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The stage vibrates beneath their feet, speakers amplifying their sound across an amassed crowd. His fingers ache from every firm press against the taut strings of his bass but the rhythm never wavers as it booms across the venue. He steadies his ministrations into a looping repetition of chords as Edd’s voice swoops in to pick up the last of the chorus. Somewhere behind him, Matt’s vocals entwine with his, simultaneously swallowed up and heightening the impact of their melody. The teal-ish spotlights dance across the stage as Edd sings, rocking to the beat of their drummer’s efforts and Matt’s softer guitar.
Tom plays a particularly heavy strum as Edd’s final note as it carries across the crowd, slowly wavering while the other elements take control once again. The drums pick up steadily, beating harder until their vocalist finally ceases all sound and—It’s their turn now. Tom looks over to the one place he was avoiding all night, where Tord’s thumping drums demand the eyes of every soul surrounding them. Refusing to be the backdrop to Tord’s efforts, Tom plays harder for the departing harmony as the song dies with an air of finality.
Everything ceases. Then the crowd goes wild.
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The lounge is empty, quiet, and—best of all, fully stocked. Three pairs of feet shuffle into the room, Tom immediately flopping into the first available seat while the other two head over to the snack table. Matt picks up a card, reading out the polite thanks from the venue coordinators with a smile while Edd helps himself to one of the colas in the mini-fridge.
“Awe, how nice!” Matt says as he scours the table, hovering over a few items of interest before finally popping a cheese cube into his mouth.
Tom hums in agreement when no one else says anything for a while. The room is quickly filled with three contented scents, rich and familiar and quickly eases the tension from their shoulders.
A band consisting of only alphas was part of their appeal. The dynamic behind a group of biologically competing individuals was part of the intrigue for most; Curious about the tension behind the scenes. It was what brought them the most traction in their early days. But most people didn't yet realize the bond that went beyond the instinctive drive to compete.
To them, they were friends, they were family. They were pack.
It was what kept them together through the years of record labels pitting them against each other in hope of stirring drama. So those who feared the worst of them, going as far as to label them as ‘a bloodbath waiting to happen’, well, they just didn’t understand the depth of their friendship.
“Ugh, I needed this.” Edd sighs into his drink as he drops heavily into one of the cushy armchairs.
The door swings open, letting in a blur of neon blue hair and violet leather.
“Good work out there!” Laurel, their manager, walks around the room. Giving each member brief and equal praise for each of their performances. She knew them better than most. Knew that they wouldn’t tear at each other’s throats for a sense of favoritism, as nonexistent as it may be, but Laurel was fair. Said they each deserved recognition for what they do, so they never complain. After a while or circling between them, she stops dead-center of the room, sniffs the air and sends them an exasperated look.
“Where’s Tord?” She asks. Their pack scent is intricately woven, so bonded and protected that even a beta, such as herself, is capable of detecting the absence of one. The two stuffing their faces at the snack table glance around the room.
“I dunno. He was at the after party though.” Matt offers.
He was not. Tom knows too well. Their missing pack mate disappeared sometime after the stage went dark. The stale waft of his scent suggested a man on the prowl, like wolf searching for its next meal. Tom is always acutely aware when that one goes missing after a show.
“Right.. well I need you all to update him on the schedule then, we’re gonna be leaving around—“
The doors swing open once again and the devil himself strides through. He’s not alone though. His arm is occupied by a rather beautiful woman with dark hair and long lashes, exuding this delicate scent that vaguely registers as omega. A successful hunt.
Finally noticing their company, Tord glances around the room, perhaps not expecting his pack to be here. “Oh. Hey, guys.”
“Tord, we’re not supposed to have girls back here.” Edd chastises quickly. Tord blinks before flicking his eyes over to Laurel, then back to Edd, as if that were an answer.
“Uh-uh.” She starts, “I’m your manager, don’t lump me in with your groupies.”
“Wow, you’re their manager?” The omega’s voice is soft with awe. “That’s amazing! So you do all the heavy lifting behind the scenes?” She gushes.
Laurel flushes a little, just as much a sucker to recognition as anyone else in the room.
The woman leans in, her perfect painted lips too close to Tord’s ear as she stage-whispers, “I never knew your manager was so pretty! I’m a bit jealous.”
Laurel scratches her quickly heating cheek before huffing at them both to sit down and be quiet.
You’d have thought Tord had gotten away with murder by the smugness radiating off him. Tom tracks the pair as they stumble over to the loveseat in the far corner of the room, watches as the omega curls into his side and rests her head on his shoulder. Tord’s scent curls with something heady and inviting and Tom can feels his face go hot. Laurel begins to speak, giving him the perfect excuse for the way his head whips around when Tord meets his eye.
To his credit, he tries to pay attention. He really does. But Laurel is going over the same rundown they’ve been forced to listen to a hundred times already: Tour dates, Merch Sales, Deadlines. Hushed murmurs find his ears instead, the woman caressing the air and mixing the scent of his pack mate with a swirl of her eager anticipation. Tom finds his teeth bared, the beginning of a snarl bubbling up from his throat before he snuffs it out.
“Alright,” Laurel concludes, “I want you all rested and ready to leave by first light tomorrow. We got a day on the road and gotta beat that early traffic.”
