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“Bring back someone nice, please,” Ranboo says, smoothing his hands over Ender’s tie. His alpha looks beautiful, as usual, tall and strong in his suit. Any omega would be pleased to be with him.
“Should I worry about being replaced?” Ender asks, and Ranboo laughs, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, careful not to smudge the makeup he'd helped carefully apply.
“Never. You'll always be my alpha,” he promises. Ender would never say it, but Ranboo can feel the smallest amount of tension go out of his shoulders.
“And you're my omega,” he says, hands encircling Ranboo’s waist. “No matter who I bring home, you will always be mine.” Ranboo leans against his chest, purring happily.
“You should go,” he says reluctantly. “Before you're late.” Ender squeezes the back of his neck, warm palm covering the scent glands on the side of Ranboo's neck.
“I'll be back by dinner. Prepare a space for the new arrival,” he orders before sweeping out of the room. Ranboo watches him go, stomach twisting with anxiety.
He’s always known that Ender would bring more omegas home. Any alpha of high-standing status has at least two omegas, and usually more. Ender’s father has over ten, last Ranboo heard. Ender putting off bringing another into his home could be excused by him settling into his own space away from his family, but that could never last forever. Ranboo loves Ender, but he knows one omega is not enough to produce the amount of heirs a man like him may require. And omegas, much like suits or cars, should not be shown off at too many events in a row. A rotating cast is best, for the omegas and the alpha.
That being said, Ranboo hopes Ender was telling the truth. That he will not be replaced, and that he will always belong to his alpha, just as he always has.
He takes a deep breath and goes to prepare for the new omega.
Ender's room is already equipped with side chambers for his omegas. Some alphas, Ranboo knows, will have their omegas stay in a separate room entirely, with far fewer luxuries. Very few alphas would allow the privacy Ranboo has, with a curtain hung at the entrance to his alcove. It's just large enough for a small nest filled with blankets and pillows and a desk holding a few books. Another thing Ender differs from most alphas in: he taught Ranboo to read and encourages him to take books from his library.
Maybe he'll be able to teach the new omega.
With that thought in mind, he busies himself with dusting another alcove, vacuuming the thick carpet and arranging a collection of pillows and blankets just so. The new omega will no doubt rearrange them, but it's nice to come into something comfortable. Ranboo also ducks into Ender's closet and steals one of his undershirts, one that’s drenched in his snowy pine scent, and tucks it in among the blankets. Even if the omega is alone, they will be able to feel close to their alpha.
He plants his hands on his hips and surveys the space. It's a little impersonal, but that can't be helped. Ender will buy them things they like, within reason, of course. Someday it will be homier, and for now, Ranboo can go and check in with the chef to ensure dinner is being prepared. He would have liked to have cooked it himself, but any attempts made by him would only end in disaster, and a home full of smoke is not welcoming.
Tommy is sick and fucking tired of alphas manhandling him.
First there were the assholes that took him from his dad's house in the middle of the fucking night, because his dad was “no longer a proper influence”, which was code for them not liking that Phil is fucking another alpha. Which is fucking stupid, in Tommy's mind. It's not like Phil is bugging anyone.
Well.
Okay, he might be bugging some people, but that has more to do with him being Phil and less to do with him fucking alphas.
Second were the alphas at the Omega Center, which he's pretty sure is just a fancy name for a brainwashing center. Everyone there was all dressed in fucking white and it was fucking boring and the only thing Tommy got told was how everything would be easier if he was meek and submissive and good.
Fat fucking chance.
And now, he’s in some sort of fancy ballroom, all the omegas lined up and staring docilely at the floor while alphas paraded by and poked and prodded at them.
Tommy glares at the one in front of him, a short fucker with grey hair. He's probably older than Phil; definitely too old for Tommy. But then, these rich fucks don't care.
“Stand up straight,” the old man orders, and Tommy glares harder, hunches further. Fuck this guy. The man reaches for him, and Tommy wrenches away, baring his teeth at him.
“Fuck off, don't touch me.” The room goes quiet, an air of shock emanating from every person in it. Tommy refuses to back down, keeps his eyes on the alpha's.
“You little shit,” the alpha spits, and raises his hand, and Tommy braces for the hit. He could fight back, probably will, but it’ll end badly. Even he knows that, even with Phil doing his best to keep him out of all the shittier parts of being born an omega. Any omega that actually fights an alpha doesn’t last long. Instincts or some shit, Tommy doesn’t know. He thinks it’s stupid. He’s not all soft and cute and wanting to do shit like cook or nest with an alpha just because he’s an omega. Alphas should be able to control their instincts too.
Just before the hit lands, a hand grabs the older alpha’s wrist, stopping him. Tommy follows the arm with his eyes to find the owner; a younger alpha with long silver hair and a suit that even Tommy can tell is expensive. He’s fucking gorgeous, with a face that looks like it’s been carved out of some kind of white stone. Marble, maybe, like the museum his dad took him to as a kid. He looks fucking perfect, is the point.
Tommy hates him immediately, on principle.
“I believe we are not supposed to harm the omegas before claiming them,” Mr. Perfect says, his voice all smooth and deep and pretty. Ugh. The old guy snatches his hand away and glares at Mr. Perfect, who appears entirely unaffected, then walks away, down the line of submissive omegas. Tommy can practically feel Mr. Perfect looking at him, eyes dragging down the stupid gauzy robe he’d been given to wear, and then he’s summarily dismissed, which maybe stings more than the slap would have.
God, he’s so fucking stupid sometimes.
No one else tries to hit him, but a few touch him. One sticks her fingers in his mouth to check his teeth, and only the memory of getting his ass beat last time he bit a worker keeps him from biting her fingers off. It doesn’t stop him from spitting on the floor once she finally finishes, not caring about the noise of disgust she makes. Good. Maybe she’ll learn not to stick her fingers where they aren’t wanted.
He’s pretty sure he’s headed back to the Omega Center in the end, which isn’t like- ideal, but it’s better than going home with any of the assholes here. Maybe he’ll get lucky and no one will want him, and he can go take care of old people or whatever it is that omegas who are unwanted or widowed do.
He’s in the middle of a particularly vivid daydream where an old, rich alpha dies in his arms in the nursing home and is so grateful to have spent his last days in Tommy’s presence that he gifts his entire fortune to him, and Tommy gets to live in a lavish mansion with servants attending to his every whim and he bans every alpha but Phil. Maybe Techno can come too. He’s just gotten to the part where every worker at the Omega Center has lined up to beg his forgiveness when he’s jolted out of it by a hand on his shoulder. He jerks away, glaring up at the worker.
“Come on,” the worker says, ignoring his look. “We need to get you ready.”
“Ready for what?” Tommy demands, but he follows. His wrist still hurts from the last time he resisted one of the workers. Asshole.
“You were selected by an alpha. Congratulations.” The words shock him enough into following.
