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It’s bad enough that Phainon left all his files behind at work after rushing off like a hurricane was chasing after him today, but now Mydei is the one who has to bring them to him.
Okay, so—
To be fair, Hyacine offered to do it in his stead.
And so did Castorice.
And Mydei had to outright rip the folder out of Cipher’s hand, and she laughed in his face and whistled good luck, lover boy at him, and now—
Now, Mydei is standing right in front of Phainon’s doorstep with what’s left of his dignity.
Which, it merits saying, doesn’t feel like all that much. So he knocks. Because he figures he doesn’t have that much to lose under present circumstances.
Still—
He doesn’t expect Phainon to answer the door in a pink robe. It looks like silk. It looks thin. It looks—
Mydei swallows.
Something smells really, really good. It takes him an embarrassingly long second to realize that the something is, in fact, Phainon. Phainon, who—
Phainon, who goes pink-cheeked and says, “Oh, hi, Mydei,” and tugs his robe tighter around himself.
“Was your waist always this small?” Mydei blurts. “I didn’t notice before.”
The pink on Phainon’s cheeks deepens. “Um,” he says, “I don’t exactly make a point out of emphasizing the relative size of my waist at work, you know. I actually try my best to—um, why are you here, anyway?”
And, because Mydei is extremely well-adjusted and perfectly capable of conducting himself with at least some semblance of normalcy around Phainon, he takes the files, and he shoves them at his chest. “Here,” he says, “you forgot these.”
“Oh.” Phainon blinks like a cat. “Thank you, Mydei.”
“You’re welcome,” Mydei grits. And then, because the world feels like it’s spinning faster and faster the longer he looks at Phainon, “Do you mind if I have a glass of water? I feel dizzy.”
“Oh, um, I mean—I mean, sure, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea, considering—”
“Phainon, please.”
His canines feel too sharp inside his mouth, all of a sudden. His eyes linger on Phainon’s collarbones, his chest, his neck—unmarked, his unmarked neck—and then, traitorously, they stop and fixate on his soft, pink mouth, and Mydei wonders if he’s potentially going insane, because—
Phainon isn’t even an omega.
He’s not, so why would his unmarked neck or his pink loungewear and the fact that Mydei feels borderline delirious thinking about how many shades off from Phainon’s nipples the color is matter at all?
Why would it matter, unless—
“Oi,” Mydei says, hands clenching into fists, “are you due for a heat, or something? You presenting late? Is that it?”
Phainon blinks. “Late?” he says. “I presented when I was thirteen, like everyone else. I’ve always been an omega.”
“What do you mean,” Mydei hisses, near hysterical, “you’ve always been an omega?”
“I’ve always been an omega,” Phainon repeats calmly. Then, with a huff, eyes narrowing, “You of all people should know.”
Deliriously, Mydei reaches forward. Phainon isn’t wearing scent patches, for once. And, when Mydei presses two fingers to the side of his neck, right above a scent gland, he whines. Out loud. Right there. So needy. So unmistakably omega.
“You are,” Mydei says, awed. “You’re an omega.”
“Gee,” Phainon huffs. “Thanks for noticing. You have my undying gratitude, Mydeimos.”
“Can I—,” Mydei can’t swallow. “Can I have that water now?”
...
Phainon’s couch is pink, too. That’s the only coherent thought Mydei seems capable of. That Phainon’s couch, the one he’s currently sitting on, is a soft, pastel pink suede, and the throw pillows match. The flowers in a vase on the end table match, too.
He digs his nails into the armrest. Eventually, Phainon emerges from the little kitchen area with a glass of water. Mydei feels like he might be dying.
He doesn’t know. He’s never died before. But he’s pretty sure it’s Phainon’s fault, either way.
“Thank you,” he says. And then he drains the glass. “Can I, uh, have another?”
But, because Phainon clearly hates him and is actively plotting his untimely demise, instead, he sits right next to Mydei. Too close. Their knees are touching. And then he tips Mydei’s chin with a finger so they’re facing each other, and he says, eyebrows furrowed, “What’s gotten into you today? You’re acting so strange all of sudden. You seemed fine at work.”
“You,” Mydei huffs. “Your scent. You smell like an omega.”
“Which,” Phainon says, “as we’ve established, I am.”