Edd and Matt agree easily. Tom grunts quietly, not trusting his voice. Laurel snaps over to the pair in the corner, “Seriously. Break of dawn. No dilly-dallying.” Tord laughs too easily, Laurel sends him a gesture indicating she’s watching him before slipping out the door.
“God, I’m not ready for another day in traffic.” Matt groans.
“Same. I’m gonna have nightmares about the pins and needles.” Edd says, moving to get another soda.
“We have a luxury bus.” Tom’s voice is gravelly, receptive to Tord’s scent which is promising too much. “Not like we’re running low on space.”
“Yeah well, try saying that after seven hours at the wheel.”
“We have a driver!”
“Same difference!”
Tom chances a glance at the corner, where the couple have gone quiet, suspiciously so.
The seat is empty.
The air smells like foreplay.
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰
They’re inside the bus before the sky relinquishes the darkness. Someone yawns, which then spreads like a virus to the others and the vehicle devolves into childish bickering over who the culprit was.
Laurel drags her feet into the bus, clad in pajamas and face white with a mask that Matt eagerly asks the brand for. She takes stock of the group, flipping through the pages attached to her clipboard and giving them another rundown of the schedule. A day of the road, arriving at the venue around noon, setting up and testing equipment, a test show the next day, followed by R&R before the next concert.
It goes well at first. Up until Laurel looks up again, rubs her sleepy eyes and recounts the members.
“Where’s Tord?”
Two sets of delirious eyes blink up at her.
“Oh for goodness sake! Where is that little—“
The bus doors hiss open, and Tord comes scrambling in with nothing but the disheveled clothes off his back an a torrent of breathless apologies. By the smile splitting his lips, his sincerity is questionable. Laurel groans, ushering him into the back with the rest of the group before pausing, scrutinizing him with a deadly glare.
“Where’s your gear?” It’s less of a question than accusation.
Tord’s eyes widen somewhat, hands flying to his jeans like the massive five cylindrical drum cases could be found in his back pocket.
“Please, tell me it’s already packed up.” She seethes before pinching the bridge of her nose at the not-so sheepish grin she gets in return. Tom rolls his eyes.
“I loaded it up this morning.” he speaks up from the back of the bus where he’s sprawled across a booth seat.
Both Edd and Matt’s head swivel in his direction, no doubt sending him a questioning look. He keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling in feigned nonchalance. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it.
“You legend, you!” Laurel gushes in pleasant surprise, “Everyone good then? Let’s get moving!” She disappears in a rush towards the driver. He ignores the three sets of eyes on him as the conversation shifts.
“Tord, you’re in some deep shit.” He hears the amusement in Edd’s voice.
“Yeah!” Matt pipes up, “Laurel is totally gonna rip you a new one later.” After a long moment, “So…how did your date go?”
“Ugh, don’t ask.” Edd grumbles, “He reeks.”
At that, Tord chuckles. A low octave sound that has Tom clenching his teeth.
“Wild night.” He purrs, Edd gags while Matt makes a vague cooing sound.
“If you guys don’t mind, I’m gonna take a nap. Dint get much sleep last night.” Tord’s voice is coming closer now. Tom stifles the low rumbling disapproval escaping past his teeth. The scent suddenly blooms as Tord passes, the lingering staleness of sex and satisfied alpha. His face involuntarily scrunches up.
The audacity Tord has to mess with their schedule just so he could get laid. What kind of guy does something like that? Was the hookup worth it? The wonder wriggles into his mind and has his own scent souring in distaste. It’s only once he realizes the stench lingering does Tom look up, finding the man hovering by his booth.
Tord gives him this loose-lipped smile, but the lines between his brow suggest something more complex festering beneath the surface.
“Thanks,” he says slowly, “I owe you one.” And then offers his fist as a rare olive branch between them. Tom hadn’t expected this. He thought Tord might just ignore him altogether, maybe a nod in recognition at most, or literally any dismissive but this. His anger dissipates for a brief moment and he kind of wants to return the gesture.
Until the delicate aroma of an omega’s claim swirls between them.
This one’s taken! It seems to taunt.
She marked him. The gentle scent lays claim to her mate, a ward against potential suitors. A few hickeys peek out of the collar of his shirt and Tom is struck with the mental image of painted lips turning his skin red and smearing her dainty pheromones across his skin. A snarl rips out from his mouth as he suddenly swats Tord’s arm away.
“If you hadn’t been fucking around, I wouldn’t have to pick up your slack!” He growls. The wrongness of her scent has him on edge, something intense roiling in his mind with every breath. Fight me, his instincts seethe. Sure, their arguments tend to subvert the reluctant pack bond with one another, but this is something different. Despite the hostility permeating the air, Tord seems indifferent. He just stares for an odd moment before shrugging and slipping behind the privacy curtain for the sleeping quarters.
Tord’s instinct must recognize the futility of a fight. That the omega was already taken and there’s nothing Tom can do about it now. The dismissal leaves Tom’s alpha wound up and restless.
Because it’s not the omega that has him clawing at his mental barriers.
FightMeFightMeFuckM—
“Wow.” Matt says in an even tone.
“Same shit, different day.” Edd sighs.
Tom falls back against the seat once again, fingers curling into fists and twitching loose a couple of times.
This one’s taken!
Stop it, he begs. But his mind conjures the delicate scent enveloping Tord’s body. He could fix this, his mind suggests. Tom’s alpha scent would erase any trace of the omega from his mate.