“What the fuck. Who picked me?” he asks, and the worker shakes his head.
“You’ll find out soon enough. First, we’re going to get you cleaned up and ready.”
‘Cleaned up and ready’ apparently means scrubbing him with non-scented soap until he feels like his skin is going to fall off, then dressing him in even gauzier clothes before leaving him in a lavish bedroom. Tommy eyes the bed for about two seconds before deciding he is absolutely not touching that with a ten foot pole and goes for the window.
It’s only two stories up, but the window is glued shut or something. It seems like a fire hazard, which means he would really be doing them a favor if he manages to pick up the nightstand next to the bed and toss it through the glass. He’s checking if it’s nailed to the floor or just really fucking heavy when the door swings open. Silently, of course, because nothing around here could possibly be objectionable. All the more reason to break their fucking windows.
Mr. Perfect steps through the door. He glances around, then arches one perfect eyebrow.
“Were you looking for something?” he asks coolly. Tommy scowls at him, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yeah, the key to the door,” he answers. Mr. Perfect looks at the door, then at him.
“The door is not locked. Did you try the knob?”
“Oh, fuck you, like I was going to assume they would just leave me in here. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, I bet they have loads of omegas just fucking escape from here. Just leaving in droves, right?” Tommy fumes, stepping closer to the window. Maybe if he jumps at it hard enough he can just kick out the glass. Like in Mission Impossible. Probably. He’s never actually watched Mission Impossible, but it seems like the sort of thing that would happen.
“Most omegas desire to be mated,” Mr. Perfect says, and Tommy draws himself up, taking in a deep breath, ignoring how shaky it is.
“Then you should go mate one of them and fuck off,” he says. Instead of fucking off, Mr. Perfect draws closer to him. Tommy makes himself stay still instead of backing up.
“I’ll fucking bite you,” he threatens, and Mr. Perfect actually smiles. It makes him look even more perfect, the smug bastard.
“I believe that’s rather the point,” he says, and Tommy freezes when the alpha’s hand reaches out and cups his neck. His hand is cold, and Tommy hates that it actually feels good on his skin. He’s overheated, probably from stress and all the fucking alpha scents. Mr. Perfect smells like snow and pines, like a winter forest or something. It’s not terrible, as far as alpha scents go.
“Leave me alone,” he says, and Mr. Perfect steps forward again. Their clothes are almost brushing. Tommy can’t help but feel exposed in his gauzy robe thing.
“If I leave you alone, you will be sent back to the Center and likely sold off to an alpha far less disposed towards indulgence than me,” he states, like he knows everything, like it’s an infallible truth.
The thing is, he’s probably right. Tommy has heard…rumors. About what happens to unruly, unmated omegas. Despite his daydreams, it’s usually nothing as nice as being put to work taking care of the elderly.
He swallows, hard. He’s not a fucking virgin, but he also knows he wouldn’t do well in a brothel. He’s too prone to being bossy, to rebellion.
Which means Mr. Perfect might be his best bet.
“Fine,” he says, like his agreement means anything. “But you better not get too handsy.” He tilts his head, baring his neck and closing his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the alpha come for his neck like some kind of vampire.
“Not yet,” the alpha agrees, and takes Tommy’s hand, leading him forward. Tommy opens his eyes in surprise and the alpha raises an eyebrow at him.
“I’m rather traditional. I’ll mate you during your first heat with me, in my home. Not in a place that smells like neither of us.” That’s almost reasonable, but Tommy hates him anyways. On principle, if nothing else.
“I don’t want to spend my heat with you,” he says flatly. The alpha smiles now, and doesn’t say anything in response. Just leads him through the door.
There aren’t even any guards or anything; they just walk out the front door, and Tommy curses himself for fucking around with the window instead of just walking out the unlocked door. Stupid.
The alpha leads him to a car that’s definitely stupid expensive without necessarily looking stupid expensive and opens the door for him. Tommy hesitates, considering running for just a moment before sliding into the smooth leather seat. He crams himself into the door of the car, as far from Mr. Perfect as he can get.
Which-
“What’s your name, anyways?” he demands. The alpha does another one of those little side glances.
“My name is Ender. You may call me that, or alpha, or sir,” he answers. Tommy pulls a face.
“I’m not fucking calling you sir,” he spits. Then, “my name’s Tommy.”
“I’m aware,” Ender says, and that’s a weird fucking name, but whatever. Not everyone can have a cool, manly name.
“Fucking creep,” he mutters, and twists to look out the window.
They travel in silence until Ender finally pulls to a stop in the driveway of a house that could probably be termed a manor. Or a castle. Definitely grander than the little two-bedroom house Tommy grew up in.
“Of course you’re a fucking rich bastard,” Tommy mutters, trying the door handle and huffing when it doesn’t open. “Do you have the fucking child locks on?”
“I would not put it past you to jump out of a moving vehicle,” Ender says evenly, and Tommy huffs again, offended even if it’s true.
“Well, go open my door for me then, big, strong alpha,” he taunts. He’s not really expecting the way Ender’s eyes widen ever so slightly, or the way his eyes go a little darker. The alpha gets out without another word, and Tommy watches him round the car, then open his door. Tommy slides out with a grin. Maybe he could get some mileage out of this.
“Follow me,” Ender says, striding towards the front door, and Tommy does, with a futile attempt to wrap his robe tighter around him. Anytime he manages to get it across his chest, it leaves his entire ass hanging out, and it’s definitely a weird feeling to not even have underwear on underneath it. He’s not exactly used to free-balling it. Or whatever the pussy equivalent is.
Inside the manor is just as extravagant as the outside; all dark woods and fancy chandeliers and rugs that probably cost more than Tommy. Or at least, he’s pretty sure Ender paid for him. Surely the Center wasn’t doing all that for free.
There’s another omega too, kneeling in the entryway like he’s been waiting for them to arrive. He’s thin and tall, and there’s a beaming smile when he looks up at them, like he actually fucking adores Ender.
Gross.
“Alpha!” The omega has a surprisingly deep voice, and when he unfolds to kiss Ender, he is tall. Like, taller than Tommy. Which is fucking unacceptable. Tommy should steal his fucking kneecaps. “Welcome home,” he says, and the kiss that follows is honestly a little embarrassing to watch. Tommy turns to study one of the paintings on the wall, a landscape of some meadow. It's ugly.
“Tommy, this is Ranboo,” Ender's voice rings out, and Tommy deems it safe to look again. Ranboo is still pressed against Ender's side, and something in Tommy's brain is screaming about that, but he shoves it down. He doesn't fucking care.
“Ranboo already knows how I like things, so you're to listen to him and do what he tells you.” Tommy will not be doing that, thank you very much. This asshole is already planning to fuck him during heat, Tommy’s not about to make his life easy.