“You didn’t tell me,” Mydei says. “I was misled. I was lied to. I was bamboozled.”
Phainon blinks. “Bamboozled?” he says, trying to stifle his laughter. “Really? Bamboozled?”
“If I had known you were an omega,” Mydei says, “I would have made my intentions clear.”
“Intentions?” Phainon says, pretty face scrunched. “What intentions, pray tell?”
Mydei growls. “I couldn’t very well ask you to take my knot and bear my children when I thought you were a beta,” he says. “You’d have thought I was losing my mind.”
“A beta?” Phainon repeats. “Why would a beta wear scent patches?”
“I don’t know,” Mydei says. “Scents can be private. I thought—I figured, even if you had a beta scent, maybe you didn’t want people at work to know what it was like. Maybe you were just—private.”
“Private,” Phainon repeats slowly. “But you’re the only one I’m always working with. So, did you really think—oh, Mydei, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Yeah,” Mydei huffs. “Join the club.”
Phainon bites his lip. “Can I, uh, make it up to you?” he asks. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“Well,” Mydei says. “Do you feel particularly inclined to bear my children? Now that I know you can?”
Phainon laughs. “Can I ask for dinner first?” he says, his shoulder playfully nudging Mydei’s. “That’s how courting works. Or so I hear.”
And that—
That’s somehow worse than the pink outfit and the pink couch and how stupidly sweet Phainon smells, because—
“No one has wanted to court you?” Mydei asks. “Ever?”
Phainon shrugs. “The kids back home used to say I looked like an alpha,” he says. “Or, I guess I acted like one? I don’t know. I barely got used to having heats. And then I left home for school, you know, and—I really don’t know. I guess alphas didn’t talk to me much? That’s when I started using scent patches.” He laughs. “I was such a country boy. I didn’t even know what they were until this alpha on the train got a little too close to me. He looked feral. And this older omega gave me some of her scent patches and showed me how to use them. Ever since then—I always wear them. Habit, I guess.”
Mydei growls. He can’t help it. He’s probably acting like a knothead, but the mere thought of someone else, some other alpha, some asshole who doesn’t even know Phainon’s favorite color and his coffee order—and Mydei now knows both, considering all the pink in his apartment—going ahead and assuming he could have him, even just as a warm body to rut against, just because Phainon was—what?
There for the taking? Not spoken for? Alone and unclaimed and vulnerable?
It makes his blood boil.
Because—
Because he’s Mydei’s. And if any alpha should get to touch him at all, it should be Mydei. It should only be Mydei. If Phainon wants to let him.
“Let me,” he says. And then, because he can’t manage to spit it out, “I want—”
“Me?” Phainon asks, head tilted to the side, half laughing. “Is that it? Do you want me?”
It’s scratching at the inside of his throat, all the want. Like thorns. And Mydei can’t seem to swallow past it.
Do you want me?
What does that idiot think, huh?
What else could Mydei possibly want, in this stupidly vast and pointless world, besides Phainon?
“Cipher thinks I’m hopeless,” Mydei says. “Did you know? She has some kind of elaborate bet going in the office. Aglaea things it’s hilarious.”
Phainon blinks. “I really didn’t think you liked me,” he says. “Well—when we first met, I figured you were grumpy in general. You called me boy in that tone of yours so often I asked Cipher if you had a thing with omegas.”
“Yes,” says Mydei, resigned to his fate. “I’m clearly an idiot.”
“Can I help?” Phainon asks. “So you feel less like an idiot? What do you want?”
And—
And Mydei shouldn’t, he knows.
He shouldn’t, but Phainon’s here, and he wants it too, and Mydei can smell it on him if he stops clenching his teeth trying to ignore it, and there is self-restraint, and then there’s whatever kind of masochistic self-immolation not letting himself touch Phainon right this instant would be.
Mydei might be an idiot, but he’s not that helpless.
So—
“You,” he says, fingers digging into Phainon’s hips when he tugs him into his lap. “I want you, you stupid, beautiful omega.”
“Oh,” says Phainon, smile widening. “Okay.”
...
All in all, Mydei thinks he wouldn’t mind if he died.
Not right now. Obviously not right now. And obviously not in however long it takes Phainon to finish unbuckling his belt.
But after—
After Phainon is done touching him, after he lets Mydei have his fill too, then—
He could probably die pretty happy.