Pack mate. He corrects.
That’s what this is about. Tord just doesn’t smell like pack anymore. It’s not the first time the guy has come back from a night rolling in the sheets with a fan. But it is the first time one of his dates has marked him so blatantly. He scoffs at the nerve, teeth bared and ready to challenge an omega who isn’t even here.
Before he knows it, he also slips behind the privacy curtain.
Tord lies upon one of the barren cots, an alcove surrounded by storage compartments and far too small for a good den. How could Tord rest so soundly in these conditions?
Sure enough, Tord is tucked against the flimsy bedding, radiating nothing but utter contentment. Tom let’s the rumbled explosion escape his chest, causing Tord to blink out of his happy little bubble. He barely has any time to react before Tom is stuffing himself into the tiny bed atop the other. Tord makes a sound of surprise, his own confused growl tumbling from his lips as his instincts encourage him to defend his territory. Tom doesn’t care, just presses their bodies close and helping himself to a deep inhale of Tord’s scent.
This one’s taken!
The scent reminds him, and Tom huffs a hollow laugh at the puny claim.
Yeah? Watch this. His alpha purrs.
He licks a long stripe from the dip of Tord’s collar bone to the space tucked behind his ear. He senses the airy pheromones smeared along the inflamed gland, like a warning. As if the omega were physically here to challenge him for this. Tord might be saying something, he can feel the vibrations along his throat but Tom is too focused ridding the alpha of any trace of her.
He repeats the action again, and again, swallowing the stale oils until he’s mid lick and the overwhelming, heady musk of alpha blooms on his tongue. He groans, feeling his eyes rolling back at the taste. He takes another appreciative swallow of his scent gland before he leans back with a shuddering breath. Tord’s face is red, the scent encircling them sharpening into fury, but if he huffs a little harder, Tom finds the milder embarrassment hiding beneath.
“What the fuck,” Tord whisper-screams, “Are you rutting?”
Is he? Tom’s gums feel hot, aching with something sharp and encouraging, he wants to bite. He wants to claim. He needs to claim Tord as his alpha. He needs to fuck him full of a litter. Tom is suddenly very aware of how hard he’s straining his jeans right now. Shit, maybe he is rutting.
Tord tries to move, but the cot is small and their limbs are tangled. Tom dives back down for a another taste of his sweaty skin, Tord stops him with a hand at his chest, pushing him away with every ounce of strength in those well-defined arms and effectively halting him in his tracks. Fuck, Tom wants those arms holding onto him, preferably clawing into his back as he plows the alpha into the sheets.
“Tom, chill. I know I smell like it right now but I’m not an omega.” Tord says.
Oh, does Tom know it. His inner alpha sneers at the omega’s lingering claim on his skin, reminded of that woman's gorgeous face and how she stained him with her slick. How easily Tord had snuck off at the promise of pussy.
When Tom speaks, it’s more rumble than word, ”Slut.”
Tord blinks for a second before nodding, “Yeah, yeah. We’ll find you a pretty little slut to knock up. You just gotta get off me—”
Tom snarls again when Tord tries to pry them apart. “No. You.” He insists before flipping him on his stomach and shoving him into the sheets. The position is straining, given the bed was made for a single person and not meant for anything other than sleeping.
Tord wheezes and Tom leans over his back, winding his arms up trapping them against his chest. “You’re so easy,” he starts, “Giving it up for the first bitch to bat her eyes at you.” His grip tightens in an instant and Tord hisses.
“Is that all it takes to get you going?” He snaps, ducking into his nape to find more of that omega’s scent there. He knows what to do now. His fangs drip with something potent, swirling with his saliva as he laps up the lingering claim and begrudgingly swallowing her taste. If this is what is takes to rid him of her existence, then so be it. Tord’s scent begins to reveal itself more and more with every swipe of his tongue and nibble of teeth along his nape.
Frightened alpha. Pathetically mortified and confused. Posturing alpha. Potently overwhelming as it claws for dominance. Aroused alpha. A spiced tinge tamped down beneath everything else, but even that slight taste is so cloyingly sweet that Tom finds himself rutting his hips into Tord’s ass.
He swaps his hold on Tord’s arms to one hand and he winds the other to his hips, raising them as high as the minuscule space between them will allow. Like this, Tord is forced to present and as awkward as it is being so confined, Tom croons his approval,
He kisses Tord’s nape gently, taking lungfuls of their mingling pheromones. “This is good..how it should be.” He murmurs. “Wanna breed you..”
Tord shudders beneath him, melting into the sheets where his face is pressed into an unbearably thin pillow. His ears are red. He isn’t fighting back. His scent blooms with something placating and desperate. Submission. It sings. Tom huffs a pleased sound, giving the tip of one of his scorching hot ears a kiss before tugging the waistband of his jeans down. They’re loose already, sloppily done from a hasty redressing that has Tom has Tom roiling with jealousy.
But all coherent thoughts soon fizzle out once Tord’s bare ass meets the air, shapely cheeks, softer than his defined build. Tom cups one, just to feel the flesh in his palm before gently pulling, spreading to reveal the twitching furl of his asshole. His hips obediently hang in the air, even as Tom releases the hold to squeeze his own throbbing erection. It pulses in his grip and begs for freedom, weeping for the tiny hole awaiting him.