“Ranboo, will you show him around? I have some things to do in my office until dinner,” Ender says, and Ranboo nods, leaning up to kiss the alpha’s cheek.
“Of course. Dinner will be ready around six,” he says, and then Ender sweeps out of the room, leaving them alone.
“All right!” Ranboo says brightly. “Would you like to see where you’re going to be sleeping, or would you like a snack first?” Tommy raises an eyebrow.
“What, we don’t sleep with Mister Perfect?”
“Ender prefers for us to have our own spaces. Especially now that there are two of us,” Ranboo says, emphasis on the alpha’s name. Tommy scowls, but shrugs.
“Whatever you say, big man. Show me where I’m going to sleep. And maybe some real clothes, if you’ve got them,” he says, eyeing Ranboo’s jeans enviously. Ranboo looks him over, then flushes, which is adorable.
“Of course, follow me,” he says, and starts down the hall. Tommy falls into step with him. “Didn’t you bring anything with you?”
Tommy snorts. “Yeah, I didn’t really get time to pack when I was getting hauled out of my bed.”
“Oh,” Ranboo says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m over it,” Tommy is not over it, but he’s absolutely not going to talk about it with some brainwashed omega. “So how long have you been with Ender?”
“Oh, forever,” Ranboo says, waving a hand. “Since we were children.” Tommy stops walking and stares at him.
“Oh, so you’re proper brainwashed, huh?” he says without thinking about it.
“What?” Ranboo says. He sounds hurt, and Tommy winces a bit.
“Nothing. Never mind. Hey, weren’t you showing me where I’m sleeping?” he says in a very obvious attempt to change the subject. Ranboo frowns at him a moment more, but he allows it, leading him into a bedroom. It’s clearly lived in, even if the bed is neatly made. Probably by Ranboo, if Tommy’s any judge of this place. After all, why have a housekeeper or anything when you have a brainwashed omega.
God, he needs to get the fuck out of here. Preferably before Ender actually mates him. At that point he’ll be easier to brainwash, and he doesn’t want to end up like Ranboo.
“Here, this is your space,” Ranboo says, drawing back a curtain that Tommy had previously assumed hid a window. Instead, it opens to a tiny room just big enough for a bundle of blankets and pillows that have mostly been arranged into a nest, although Tommy itches to fix it, straighten the walls and rearrange the blankets so it’s better.
There’s also a desk, tiny and bare. Nothing else, just white walls and a little light without a switch. Clearly Ender is meant to control the lights, as well as hear anything Tommy does. It’s fucked up.
“We get fucking closets?” Tommy says, once again before he can even think about it. Ranboo looks at him, confused.
“These are traditional chambers for omegas. We’re lucky that Ender cares enough about our comfort to keep us close to him, rather than somewhere much worse. His father-” Ranboo closes his mouth abruptly. “We’re lucky.”
Tommy stares at him, and something about the whole situation just makes him miss his dad. Phil could fix this. Phil could fix anything, and Tommy can feel himself tearing up, which is fucking unacceptable.
“Whatever, man,” he says, crossing his arms. “Can I like, rest for a bit? Alone?” Presumably they aren’t sharing this area. God, he hopes they aren’t sharing this area. He will literally dive out the window.
“Oh, of course! I’ll just go find you some clothes. We can order more that fit as well, maybe after dinner?” Ranboo says, already backing out of the alcove. Tommy hunches his shoulders.
“Yeah, sure, sounds good.” He doesn’t care. Well, he does, but he doesn’t right now. He can just wrap up in a blanket.
The curtain falls closed, and Tommy takes a moment to fix the shit fucking nest before dropping into it, wrapping a blanket around him. It’s decently thick, at least, and he can close his eyes and almost pretend like he’s in his room at home.
Almost.
Dinner is weird. They apparently have a personal chef, which is maybe the weirdest part, right up there with the matching cups and cutlery that Tommy thinks is made from actual silver. It’s also quiet. Ranboo asks Ender about his work, and Ender asks Ranboo about his day, but otherwise they stay mostly quiet, stealing looks at Tommy that make him feel like a fucking zoo animal.
He drops his silverware with a clatter.
“Fucking stop looking at me,” he explodes. “Am I a fucking exhibit or something? Come look at the pathetic omega you just bought?”
“Tommy-” Ranboo starts, and Tommy pushes his chair back. The legs screech against the tile.
“Fuck off,” Tommy snaps. It’s irrational, maybe. He doesn’t care. His skin is itching from their looks. He hates them both, and he hates the stupid fucking closet he has to stay in and he hates everything about this. “Both of you just fuck off.”
There’s a part of him that wants to walk out the front door. He’s not an idiot though. He knows if he leaves like this, then Ender will be able to catch him without a problem, and Tommy doesn’t particularly want to get claimed on the front lawn of some rich bastard’s manor. He doesn’t want to get claimed at all, but that would be particularly humiliating.
He still storms out, and promptly gets lost in the maze of halls, ducking into a random door.
It’s a little study, with sheets on half the furniture. One of them is an armchair, set by a window, and Tommy pulls the sheet off before curling in it, staring out the window.
Maybe he can stay here long enough for this whole thing to fix itself.
Tommy can’t sleep.
He’s been here for two weeks now, and he’s mostly gotten used to the little nest, to the scent of snowy pine that permeates the entire room, but he’s been staring at the ceiling for hours now, and he can hear Ender’s soft snores in the main room. It had cracked him up at first, that Mr. Perfect had such a stupid flaw. Now it’s just background noise, not quite enough to drown out his thoughts.
He sighs and finally gets up, leaving a blanket draped around his shoulders. Ender probably won’t wake up, and he can fuck off if he does. Tommy is tired of not being able to sleep. He slips through the bedroom and carefully closes the door behind him. There are definitely people who wouldn’t be able to believe him if he said it, but he can be quiet. And it’s not hard in Ender’s ridiculously big house.
He pads to the kitchen, bare feet cold on the tile, and pours himself a glass of water, staring at the stainless steel fridge.
He doesn’t consciously decide to do it; it’s more like instinct guiding him as he starts gathering the ingredients for the cake in a mug his dad used to make him when he was sad. He’s probably too old at this point for his dad to comfort him in the middle of the night, but something about mixing everything up in the tasteful black mug he pulls out of the cabinet makes it feel like his dad is there. Like he’s not totally alone.
“Are you alright?” Ranboo’s voice sounds behind him, and Tommy jumps, spilling milk on the counter.
“Holy fucking shit, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he says, grabbing a paper towel to mop it up. Ranboo snorts, sliding onto one of the barstools at the island. Tommy doesn’t even know why they’re there; he’s never seen Ender or Ranboo do anything in the kitchen. They have a fucking private chef to do all the cooking.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he yawns, and Tommy scowls at him.
“You didn’t scare me. I thought you were a wrong’un or something. I was going to fucking kick you in the balls and probably murder you,” he corrects, measuring chocolate chips into the mug and mixing them in.
