourself as Bailey stares at you. When he doesn't let you go, doesn't let you crumple back to the ground, you lean into him, shaking against his chest.
Mate.
The word comes to his mind unbidden. Mate. His mate.
Fuck.
Bailey stills, your labored breaths filling the dimly lit hallway as his options flit through his mind. The moment seems to stretch into eternity but, in reality, it only lasts a fraction of a second. Despite his own strong will, there really is only one option that will quell the fire you've set under his skin.
He scoops you up, cradling you against his chest with something that could be mistaken for tenderness as he carries you to his room. That illusion doesn't last long as he tosses you on his bed, pausing to lock the door behind him. He's pretty sure if anyone tried to interrupt what he was about to do, he'd rip their throat out.
"Hurts," you whimper, pressing your thighs together while curling in on yourself.
You look so…small. He should get you something. Blankets. Pillows. Soft, warm things to keep you safe. But he doesn't. Bailey shoves all those thoughts from his mind, joining you on the bed.
You don't fight him, not like you had fought the other alpha. Eyes glazed and unfocused, you couldn't focus on your caretaker ripping off the remains of your clothing even if you wanted to. But you don't try to stop Bailey, either, groaning as he forces your trembling thighs apart and slots himself between them.
Sweet slick coats the inside of your thighs, starting to dampen his sheets. It's infuriating how good you smell, how that alone makes his cock twitch in the confines of his sweats. His whole room is going to smell like you for ages at this rate; but Bailey can't help reaching between your legs, sliding a calloused finger into you, and coaxing out more.
The tiny whine you let out goes straight to his dick.
So warm, so good. Another finger joins the first easily, then a third. Your hand latches onto his arm, nails digging into his skin, but nothing else. You don’t try to push him away or pull him closer. You just whine, squeezing his arm harder as he starts pumping in and out of you quickly, curling his fingers, scissoring you open. Another whine leaves you as he withdraws.
He could still stop. He should stop. Bailey knows this. Even as he slides his sweats down his hips, frees his cock and presses against your entrance, he could stop. As hazy as his mind is, he could pull back, end this. It would be better, in the long run. If he does this, he can't go back. He wouldn’t be able to. You're his, and he won't be able to keep himself from you. A weakness. An annoying thorn in his side, something anyone could take advantage of.
"A-alpha,” you groan. Your voice is breathless, full of need. It sends another wave of heat through him.
But he could stop. He could.
You press against him, enveloping the head of his cock. Bailey's breath hitches as you continue to squirm, to take more of him. Your legs wrap around him, squeezing his hips as you try to get even closer.
"Bailey. Please. H-hurts."
He can’t stop.
Maybe it's the pheromones filling the air, making it increasingly difficult to hold onto rational thought. Maybe it's the voice in the back of his head that keeps urging him on, demanding he claims a tiny piece for himself in this hell town.
Maybe it's the way you say his name. The way you aren't completely blinded by your heat, that you know it's him and you pull him closer still.
Pinning down your hips to keep you from moving, Bailey snaps forward, sheathing himself fully in one stroke.
The moan pulled from you rings in Bailey's ears and is more than loud enough to cover the small fuck that escapes him. You try to rock against him, but he keeps you pinned as he starts pounding into you. All you can do is grab onto his shoulders, disjointed sounds spilling from you. Small gasps and half-formed pleads for more.
If this was any other situation, any other person, Bailey would snarl for you to shut up. Would cover your mouth, choke you. Maybe even go slower, deliberately make his thrusts more shallow. But it's not any other situation. He can't help but oblige you, acting on pure instinct. Any thought beyond knotting you, making you cum on his cock, wiped clean from his brain.
Besides, he wants more too. Needs more. Needs to get as deep inside you as possible, to keep feeling the delicious friction of you wrapped around his cock. All of it. All of you.
He's not going to last much longer, the knot at the base of his cock already starting to swell, catching on your hole with each outward stroke. You're in the same boat as him, if the way your insides twitching around him like crazy is any indication.
Your hands slide from his shoulders, tracing over well-muscled arms. You pause occasionally when your fingers brush across a scar, but you never linger for long. Finally, your hands come to rest over his, on your hips, squeezing.
Bailey leans over you, his chest pressed to yours as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, muffling a small groan as he mouths at your scent gland. You gasp as his knot starts to press against your hole, too swollen to fit, grip on his hands tightening as he forces it inside one last time before he's stuck.
He continues to grind against you, tell-tale tightening in his balls signaling his fast-approaching end. Pressing his mouth to your scent gland, there's a moment of hesitation. It takes all his remaining willpower, mind sluggish as it tries to work, but he doesn't mark you. He doesn't have to. He doesn't have to claim you, tie you to him. He wants to. More than anything. Even though he knows you'll both regret it, his teeth burn with the desire to sink into you. But he could still salvage this. Could fuck you through your heat and be done with you. Make sure you're on suppressants and he'll never have to deal with this again. That's what he should do.
You groan, hands squeezing his, legs locked around his waist and rocking against him as best you can. Taking a shuddering breath, you press your face into his shoulder.
Bailey bites down.
"Bailey."
His name comes out of your mouth on a pleasure-filled sigh, breath warming his already burning skin.
A half-strangled scream rips from your throat as your orgasm hits you, hard and sudden. Bailey almost chokes as you tighten around him, groan rumbling deep in his throat as he starts to shoot his load deep inside you.
He keeps grinding away, sweet copper tang filling his mouth as he stays latched to your throat. He could keep going. Keep grinding away in you, keep spilling inside you, over and over. Fuck, he could die happy like that, he thinks. Just keeping you pinned under him and stretched around his knot, nipping at your scent gland to keep you nice and pliant. Never let you leave the orphanage, his office, fuck, his bed.
As quick as those thoughts form, they drift away, settling in the back of his mind for a rainy day. Your pheromones wain and Bailey can think clearly again.
You let out a relieved sigh, going limp as Bailey finally stops moving. He’s still pressed against you, his knot keeping him from pulling away. He doesn't want to pull away. Not really. When he does, you’ll look at him in disgust and horror. You’ll probably yell and scream and try to hit him. Fuck the fact that you must know you’re his, must feel it the same way, smell it on his skin. He’s the boogeyman to most of the orphans. Protector one day, the creature they needed protecting from the next. He can’t take that. Can’t have you crying or screaming, disgusted with yourself, with him. Not right now.
If he just stays like this, maybe you won't get the chance to do anything before the next wave of your heat flares up.
Ah, Bailey has never been that lucky. You’re moving again. He expects the hands on his shoulders, expects you to start pushing him away. You don’t.
You drape your arms over his shoulders, attempting to pull him closer, as if you want him to lay on you. It’s tempting, he’s tired as it is. He never did get that cup of coffee.
Bailey can’t suppress a shudder as you start toying with his hair. “H-hey.” Your voice is quiet, rough. It’s tempting to pretend he didn’t hear you. He can’t though, not when you tuck your face into his neck and press a kiss to the scent gland there.
He jerks back, “The fuck do you think-”
It’s probably just the lingering effects of your heat, or him marking you, or something like that that explains the warmth that swells in his chest as he drifts to sleep.
You pull him back down, surprisingly strong, and press your mouth to his. It’s a quick kiss, one that doesn’t give Bailey any time to respond before you end it. You shift on the bed, making yourself comfortable. Bailey ends up on his side, your back pressed to his chest.
He not spooning you. No. That would be silly. He’s just, making himself comfortable, too. He’s stuck like this, so he might as well, right?