He pants excitedly, smelling the musky arousal emanating between Tord’s legs, where his heavy balls hang and his cock thickens against his thigh. The scent of the omega is strongest here, dried slick coating every spared inch of his manhood. Damn, she marked him good. Tom tears his gaze away to glare none to happily at Tord, whose cheek is smashed into the pillow, peering over his shoulder with lidded eyes and a flushed face. God, how could be stay mad at that?
Tom shoves two fingers in Tord’s face grumbling, “Suck.” When Tord stares at him dumbly.
“Tom, no. We’re in a bus for Christ’s sake.”
Like that means anything to him? He wiggles his fingers more insistently.
“I’m a guy. An alpha.” Tord hisses a whisper, “I can’t take you like—“
“Suck it, or I’m going in dry.” Tom growls.
Tord’s body tenses, wide eyes darting between his fingers and face as conflict furrows his brow. Tom fully releases the hold on Tord’s arms, fingers weaseling between them to unzip his jeans. That seems to hasten Tord’s decision. With an averted gaze, he takes the fingers into his mouth.
A rumbling sound of approval reverberates through his chest as he pulls his leaking cock out. Pre-cum builds on the tip with every stroke of his fist across the shaft, further spilling down the underside of his cock at the way Tord’s warm mouth envelopes his fingers. He slots his fat cock between the valley of Tord’s cheeks, idly grinding while he loses himself to the pure pleasure of that wet tongue swirling a mess of saliva across the digits. He might pop a knot before even breaching Tord’s hole. His inner alpha protests this another twinge behind his fangs and with the reminder of the stale claim marking the body beneath him. No, He’s got a goal here.
When he pulls his hand free, the fingers are soaked. Perfect alpha, he thinks, though the way Tord shudders and buries his face into the pillow suggests he might’ve said it out loud.
He’s careful inserting the first, dipping in to the segment of his finger and not getting much farther than that. His hole is tight, unbearably stubborn against the intrusion.
“Relax.” Tom says, curling over his back once again to whisper in his ear.
Tord’s own hands are curled into the sheets, “Can’t.”
Tom soothes his shivering skin with alternating licks and kisses against his nape, teasing him with the promise of a mating bite. His other hand cups Tord’s hanging sack, testing the heft in his warm palm and gently rolling them. Tord loosens somewhat, whimpering into the pillow in a very emasculating sound. Tom laughs, purring at every inch sinking deeper into his tight heat.
“So good,” he rasps once his finger is finally taken to the knuckle, “Taking it so well.” Tord’s groan is muffled. Once his hole is familiar with the slide of the digit and loosens to his circling ministrations, Tom bullies the second in. It takes more effort than the first but Tom firmly presses on, petting against his walls and showering him in affection for his effort. Yeah, this is how it should be. Tom is a good alpha. He can fuck the submission into this mess and set him right. No more one night stands and broken hearts.
His own scent blooms with elation, curling around the two of them and setting his own claim around Tord.
Just for me, His instincts purr.
All mine.
Tord cries beneath him. He doesn’t know when two thrusting fingers became three, spreading his hole wide until it stays gaping long after they slip free. Tom can’t wait any longer. The saliva frothed from the rim of his entrance, so Tom let’s his own spit, thick with venom, drool past his lips and splat cold against the winking hole. Tord gasps as his cock head slips in too easily, aided with spit and an abundance of precum.
He drapes himself across Tord’s back, winding his arms around his middle to steady his shaking hips before finally sliding deep. His feverish insides clench against around his pulsing cock, his fluttering rim sucking in every torturous inch like a damn champ. The air in his lungs escapes in a whoosh as he’s finally taken to the hilt, entirely sheathed within. Tord whines—honest to god, whines—when Tom pulls back a few inches, just enough to make the sound between them echo. They both groan in satisfaction.
All hell breaks loose after that, Tom never pulls out enough to even suggest the idea of ever leaving, just enough to build a steady rhythm just as easy as their music. The slap of skin against skin not unlike the thundering beat of Tord’s drums, the deep keens of pleasure reminiscent of Tom’s bass. They make a perfect melody together, Tom realizes with a rather stupid grin. Each time he slams in with enough force to make Tord choke, his own erection swinging with every thrust but remaining untouched, forgotten.
His alpha’s eyes roll back and Tom teases another bite across his shoulder, unable to help himself from marking his alpha who’s experiencing heaven itself thanks to him. Tom did that. That omega couldn't fill him like this, couldn't reduce him to a shivering puddle of goo and breed him as well as Tom can. Unconsciously, his efforts redouble, fucking him with vigor as each unbearable second he has to leave Tord’s perfect ass is quickly fixed by him punching back in. Pleasure licks at his core, thrumming through his veins as he feels the base of his cock filling.
Breed. His instincts purr. Tom agrees, easily slipping into that sex-brained mindset he only looses himself to during rut. Where he desperately fucks a toy and tears at his sheets because they’re so empty and he’s so cold and the world is reduced to four walls and isolation. But that’s not what this is. Because now he’s got a sexy alpha hanging off his cock and pressing into his every thrust, thickening scent of desire and pure delight pouring into his mouth with every bite and…yeah, why hadn’t he done this sooner?