“Sure. Death by ball kick would be a way to go,” Ranboo deadpans, and Tommy laughs. It had been surprising when he figured out that Ranboo is actually funny. Even with Ender, he’s a sassy little shit most of the time. Ranboo in general isn’t all that bad, honestly. A little brainwashed, maybe, but he’s decent company, and he can talk Ender into doing just about anything, which is fucking hilarious.
Tommy puts the mug in the microwave and hits the button for a minute. If he hurries, he can clean up everything before it goes off. Ranboo watches, chin in his hand. Tommy is just wiping off the counter with a paper towel when the timer goes off, and he pulls two forks out of the drawer before sitting on the barstool next to Ranboo, setting the mug between them and sliding Ranboo a fork.
“Eat up, big man.” There’s nothing but the sound of clinking forks as they silently fight over bites, and it’s maybe something about it being late, about Tommy having gotten to know Ranboo a little better, or maybe it’s about the shaft of moonlight dipping through the window over the sink and lighting half his face, but Tommy leans forward, presses his lips to Ranboo’s.
It’s a good kiss, is the thing. Ranboo is pliable in the sort of way Tommy has always liked in his partners, opening up readily and tasting of chocolate and sweetness. He gasps prettily when Tommy nips at his lower lip and leans into him when Tommy licks it in apology with a little flick of his tongue. When they finally pull apart, Ranboo looks dazed, like he’s ready for another kiss. There’s color high on his cheeks, and Tommy wants to see if he can darken it.
“Um,” Ranboo says, licking his lips. Tommy’s eyes follow the motion. “I, um. Ender.”
“Mhm,” Tommy says. “He’s asleep right now. He’s gonna get more annoyed if we go wake him up asking for sex, isn’t he?” Nevermind that Tommy is never going to fucking do that. Ranboo is cute, and probably has a decent sized dick, even if he is an omega, just based on how fucking tall he is.
“I mean, yeah. But-” Ranboo’s eyes flick away, then back to him. “We aren’t-”
“What?” Tommy interrupts. “We aren’t alphas? That’s bullshit, Ranboo. We’re grown ass adults, if we want to make out or have sex or what the fuck ever, we should be able to do that.”
“I don’t want to hurt Ender,” Ranboo says quietly. Tommy pushes to his feet, any comfort that had come from the cake gone, suddenly.
“Yeah, well, does he feel the same about you?”
“Of course!” Ranboo says, looking shocked. “Ender hasn’t ever- he wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Oh yeah?” Tommy tilts his head, all faux innocence. “Have you ever refused him when he wanted something from you?” The silence is enough answer to that. “Maybe you should try that, Ranboo. See if he actually feels the same way about you.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, turns away from the stricken look on Ranboo’s face.
He doesn’t go back to the bedroom. He goes back to the little study, and curls in the comfortable chair by the window to watch the sunrise.
His heat will be coming soon.
He’s not sure when exactly, his heats have always been irregular, and hormones only made them worse. But it’s going to come soon, and his life will be changed forever.
He huddles deeper into the blanket and focuses on the sunrise and nothing else.
Ranboo carefully sticks his head through the door into Ender’s office. The alpha is focused on his computer, but he glances up at the intrusion.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Ranboo says softly, slipping inside. “I wanted to ask you a question, alpha.” And this is the only place Tommy won’t be, although he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t want the other omega to know that anything he’s said has affected Ranboo. And, well, technically Ranboo has more than one question, but one of them is easier than the other.
“Of course,” Ender says, closing his computer and motioning Ranboo closer. He pulls Ranboo down on his lap when Ranboo gets closer, wrapping an arm around his waist, and Ranboo leans into his shoulder. “What do you need?”
“I-” Ranboo stops, worrying his lips between his teeth. “Would you be upset, if I kissed Tommy? Without you there?” Ender goes still, chin propped on Ranboo’s head. There’s no anger in his scent, thankfully, but there is…confusion? And a bit of lust, instantly recognizable.
“I don’t think that would be objectionable to me,” Ender says, after a long moment of silence. Ranboo feels his lips press to the top of his head. “I take it this means you approve of my choice of companion?” It’s a tease that makes Ranboo laugh, twisting around to press a kiss to Ender’s lips.
“I approve very much,” he says, tucking his face into Ender’s neck and breathing in his scent. “Tommy is very…pretty.” And he is, all golden and sunlit and gorgeous. And an unfairly good kisser, the memory making Ranboo’s face heat even now.
“He is that,” Ender agrees easily. He pauses, and Ranboo gets the sense he is getting up the nerve to ask a question. “Do you think…has he spoken to you about his upcoming heat?” Ranboo once again worries his lip between his teeth, thinking. Tommy hasn’t said much about his heat, if he’s honest. He’s said plenty about Ender though, which Ranboo thinks is what Ender is actually asking about.
“He hasn’t said anything about that,” Ranboo says slowly. “But I think…he’s frightened of you. He doesn’t know how you’re secretly soft.”
“I am not soft,” Ender protests, arm tightening around Ranboo’s waist. Ranboo laughs, leaning up to kiss Ender’s cheek.
“You are the softest alpha, and I love you for it,” he says, still teasing. “But Tommy doesn’t know that. And you don’t spend any time around him. If you did, maybe he would stop being afraid of you.” Ender hummed, thinking about that. Ranboo resists the urge to smooth out the line between his brows, knowing it would only be a distraction.
“I have been avoiding him,” Ender finally admits. “I thought it would allow him to settle in, but I may have miscalculated.” He looks displeased at the realization, and Ranboo has to resist laughing at him again.
“Don’t worry,” he says with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll never make such a grave mistake again.” Ender laughs, short and sharp.
“You have far too much faith in me, my love.”
“I think I have just enough faith in you,” Ranboo says firmly, kissing him again. And then Ender kisses him back, and really, Ranboo can’t be blamed for what happens next.
The next day, Ender is gone and Ranboo is playing a video game in the living room when Tommy comes in and sits next to him with a loud sigh. Ranboo is too-aware of the line of Tommy’s thigh, pressed against his own, of where Tommy’s shoulder is brushing against his of Tommy’s scent, all spicy citrus that shouldn’t fit an omega, but somehow does, when paired with the rest of him.
“What are you playing?” Tommy asks, and Ranboo refocuses on the screen.
“Uh. Persona 5,” he answers, clicking through some dialogue. He’s not actually sure what it says, which is probably bad. It’s fine, though. He can load an older save.
“Boring. We should play Animal Crossing instead. That’s a real game,” Tommy says, and Ranboo frowns, twisting to look at him. Their faces are very close together, he can’t help but notice.
“You think Animal Crossing is more of a real game than Persona 5?” he asks, genuinely confused.