“What are you thinking about?” Phainon asks, eyebrows furrowed, just as he undoes the buckle. “Is it dirty? Do you even have dirty thoughts like the rest of us? Or do you get mad about it first? I can picture it. You’d have your eyebrows furrowed and your face all scrunched, and you’d probably be muttering something like that damn Phainon. Like you do at work. But you’d have a hand wrapped around—ah. This.”
Mydei’s cock looks bigger with Phainon’s fingers wrapped around it. His hand isn’t that much smaller, but his fingers are thin and long and pale, like pianist fingers, and—
And he leans in, and presses a kiss to the tip.
“Is it okay if this goes in me?” Phainon asks. “Do you want to put it in? My heat’s been killing me all day. They lie about suppressants lessening the symptoms, you know. They just make it hurt worse for a shorter amount of time. I've been thinking of going off them. And then I could really—what did you say? Bear your children?”
Heat crawls up Mydei’s neck.
He did say that. And he mercifully bit his tongue not to say do it now. Not to say something scandalous like I’ll put my seed in your womb, and then it’ll take anyway, don’t worry.
And now he’s left to watch, helpless and ravenous at once, while Phainon decides to get off his knees and tugs off his little pajama shorts, and then lines himself up with Mydei’s cock like it’s nothing, and sinks down in one go.
Mydei’s fingers dig in harder. He’s going to leave marks. Finger-shaped bruises against Phainon’s pale skin.
Like he’s owned.
(Like he’s really Mydei’s.)
“Ah,” he says. “Full. It’s so big and thick. Why are you good at everything? It’s not fair.”
Mydei would call himself horrible at most things, actually. The ones that matter, at least. Like telling pretty omegas you like them and managing to pay for dinner before they’re sitting on your leaking cock, so hard the knot might as well have already popped. Like—like doing more than just growling out here and handing Phainon his decaf cinnamon sugar dolce latte with three extra pumps of vanilla every other morning because it was on the way.
Like—
“I’m going to keep you,” Mydei grunts. “Okay?”
This. Right here.
Like this.
“Forever?” Phainon asks. “Because we might have to start looking at preschools. I hear the good ones fill up.”
Mydei feels dizzy. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But he knows what he wants, and he’s pretty damn sure he knows what Phainon wants, and—
And he lays him out on the suede pink couch and brushes his grown-out hair off his pretty face and he fucks into him slow and deep, until Phainon’s nails are leaving scratches down his back even through the cotton of Mydei’s shirt, and then—
Mydei’s teeth, too sharp for the inside of his mouth, are at Phainon’s neck.
“Sure,” he says. “Forever.”
And he bites down.
Phainon clenches so tight around him that the pressure of his knot popping is almost painful. But it pops, and it settles inside, and Phainon takes it like a good little omega. Like Mydei’s good little omega.
“Full,” he whines, pressing a hand low on his belly. “Feels like you really did just breed me.”
“Maybe I did,” Mydei says. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Yeah?” Phainon asks. “Do you want to watch me pee on a stick, alpha?”
Mydei growls.
Phainon pokes his cheek with the tip of his pointer finger. “Cute,” he says. “My alpha is so cute.”
...
And then, obviously, they cuddle. Right there. On the frilly pink suede couch.
...
“I should forget paperwork more often,” Phainon says. “This time it turned out pretty well.”
Mydei hugs him tighter, chin tucked over Phainon’s shoulder. He’s warm, still, but his heat must be settling. By now his sheets smell more like Mydei than him. “Mm,” he says. “It wasn’t too bad. Even if I don’t remember the last time I stayed in bed this long.”
“It was just a couple of days.” Mydei can hear Phainon’s pout. “Us omegas have to do this every month, you know. Sometimes, it gets so bad you can’t even figure out how to push a few buttons on a toy remote through the heat haze. And then you’re just laying there, lonely and wet and helpless, messy with slick and all puffy and twitching, and all you really want is alpha knot, and—”
“Phainon,” Mydei says evenly, slowly. “Stop talking before you trigger my rut.”
Phainon laughs. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll stop talking. Can we cuddle some more?”
Tch, Mydei thinks. Spoiled brat.
And then—
Mine.
(Which, yeah, is definitely not so bad.)