His knot swells slowly, bullying into Tord’s ass before popping out with an obscene shlick. But Tom doesn’t want this to end so soon. He growls, forcing his developing knot out and fucking it back inside over and over. It grows larger with every thrust past that fluttering rim until it’s too large to slip free and the thought of pulling into the cold air leaves it pulsing with a burning sensation. He settles into Tord’s soft heat and grinds wildly, dragging out every pulse through his cock until he finally tips over the edge. He whites out at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him.
His cock erupts, pouring wave after wave of his virile seed deep into Tord’s canal. In the same instant, his teeth snap into the scent gland he’s been nosing at, growling possessively while his teeth pulse searing hot venom into the gland, claiming Tord as his mate. He loses touch with reality outside Tord, Tord, Tord. His brain is swimming in the sea in of pheromones and Tom finds that he doesn’t want to leave this moment, the heated aftermath of mating and bliss.
When his teeth finally pull from the scent gland, blood bubbles from every indent where his teeth marred the skin. Like the good alpha he is, Tom dutifully licks away the mess, purring at the coppery taste of blood and the downright sinful combination of their pheromones. Tord pants like a bitch beneath him, throat croaking over little moans as he melts into Tom’s tongue.
“I love you.”
“Tom-“
Their voices overlap in equal rasps of exhaustion. Tord wriggles in his grasp and Tom is quick to soothe him by nosing at his scent gland, seemingly high off the scent of them.
“Everything hurts.” Tord murmurs.
Tom slides them down to lie on their sides, practically playing Tetris as he struggles to fit two alphas side-by-side in a one-person bunk but he makes it work somehow. Like this, Tom gets to spoon the man and keep his knot securely tucked inside. It’s perfect.
Or it would be, if his mate could stop fucking moving. Tord writhes around like a fish out of water, throat warbling with keens and sobs and pulling at knot in his ass, earning a sharp hiss from them both. Tom bites his nape, a warning rumble encouraging him to be still.
It’s only once he sobs again that Tom notices Tord’s weeping dick. His own knot is red, throbbing in agony as it’s left in the air, absolutely nothing warm to sink into. And Tord is too fucked stupid to give it the relief it needs. Tom really is a good mate. He reaches between his legs, stroking his length before delving over the engorged flesh and squeezing like a vice. Tord growls, clawing at Tom’s arms as he cums, shooting his load across the edge of the bed and landing in a splat against the floor.
His ass tightens considerably, leaving Tom stifling his groans into Tord’s neck as his own knot is milked for all its worth. Another two pathetic pulses spurt into his thoroughly bred hole. They stay like that for a long while, practically high off the scent of their mating.
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Turns out, Tom’s little escapade caused their schedule to be considerably delayed, much to Laurel’s indignation. When he finally rose out of his rut-brain to realize the bus wasn't moving and was, most notably, completely vacant, did he finally emerge from the vehicle. There he found his band, Laurel and the chauffeur included, camping outside with varying expressions of ire. The moment they caught wind of him, he was thoroughly laid into by four furious maniacs.
Mortifyingly, when everyone was finally allowed back inside, they had to hold their noses to open every single window while simultaneously blasting the air conditioning. The rest of the trip consisted of Laurel stressing over the abrupt schedule changes and snuffing out Tom's shameful apologies with a single gaze, which every one else contributed as well. Even the disgruntled man at the wheel glared at him through the rear view mirror.
Even more mortifyingly, an abrupt medical intervention at the nearest stop confirmed that Tom was not, in fact, in rut. Well, technically he was. While he was overcome with all the typical symptoms, it was purely psychological. His body was fine, but his brain apparently could not fathom the thought of Tord being marked by another. Thus, his instincts were sent on a pheromone fueled haze to stake a claim. ‘It’s more common than you think.’ The doctor explained to him, but that made it no less embarrassing.
That revelation earned him a nasty snarl from Tord, who then made it a mission to make him as miserable as possible.
Most horribly, he never bit Tom back. Despite offering his own neck for Tord to take vengeance, he refused to return the favor. Something about being ‘dick-brained’, he thinks Tord said. But Tom was more attuned to Tord’s petty attempts at pissing him off. Like ignoring him.
This only made Tom feel what might be the most agonizing pain in his life. In truth, part of him is still entirely satisfied with himself at claiming him. His inner alpha however, is a pathetic mess of hormones.
During rehearsal, Tord’s scent flares when he gets in the element. His musky sweat entwined with the faint undertones of Tom’s claim and screams to every person in a five-foot radius that he was taken.
I'm mated! That's my alpha’s scent, it wafts around the room.
The throb in his pants distracts Tom more than a few times when he’s suddenly overcome with the desire to show off and prove himself worthy of getting that bite. His fingers slip on the chords, pacing thrown out the window when he misses Matt’s cue, distracted by filling the room with his proud purrs. The shitty performance only earns him a stern chewing out from the rest of his band for the remainder of the tour, except Tord. He just stares at a wall as if Tom never existed.
And to add insult to injury, Tord, it turns out, is a fucking brat.