“Obviously. It’s the best game ever. And it has the best soundtrack. Come on, load it up,” Tommy coaxes. They’re still close together, bare inches apart, and Tommy’s smile is devastating at this range. Ranboo can’t help but lean forward and kiss him.
It’s awkward at first, because Tommy is still smiling, but then he kisses back, lips moving against Ranboo’s, and Ranboo leans in closer, lacing their fingers together. He can’t help but smile when they lean apart, leaving his eyes closed for a moment longer. Tommy looks unsure, but he hasn’t pulled away yet.
“Hi,” Ranboo whispers. The music from the game is still playing in the background. Tommy smiles, slowly, then all at once.
“Hi,” he whispers back.
Ranboo has spent time kissing Ender, of course. But there’s a different sort of joy involved in kissing Tommy, as it turns out. There’s a different sort of heat in wandering hands, in the nip of teeth and the press of bodies and the smooth slide of skin. Ranboo ends up leaning back against the arm of the couch, Tommy spread over him.
He doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing when the front door closes, and Tommy leaps backwards like he’s been scalded. His hair is a mess, curls sticking in every direction, and his cheeks are red, lips swollen.
“You look beautiful,” Ranboo says as footsteps approach. Tommy’s cheeks go darker, and that’s what he looks like when Ender enters the room, like he’s just been thoroughly kissed. Ranboo leans up on his elbows and glances at the door to find Ender giving them both a look that’s something between amusement and pure lust. He's locked down his scent, which is probably smart, given that Tommy has frozen in place, but Ranboo wants to smell his lust mixing with Tommy's.
“Welcome home, my love,” Ranboo says, and Ender crosses the room, goes to one knee to kiss him. Ranboo wonders if he can taste Tommy on his lips. Tommy is watching when they pull apart, poised like a wary cat.
“I think it’s your turn to pick dinner, Tommy,” Ranboo says, pulling out the pin to let Ender’s hair down and grinning unrepentantly at the annoyed look he gets in return.
“Doesn’t your fucking personal chef pick dinner?” Tommy asks, pronouncing the words like the very idea of a personal chef offends him.
“He’s off tonight,” Ender says, turning to lean back against the couch, propping his head up in front of Ranboo in an obvious invitation. It also turns his back to Tommy, which makes the other omega relax.
“Right, and you two can’t cook,” Tommy snorts. “Fucking rich bastards.”
“I’ll have you know my mother was certainly married to my father,” Ender says, eyes closed as Ranboo runs his fingers through smooth hair.
“Your personality is a bastard. Bastardous, that’s you,” Tommy says, pronouncing the word with relish. Ranboo snorts, tugging at Ender’s hair.
“He has you there.”
“Turned on by my own omegas,” Ender drawls, and Tommy tenses again, shoulders hunching. “I shall never recover.”
“I want pizza,” Tommy says abruptly. “Meat lovers. And Coke.”
“Easily acquired,” Ender says, and sighs before pushing himself up to stand. “I shall call. Garlic knots?”
“Please,” Ranboo says. “And cheesecake.”
“You’ll bankrupt me,” Ender says, but Ranboo knows he’ll order it. He steps out of the room to order, and Ranboo turns back to Tommy, who’s still tense.
“We should pick a movie,” he suggests after a moment where it looks like Tommy is about to run. Tommy chews on his lip for a moment.
“Avengers?” he suggests, and Ranboo smiles.
“Sounds perfect.”
It nearly is perfect, with Ranboo settled in the middle of the couch, Tommy on one side and Ender on the other. Tommy starts the movie still tense, several inches between him and Ranboo, but he slowly relaxes as it continues and Ender doesn’t leap across the couch to ravish him. By the end, he’s practically leaning on Ranboo, loose-limbed and talking through the ending. Normally Ender has sharp words for people who talk through movies, but when Ranboo looks at him, there’s a smile pulling at his mouth.
Maybe. Maybe they’ll figure this out.
Tommy is used to Ranboo being the one to interrupt him when he’s in the kitchen after staring at the ceiling for hours. The chef has started leaving snacks for him in the fridge, and he’s halfway through a bowl of sliced fruit and yogurt when he hears someone behind him.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he says without turning around.
“I was about to ask you the same,” comes Ender’s voice, and Tommy jumps, twisting around and nearly falling off the barstool.
Ender looks…strange is the only word Tommy can come up with. He’s in silk pajamas, because of course he is, but his hair is pulled back in a simple braid, and there are pillow lines on his cheek. His eyes are half-lidded, like he’s seconds away from going back to sleep.
He looks human.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Ender says, even as he moves further into the kitchen. Tommy watches him warily, ready to kick him at the slightest wrong move. Granted, everything he’s seen from Ender makes him think it’s unlikely that the alpha will bend him over and have him right there in the kitchen, but it’s still a possibility. Ender doesn’t even sit next to him though, instead pulling a pot out of the cabinet.
“I thought you were banned from cooking,” Tommy says, because that’s what Ranboo said. He and Ender both were apparently banned from any sort of cooking by their own chef and the fire department, which is hilarious to Tommy. Ranboo is good at literally every other part of being an omega, and Tommy is shit at everything else, but somehow Tommy is better at this one thing.
“Making hot chocolate is not cooking,” Ender says, pulling a cartoon of milk out of the fridge. Tommy takes another bite of fruit and watches with interest. It figures Ender would be the type to make fancy hot chocolate, he thinks as he watches the alpha pour milk into the pot and set it on the stove. He pulls out an actual fucking bar of chocolate too and starts to crush it up.
“Do you do that every time you want hot chocolate?” he asks, somehow amused at the thought of it.
“Anything worth doing is worth doing right,” Ender sniffs, stirring the chocolate into the bubbling milk. “Besides, it tastes better than any powdered chocolate could.”
“Suuuuure,” Tommy drawls out. It probably is, but he’s not about to give Ender a victory. Silence falls, broken only by soft sounds of Ender’s hot chocolate bubbling and the scrape of his spoon against the bowl. Finally, Ender pulls down two cups from the cabinet and pours the thick drink into each. One gets placed in front of Tommy, and he looks down at it, then back at Ender.
“No whipped cream?” he teases, and is a little surprised when Ender just rolls his eyes.
“Maybe next time,” he promises. Tommy makes a face at him, but takes a sip of the chocolate. It’s good, sweet and warm enough he can feel it all the way down. He refuses to say anything, but he does take another sip of it.
“I wanted to ask,” Ender says, and he looks almost unsure when Tommy looks up. It looks like an unfamiliar position for his face. “Are you- have you thought any more about your heat? Or, rather-”
“I don’t want you there for my heat,” Tommy interrupts, the hot chocolate souring in his stomach. “I don’t want you to claim me, or fuck me, or fucking touch me.” Ender pauses, setting his cup down on the counter with a soft clink.
“Very well,” he finally says, and Tommy blinks. “If you don’t wish for me to claim you, then I will not force you.”
“What,” Tommy says, squinting at him. “I don’t believe you. You fucking bought me to claim me.”
“I did not buy you,” Ender says mildly. “I paid a fee to the Omega Center to take you on as a ward of sorts.”
“That’s literally the same thing, fuck off,” Tommy says, waving it off with a hand. “You bought me, and you aren’t going to claim me? How the fuck am I supposed to believe that?”
“Whether you believe me or not, I am not a rapist. If you do not wish for me to be there during your heat, I won’t be.” Tommy is tired of hearing lies. He stands abruptly, the barstool cluttering to the floor behind him.
“Fuck off,” he snarls, and storms away, into the fucking maze of a house.
He can still taste the hot chocolate on the back of his tongue.
Tommy wakes up on his 18th morning of belonging to an alpha with a familiar itch dancing under his skin. His face is hot, and he feels twitchy, like he needs to move, like he needs something- or someone- covering him. He wraps up in a blanket and presses his face against the bit of his nest that smells most strongly of Ender and hopes, vaguely, that no one will find him.
It’s a vain hope, of course.
“Tommy?” Ranboo says, because of course it’s Ranboo, ducking his head through the corner, and immediately screwing up his face. “Oh, that’s- you’re in heat, aren’t you?”
“Fuck off,” Tommy mutters without lifting his head. He’s not sure how understandable it is. Ranboo pulls the curtain further back instead, and moves forward to kneel by the nest.
“Tommy, c’mon. Do you want a bath before it gets bad? And we should get you into one of the heat rooms.” Tommy lifts his head to stare at him.
“You guys have heat rooms?” What is he saying. Of course the have fucking heat rooms. Ender’s a rich bastard who’s had an omega since childhood, apparently.
“Of course,” Ranboo says, like it’s obvious. “It’s better than having to air out everything in the bedroom all the time.” Which is fair. Tommy just rarely had that consideration before. Usually he went to one of the types of places that rents out rooms to omegas going through heats. Or, for one eventful heat, he rode it out in Tubbo’s basement. That had been awkward, to say the least.
“Fine. A bath, then the heat room,” Tommy says, trying not to think about what comes after. About Ender, and knots, and claiming bites.
It’s not that he hasn’t taken a knot before. He has. During heat even, and it was fun. But he’s never been claimed. Never thought he would be one of the omegas claimed by someone he barely knows.
Ranboo’s face softens, like he knows what Tommy is thinking, and Tommy wants to yell, but it wouldn’t help at all, would it?
“The door locks from the inside,” he says gently, like Tommy is going to break if he talks too loudly. “Ender won’t come in if you don’t want him to.” Tommy groans and pushes himself up. Every joint fucking aches. He hates how pre-heat makes him feel, like he’s coming down with the worst flu he’s ever had.
“Fuck off, Ranboo,” he says, limping for the door. Thankfully, Ranboo does not fuck off, because Tommy doesn’t think he could make it to the bathroom right now, and he has no idea where the fucking heat rooms are. Instead, Ranboo loops an arm around his shoulders, helping prop him up and half drags him towards the bathroom.
“I always like a hot bath with some bath salts during pre-heat,” Ranboo says, depositing him on the closed toilet lid and starting the bath water running. “What scents do you like?”
“No scents,” Tommy mutters, leaning his head back against the wall. He doesn’t like the strong perfumes, especially when he’s in heat. Ranboo hums, and the bathroom slowly fills with steam.
“Okay, Toms, let’s get you in the tub,” Ranboo says, pulling him up. Tommy is maybe leaning on Ranboo too much, but it’s not his fault that Ranboo’s hands feel so good on his skin. It’s probably Ranboo’s fault. He’s all warm and pretty and nice like that.
The water is perfectly hot, and Tommy sinks into it with a sigh. It helps the itchiness under his skin a little, makes his muscles relax into a puddle. He leans his head back against the side of the tub and closes his eyes, wondering if he can maybe just sleep through the whole heat. It would be easy, if he could just relax enough.
He can't though. The bath soothed the itch under his skin temporarily, but now it's back, and he aches. More than the bath could ever help, he aches in his core, and he knows there's only one thing that will fix it.
“Fuck,” he mutters, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. He's so fucking horny.
“Oh, that's- hm. Let's get you dressed,” Ranboo says, reaching down to pull him up, and Tommy whines. He doesn't want clothes. He wants to get fucked, he wants more than the careful touches Ranboo is giving him as he's dried off.
“Come on, at least underwear,” Ranboo coaxes. Tommy obeys, but only because he doesn't want to make Ranboo clean it up if he ends up dropping slick down the halls.
Granted, he's not that wet yet, but he's close. He catches Ranboo when the omega stands up, pressing closer to kiss him. It's wet and messy, and he wants more, wants Ranboo to fuck him right here in the bathroom, but Ranboo pulls away, eyes wide and panting a little.
“Tommy,” he says. “No, we gotta- come on.” He seems to give up on talking, instead grabbing Tommy's hand and tugging him out of the room and down several halls. Tommy is too caught up in the slide of skin where their palms are touching, in considering if he could walk and touch himself at the same time to pay attention to where they're going.
He knows when they get there though.
Ender is standing in the hallway, back ramrod straight. His hair is pulled up and he's in one of his stupid fucking suits and he's so fucking hot that Tommy can barely look at him. His scent feels stronger than it ever has been, the scent of a forest covered in snow permeating his senses until Tommy knows his own is jumping in response, and he can feel himself getting wetter.
Ender's eyes are dark when they meet Tommy's, and he swallows visibly before speaking. Tommy watches the movement of his throat, wondering what it would feel like under his palm. Heat crawls up his chest at the image.
“Omega. Would you welcome me in your heat?” The words are stilted and formal and Tommy's first instinct is to deny him, but.
He's never liked going through heat without an alpha. It's uncomfortable and it sucks and it makes the entire thing drag on so much longer.
He grips Ranboo's hand tighter.
“Fuck it. Fine. But I still don't want you to claim me. And I want Ranboo there too,” he says. Ender nods, short and sharp. He's got his hands behind his back, and he looks so composed Tommy wants to tear him apart.
“That's acceptable,” Ender says, and Ranboo pushes the door to the room open. It's plain, which makes sense. There's a door that probably goes to a bathroom, and a giant bed piled with pillows and blankets that Tommy dives into immediately. It's fucking perfect, all different fabrics that are soft and he forgets how bad he needs to get fucked for long enough to prop them into a presentable nest.
Ranboo and Ender are both standing by the door when he finishes, and he makes grabby hands at Ranboo, who smiles and steps forward, close enough for Tommy to tug him onto the bed and into a kiss, deeper than the one in the bathroom. Ranboo melts into it, splaying out over Tommy so Tommy can roll their hips together in a facsimile of the thing he actually wants. He can feel Ranboo, hard in his pants, and he scrabbles at Ranboo's waistband, breaking the kiss and looking over Ranboo's shoulder as he does.