When he’s not ignoring him, Tord seems get off on testing Tom’s limits to the absolute brink. He still disappears occasionally, sending Tom spiraling every time he returns smelling like another omega. He is far too pleased when Tom catches it, grinning with a wild defiance that seems to say, Look what I did~
It’s superficial, he knows. The scent lingers atop his clothes, not beneath. But the knowledge that anyone even made that close to Tord is enough have him practically foaming at the mouth. Their bond is still new, still raw and sensitive enough to warrant him wanting to attack just about anyone the second his mate’s name comes spilling from their mouth. It’s feels even more tortuous when Tom remembers, his own neck is still unmarred.
Everything fucking sucks.
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The concert ended a while ago. Tord’s scent is swirling around the lounge where they were supposed to reconvene, but as per usual, it was like chasing a phantom in the wind. Tom is sick with longing. Everyday he fights to urge to bury his nose into his nape and huff the mix of them blooming there. Battles with the desire to curl up between his legs and prove himself a good mate.
Deliriously desperate, he finds himself chasing the trail, ignoring the knowing glances from his friends as he bursts through the door. Ignores Laurel tugging at his sleeves when he doesn't answer her, ignores the venue coordinators showering him in praise as he passes.
He winds through the corridors and doors, using his nose as a compass. That’s how he ends up back on stage. The floor is open, devoid of the bodies previous packed like sardines dancing in a can. It leaves the air stagnant and cold. Their equipment remains abandoned in the dark room.
He finds Tord sitting behind his hulking drum set, dully thudding the sticks against the white surface in an absent rhythm. He doesn’t acknowledge Tom as he appears at his side. He smells sweet, like an invitation to nest. It’s not his scent.
“Hey,” he rasps.
Tord does look up then, fixing him with this infuriatingly undecipherable expression. But he’s not ignoring him for once and Tom has recently learned that given an inch, he will absolutely take a mile. He drops to his knees before realizing he ever moved, crawling between Tord’s legs and resting his cheek against a warm thigh. He smells more like himself down here, heavy and potent alpha odor. The effect takes hold immediately, easing the tension from his shoulders and limbs as a rumble emits from his chest.
Fingers gently card through his hair and Tom can't help the way his eyes slip shut. Thick fingers massage at his scalp and he nuzzles further into the warmth behind his jeans with a contented sigh.
His mate won’t let him touch, much less allow himself to be touched, on a good day. He must sense the desperation clouding Tom’s senses to the point of losing himself. He revels in this, just wants to let himself wash away with the fragrance of his alpha surrounding him.
He wants so badly to bury deep in his mate and tell him how much he needs him.
“What do you want.” It not a question, not the way Tord says it.
Tom’s eyes open blearily, ever so slowly dragging his gaze up, like if he moved too quickly, the moment would shatter instantly. Tord’s eyes are so light, moonlit silver shining in the dark void of this stage.
“You.” He says easily.
Tord’s face is still for a long moment before the uptick of smile creeps across his features. It doesn’t reach his eyes though, which swim in despair as they suddenly tear away from him, “Of course, you do.”
Tom feels his tired brain slip away as he leans into the cottony pull of longing. His instinct sometimes do this when Tord is around. Desperate for reciprocation, they tell him to be good, to please him.
“Bite me?” Tom pleads.
The fingers go still in his hair.
“Why?”
Tom nudges his legs further apart as he buries his face in the crotch of Tord’s pants. His mate likes this. Used to do this with pretty omegas, always taking care of them, never letting himself be taken care of. Tom can do that. He’s a good mate, he’s worthy of a bond!
“I’ll be good for you,” He purrs, “I wanna be your alpha.”
Tord doesn’t seem to react aside from his slowly filling cock.
“I’m an alpha.” He insists.
Tom nods, “My perfect alpha.”
“You’re so dick-brained.” Tord huffs.
Tom’s ears perk up to the sound of a zipper. When he looks up, Tord is pulling his dick free. It’s still a little soft. Tom feasts on the sight of his steadily chubbing cock until it stands proud like a promise between them. He might be drooling.
“Prove it.” Tord challenges.
Well, who is he to defy the will of his alpha? His cock his heavy in his hand, familiarizing himself with the pulse when he kitten-licks the expanse of it. From base to tip, he laves his tongue across it, occasionally dipping into the slit and groaning at the masculine taste. He suckles the glans for a while, coaxing more pre to pool in his mouth and Tord to squirm impatiently above him. He casts his gaze upward to assess his work. Tord is flushed, eyes closed as he sucks in a shuddered breath and tips his head back.
Tom finds himself thrumming with energy, too eager to please, to eager to worship his alpha. He gags lightly when he surges in to swallow him up to the hilt, groaning at the weight in his throat. Thick fingers tighten in his hair, unsure if it was meant to hold him still or push him away. Heat caresses his cheeks as Tord’s thighs begin to close minutely.
Tom chuckles at the effect he seems to have on his alpha. His eyes go lidded when he pulls off by a few inches, steadily bobbing his head and smearing his cooling spit over the length.
“Oh fuck..” Tord keens above him.
Tom pulls off suddenly, curling a hand around his girth and sating him with slow, firm strokes. He pushes Tord’s shirt up to his collarbone and trails a line of appreciative kisses from the wiry hair at the base that tickled his nose to the line between his softly muscled pecs. Unable to resist the temptation of the perky buds teasing him, Tom kisses one before enclosing his lips around it. He lightly nibbles at the flesh just to hear Tord gasp his name. His hand quickens as Tord moans, alternating between swirling his tongue across the nipple and suctioning it in a vice-like wetness.
“Tom, I'm—” he gurgles, one hand stabilizing himself of the chair when his hips lift to fuck his hand.
That grabs his attention real quick. In an instant he abandons Tord’s chest and dives back in to swallow him whole, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to taste his release. He hallows his cheeks and bobs vigorously, brain entirely devoid of any thought outside of making his alpha cum. Tord cants his hips, voice rasping his name as he suddenly stills. Viscous heat spurts into his mouth, bitter musk and saltiness bursting on his taste buds as Tord groans. His cock pulses at the base, the pathetic swelling of a half popped knot kissing his lips has Tom smiling around the intrusion.
He fists Tord’s length as he slides off, suckling the tip into overstimulation while the tail of his orgasm drips on Tom’s tongue. Tord’s exposed chest heaves every breath and Tom’s head falls onto his thighs, resting the flagging dick across his cheek.
“Good?” Tom croaks, voice wrecked enough to make it abundantly clear how it got to be so.
Tord pants, descending from his high with bleary eyes baring down on Tom, who’s stomach flutters at the sight. “Yeah…Yeah..” he repeats dumbly.
Tom makes a pleased sound, “I’ll be a good mate.”
Tord shudders at the hot breath fanning over his spent dick.
“I promise..” he assures.
It’s silent for a long moment. Tord catching his breath, Tom practically making heart eyes at the alpha.
“You really want a bite that bad?”
Tom’s neck goes hot, his scent glands already sweeting around them as if to accentuate his need, “Yes.”
Fingers descend from his hairline and curl around his jaw. Tom nuzzles into the hand like a cat learning to love. Tord sighs, easing the other alpha from his lap as he tucks himself back into his pants. Tom’s heart lurches when Tord stands, straightening his clothes to be presentable and ignoring Tom’s questioning whine.
..no, no, No! It was going so well! What happened?! Was it not enough? Is he truly not worthy of being Tord’s mate—
“Meet me at the hotel,” Tord’s voice carries across the stage and sends Tom brain reeling, “..only if you mean it.” And then he’s gone.
Tom twitches in his slacks.
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰
Tord’s room is bathed by the lamplight emanating from the bedside table which casts soft shadows around the walls. Its plain and cozy, and identical to Tom’s across the hall, but this one is superior because it smells like the mix of them. And lube.
On the bed, Tord is spreading his legs with a hand between them, three slicked fingers drilling his blushing hole and filling the room with the obscene sounds of his pleasure.
“Stop staring at me like that.” Tord grits out, eyes averted and ears red.
He can’t. Not when Tord’s pecs bounce slightly when his chest heaves through open-mouthed pants. His body almost glows, being racked in a thin sheen of sweat and looking downright ethereal. Or maybe Tom is just whipped. He trembles in anticipation from where he hovers over the man, his own straining cock jumping with need. But he’s a good mate, he can be obedient.
“I love you.” Leaves his mouth in a breath. He couldn’t hold that one back.
Tord slips his fingers free, legs sagging as he slicks up his hands once again and tugs him in by the dick. Tom hisses at the pain straining his shaft and also the delight of being touched.
“Say literally anything else.” Tord rumbles.
He doesn’t admit that he probably can’t. His head is so filled with everything Tord that anything leaving his mouth will surely consist of his name.
His hands become sickeningly gentle when he handles his cock, slicking it firmly before guiding it to his hole. Tom braces his arms on either side of Tord’s head, noses touching as his cock slides in, in, in. Tord’s heady scent of surrounds him, has him breathing deep and ascending. He locks up upon their hips sliding flush. God, he missed this. The soft heat of Tord’s welcoming flesh, the utter pleasure racking up his core at just the sheathing of his cock.
Tord snorts a laugh beneath him, “You looked so stupid like that.”
“I’m always stupid for you.” He retorts, nestling himself deep and puffing up at the gasp that earns him.
He fucks slowly, euphoria stemming from the steady push and pull of his cock. Tord’s hands wind up to hold onto his arms, his eyes finally meeting Tom’s unwavering stare. His brows screw slightly, head tipped into the pillow as he pants into Tom’s mouth. His heart swells, filling with sweet affection and ensuring that every thrust conveys the depth of his emotion.
This isn’t just sex, Tom thinks idly. This is love.
His inner alpha purrs, rumbling against his mate with elation. His next thrust goes particularly deep, grazing past something that makes Tord suck in a breath and clench tighter around him.
“Tom..” he whimpers. His face ducks into Tom’s shoulder when he murmurs, “..stop being a pussy.”
Tom hips rock in gently, sending him a questioning sound while breathing the embarrassment wafting off him.
“F-fuckin,” his fingers claw into his biceps, “..faster.” He says quietly into the meat of his shoulder.
Oh.
Tom’s knees widen, further spreading Tord’s legs from where they drape across his hips. He drives in quickly, ensuring each press of his cock punches home with the same heavy intensity. Tord groans in pleasure, his arms winding around Tom’s back to hold on while he gets pummeled into the sheets. Tom wants those claws ripping into his skin, marking his body with the proof that Tom can satisfy him right. So he fucks even faster, hard enough to strain his hips with every slap of his thighs and heavy balls abusing that slicked ass.
He grunts occasionally, lost in the sensation until he finally gets what he wanted. Tord growls, fingers embedded into the lines of his back and desperately scrabbling to find purchase.