Ender is still by the door, mouth parted slightly and cheeks red. Tommy grins at him, smug, and kisses Ranboo again. Serves the asshole right, to have to watch his omegas make out without joining in. He manages to get Ranboo's pants down though, and then a hand around the omega’s dick. Ranboo groans and his hips buck forward, and Tommy echoes the groan. He's definitely soaked through his boxers at this point, and it takes some gymnastics to get them off without losing contact with Ranboo, but he manages.
“Fuck me,” he orders. Ranboo bites his lip and goes to look at Ender, but Tommy grabs his chin, redirecting his eyes. “Fucking ignore him. I want you to fuck me.” He snaps his hips up to make the point, Ranboo's dick rubbing over his stomach and he has to bite back a moan just at the feeling of that. God, heat always makes him feel like a fucking virgin.
Then Ranboo is sliding into him, slow and hot and almost perfect. He's smaller than an alpha, but Tommy doesn't care at this point in his heat. He just wants something inside him, wants slick skin against his, wants to kiss Ranboo, sucking his tongue in his mouth and smell his sweet scent, almost overpowering Ender's pine. Tommy can't smell himself, but he's certain his own scent is overpowering both of them.
“Faster,” he orders, digging his fingers into Ranboo's thighs. “C’mon, I'm not gonna break.” Ranboo obeys, and- even better- drops a hand to Tommy's clit, and Tommy fucking sees stars. He doesn't come yet, it takes more than a single touch for that, even in heat, but his back arches and he can hear himself making a whining noise he'll definitely be embarrassed about later.
“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he gasps, and Ranboo leans further over to kiss him, and his thumb presses harder, and Tommy gasps into the kiss, tensing as he finally comes. He can feel the way he’s squeezing around Ranboo, and almost doesn’t blame the other omega for the way he gets dragged along into his own orgasm, except the single orgasm isn’t enough. He wants more. He wants a fucking knot.
“Ender,” he gasps, pushing Ranboo to the side. Gently. He’s fucking empty now though, and that won’t do, not with his heat reaching its first crescendo. Ender edged closer to the bed at some point, and he steps even closer when Tommy reaches for him. Too hesitant. Tommy isn’t in the mood for hesitant.
“Take your fucking clothes off,” he orders. Ender strips without even arguing, and Tommy’s brain is too scrambled from heat to think about that too hard, but there’s something about it that’s nice. “C’mere,” he says once Ender is naked, impressively large cock already hard. It would be more of a miracle if he wasn’t, with the heat scent Tommy knows has to be permeating every inch of the room at this point.
“You’re even bossier in heat,” Ender says, but he crawls onto the bed anyways. Tommy grins, pulling him up into a kiss and using the distraction to flip them over, Ender on his back and Tommy straddling his hips.
“You have no idea,” he purrs. Ender doesn’t move, which is good. Tommy grinds his slit over Ender’s cock, taking his time, and Ender groans, hips twitching. Tommy laughs, swatting Ender’s hands away when he tries to grab at him.
“No. You get to just lay there. Like my little toy,” he mocks, laughing. “My heat aid.” Like the sort of things you can buy at certain shops. Ender flushes, and Tommy follows the path of it with his tongue, grinding back again. Ender has perfect fucking skin, and a six pack, and he’s pretty enough to be a statue, one of the ones made of white marble, except with a bigger dick.
“And how long are you planning on teasing both of us?” Ender snaps. Tommy glares at him.
“Mouthy fucking bastard,” he says, but he’s still aching for something inside him, so he reaches down to grasp Ender’s cock, holding it so he can slide onto it. Normally he would try to go slowly for something this big, but he does it all in one go. He’s already wet enough from heat and Ranboo’s cum that the slide is smooth, and there’s barely any stretch, even though Ender is fucking huge. He’s big, and hot, and he smells like alpha, and every one of Tommy’s senses loves him right now.
“Fuck, yes,” he says, raising up and dropping down. Ender’s cock feels like it’s touching every part of his cunt, pinging every nerve. It feels fucking perfect.
Too bad it’s attached to such a fucking awful person.
“Such a perfect omega,” Ender says, lifting his hands again. Tommy glares at him, slapping his hands away again, even as he starts to bounce on Ender’s cock.
“Fuck off,” he says. He told Ender that he was a toy, not an actual participant. He reaches out, wraps a hand around Ender’s neck, squeezes hard. Ender’s eyes go wide, but he doesn’t try to stop Tommy.
Tommy grins, fingers flexing. Of course the big, bad alpha likes to get knocked around. And that’s a surprisingly good match.
He keeps fucking himself on Ender’s cock, squeezing his throat hard enough that it will leave bruises for sure. He imagines Ender’s porcelain skin with dark bruises in the shape of his fingers, and it’s enough to push him over the edge, and he squeezes harder, cutting off Ender’s air.
“Alpha, come now,” he orders, letting go with the order so Ender can breathe, and Ender flips them, fucking Tommy through his orgasm and into his own. His knot is even bigger than his dick, and the noise Tommy makes as it grows is something that would be embarrassing outside of heat. In heat, there are sparks behind his eyelids every time he so much as breathes and it shifts, stretching him just that little bit further..
He lays there panting for a few moments, and then finally opens his eyes. His heat hasn’t cleared, but it’s better than before. He doesn’t ache for something inside him, not with Ender’s knot still there.
“Didn’t take you for a masochist,” he says, and Ender laughs, carefully maneuvering them so they’re laying on their sides, his chest to Tommy’s back and Tommy facing a sleepy Ranboo.
“I’m full of surprises,” he says, and Tommy settles in to wait for the next wave.
His whole heat goes like that. Ranboo or Ender are always there, willing to fuck him or finger him, or- at least once-, eat him out until he’s shouting. Ranboo brings them food; broth and applesauce and things that Tommy can drink down rather than risk choking on it.
No one bites him.
Ender keeps submitting to him with wide eyes, and by the end, he’s got mouth shaped bruises on his chest and finger-shaped bruises on his throat, and Tommy has none. He’s sore, of course, three days of marathon sex will make you sore, no matter how in shape you are, but none of it was inflicted by Ender.
And, of course, none of it was inflicted by Ranboo. Tommy is pretty sure Ranboo is the nicest guy left on the planet, if he’s honest.
If he’s brutally honest, Ender is an asshole, but he’s not as much of an asshole as a lot of alphas are. He’s an asshole, but maybe he’s a decent person. Which fucking sucks, actually.
Tommy sighs and pulls the clean sheets Ranboo had just changed for them up to his chin. Ender is asleep next to him, one arm draped over his waist and holding onto Ranboo on his other side. It’s…nice. Nicer than Tommy thought it would be to be sandwiched between them, warm and content.
He closes his eyes, willing his brain to shut up so he can think about all this later. He doesn’t want to think about it right now.
Ranboo has never been the impulsive sort of person. He likes to think things over, which is sometimes a problem. Sometimes it means he says things when he doesn’t actually mean to say them.
Today, it happens while he’s sitting in Ender’s lap in his office, cuddling while Ender works on some documents for work. He’s been thinking about the question that has been rotating in his head since Tommy brought it up. Heat had distracted all three of them, but now it’s over, although Tommy is still sleeping it off in his nest. He’s cuddling with one of Ender’s shirts though, which Ranboo privately thinks is adorable.
“If I said I didn’t want to have sex, what would you do?” he asks, and Ender stills. Ranboo swallows down the urge to apologize, to brush the whole thing off, to say it’s fine. He isn’t going to say no anyways. How could he? Ender has given him everything, sex is a small price to pay.
“I would ask if I had done anything objectionable, or if there was another reason you were refusing,” he answers slowly. Ranboo swallows. He should leave it there. He shouldn’t push any further, not when Ender’s scent is quickly changing from contentment to something hurt.
“You wouldn’t force me?” he asks, voice soft. Ender moves, sudden, and then he’s looking into Ranboo’s eyes, pain obvious in his own, in the set of his jaw and the way he holds Ranboo, careful.
“I would never,” he says, fierce and low and beautiful. “I love you, Ranboo. If I hurt you, I would never forgive myself.” There’s pain in his scent, like Ranboo has hurt him with the very suggestion, and Ranboo wants to soothe it away.
“Alright,” he says, pressing his forehead against Ender’s. “Alright. I believe you.” And he does. He doesn’t know if Tommy would, and maybe he’s stupid, but he believes Ender. The alpha has never hurt him, after all.
“Have I-” Ender stops, his throat working. “If I ever- Ranboo, if I hurt you, I want you to tell me. I want to know.”
“You’ve never hurt me,” Ranboo reassures him quickly. He doesn’t want Ender to think that. “Tommy just keeps saying things. I wanted to ask, so I could tell him he was wrong.” And he is. Ranboo already knew he was wrong, but he had to ask Ender, just to make sure. To prove to himself, if not Tommy, that he isn’t brainwashed.
“I know we didn’t have the chance to choose each other, but I would have chosen you. Every time,” Ender says fiercely, and Ranboo believes him.
They didn’t choose each other. Ender’s father had chosen him for his son while they were both still children. There's a belief, particularly amongst the upper class, that being raised near an omega of similar age will draw out the alpha in your child. Ender's father had abhorred superstition, but he had still given Ranboo to his son. Ranboo had been old enough to present as an omega, a year or so older than Ender, and had been frightened in a new place, which was unhelped by Ender’s natural , admittedly.
They had managed to find something softer than what had been intended for them, and now Ranboo couldn't imagine anything else.
“I would choose you, alpha,” Ranboo says softly. “Out of everyone in the world, I would choose you.”
Tommy has always been an impulsive person. In fact, his best ideas often come in the heat of the moment, rather than with planning.
He’s sitting on the couch with Ranboo and Ender, watching another movie. Ender is between them this time, and he’s somehow okay with that. He’s leaning against the arm of the couch, legs swung over Ender’s lap, feet squished under Ranboo’s thigh. It’s comfortable. It feels like home used to, like it’s where he belongs.
Gross.
The movie is a stupid romantic action thing, all about ‘true mates’, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to be. It seems to involve a lot of the omega fainting and giggling and hanging all over the alpha, who mostly looks cool and manly and shoots guns.
“I can’t believe they don’t think omegas can be cool and manly. I’m literally the fucking manliest person you’ve ever seen,” Tommy finally says when the omega practically shrieks at the sight of a gun. “This is fucking bullshit.”
“It is certainly an inaccurate rendition of the sex,” Ender agrees, which Tommy is pretty sure is a pretentious way to say Tommy is right and the movie is fucking stupid.
“I don’t know, I think Ender would look good in the main guy’s leather pants,” Ranboo puts in. Tommy grins.
“True. His ass would look pretty great,” he agrees. Ender rolls his eyes.
“Would you drape yourselves over me if I wore those?” he asks, like he’s actually considering it. Tommy moves so he’s leaning against Ender’s shoulder, batting his eyes up at him.
“Do you want me to look up at you like this?” he asks, making his voice purposefully breathy. “Big, strong alpha gonna mark me? Gonna claim me?” He doesn’t know where the teasing is coming from, but it’s not as unattractive as it was. Ender swallows, then licks his lips.
“Would you allow me to?” he asks, startlingly honest. Tommy doesn’t think about it. His best decisions are made on impulse, after all.
“During my next heat,” he says, leaning against Ender in a movement that’s maybe more about being close to him than it is about annoying him now. “You can claim me then.” Ender’s eyes go wide, and Ranboo leans forward to pause the movie.
“You want me to?” Ender asks, and Tommy huffs, rolling his eyes.
“I just said you could, didn’t I?” he says, a little annoyed now.
“I want you to be sure,” Ender says. “I don’t want you to regret it.” Tommy shrugs.
“I have until my next heat to think about it, don’t I? Maybe I’ll decide I hate you before then and stab you in your sleep or some shit,” he says, and Ranboo laughs.
“You wouldn’t. It would make me sad,” he says confidently. Tommy makes a face at him.
“Bitch. I would love to make you sad. I will make you so sad. I will stab Ender just to make you sad,” he boasts. It’s all a lie, and Ender and Ranboo both clearly know it. He would do anything for Ranboo, which is ridiculous because it’s been like a month, but fuck it. He’s confident enough in his manliness to admit to how much he likes Ranboo.
“I’m playing the movie,” Ranboo says, and Tommy groans, flopping to lay across Ender, head in Ranboo’s lap. This way is more comfortable, why the fuck wasn’t he doing it before?
He even allows the way Ranboo starts running a hand through his hair, and the way Ender starts stroking across his stomach, like he’s pregnant or something.
Which is a fucking thought, actually.
Maybe a thought to have later, though.
Later, Tommy is nearly asleep when the movie ends and Ender turns on the news, because he’s a fucking old man or something. Tommy doesn’t pay much attention, until he hears the news anchor talking about the omega center and explosions, and then he cracks an eye open to look at the screen. The fucking omega center is gone, a crater in the ground.
“Holy shit,” he says, over the newscaster, who is still going.
“The terrorists are still at large,” she says, all professional. “They stole over thirty omegas from the center, and killed nearly every worker they encountered. Recovered camera footage has identified them as a Philza Minecraft and a Techno Blade.” Twin pictures of his dad and his dad’s fucking boyfriend pop up on the screen, and Tommy sits up fast enough that he almost hits Ender’s chin.
“What the fuck.”