Yes, Yes, Yes, his brain sings.
The room swelters with their heat, the animal sounds of their fucking filling the room. This place will be so stained with the scent of them that every future patron will never mistake what took place here. The knowledge of people knowing of their relationship, that people will know who Tord belongs to has Tom on cloud nine. He wants it so desperately. For people to recognize him as Tord mate. Mate..why hasn’t Tord bitten him yet?
“Please..” he begs into Tord’s neck where the scent of their bond is strongest. He wants that on his own neck too. “Please, mark me.”
Tord freezes beneath him. His face doesn’t leave Tom’s shoulder, but he is oddly silent. Tom continues plowing him, the repeated pleads bleed from his mouth in one long obsessive rant.
“I don’t think…” Tord starts before choking on a moan. “I can’t do this stuff.”
Tom’s brain is slow to catch up, his hips slowing as the rusted cogs turn.
“I’m just.. I’m not good at it.”
He must be joking. Wasn't that the whole reason he was here? Did he really hate the thought of being Tom’s mate that much? But the sex..? Was that all there was to their relationship? Did they even have a relationship?!
“I never pictured myself settling down..” Tord continues. “Much less with another alpha. I’m not good with relationships.”
Tom sits up a bit, scent withering in an instant.
“So you were leading me on.” He finds himself snarling. His chest aches with searing coldness, “This whole time?”
“No, I’m saying—“
“Was this a fucking joke to you?!” His shout bounces off the walls, his instincts reeling with heartbreak cleverly hidden beneath the flare of hostility. He starts to pull out of Tord when the other’s legs clutch around his waist.
“Let me go!”
“Oh my god. Listen to me, dumbass!”
Tom’s throat feels like it’s closing up, but ever a sucker for his mate, (or not-mate now?) he obeys.
“I’m saying…I can’t do this.” He says with a heavy voice, “I don’t know how…but” His face is set in stone, a rehearsed conviction in his eye, “I’m gonna try.”
The world stops.
What? He must blurt that out, because suddenly all of the certainty fades from Tord’s face in a rush of red cheeks and furrowed brows.
“You heard me,” Tord snaps.
“What?” He blatantly says it this time, uncaring for how idiotic he must sound.
“Tom!” He groans abashedly.
“I’m serious, repeat that.” He crowds Tord against the bed once more. After a beat, he averts his eyes.
“I said, I’m gonna do it. All this stupid relationship crap. I.. Damn it, I’m going to try. For you.” He huffs the last part like the admittance physically hurt.
Tom drops his head on Tord’s chest, steadying his shaky breathing.
“Christ, above. I actually hate you.” Tom’s head snaps up to send him the most flustered glare to ever exist.
“Why didn’t you say that all at once! You fucking dick!”
“It was hard, okay?!” Tord buries his face in his arms.
“I’m fucking hard!” Tom insists, sharply thrusting this throbbing, rejuvenated cock to make a point. “And you almost killed it! Holy shit, I think I went through the five stages.”
Tord grumbles flustered nonsense under his arms. He looks shrunk in on himself. Tom eases the arm away until his sliver eyes are finally revealed again.
“Do you mean it?” He asks softly, unable to hide the vulnerability warbling his tone.
Tord’s eyes go soft, stubbornly stuck to the ceiling as he pets through Tom’s hair.
“Yeah.”
His chest feels light now, elation lighting up his scent as a laugh bubbles up from his throat.
“We’re so stupid.”
“Speak for yourself,” Tord huffs, hips wriggling beneath him, “Finish fucking me so I can bite you already.”
The air is Tom lungs rushes out in a whoosh, “Promise?”
Tord deadpans, raising a brow as if to say, What do you think?
Well, Tom thinks he might be the luckiest bastard on the planet. When he fucks inside, it's slower to build up that rhythm. His heart is too full, overcome with the need to make his intentions abundantly clear. He’s here for his mate. He’s here to be owned, to belong to Tord just as he belongs to Tom. He’s here because he loves him. His jaw is cradled by calloused hands, Tord's lidded eyes slipping shut with every thrust.
They meet in a mashing of lips, too soft and uncoordinated to feel like a true kiss but leaving Tom's heart thundering behind his ribs all the same. Tord purrs for once, a heavy rattling sound reverberating against their mouths. When they break apart, Tom feels his face positively burning, cheeks aching from how hard he smiles.
"I love you," he says again. Unable to find any other way conveying the depth of everything blooming within him.
"What happened to hating me?" Tord's laugh abruptly chokes off when Tom surges his hips harder, needing to fill him with every inch he can give.
"I lied."
His knot thickens, making every outward drag harder and harder to free himself but just that much sweeter to pop into the slick heat awaiting him. He pants against Tord’s lips, same as he did to him, they breathe each other’s labored breaths before kissing again. With a modest exchange of tongues, their lips smack in an eager chase.
“‘m gonna knot.” Tom rumbles. As if Tord wasn't acutely aware of how his own asshole is being split open on the width of it.
“Do it already,” Tord pants, kiss him softly before adding, “Alpha.”
The way he says it makes Tom wheezes, not only is it the first time Tord has acknowledged him by his designation but the undertones of possessiveness, like there's no question of who he belongs to, has him whining. Tom’s face screws up in pleasure, punching his knot inside until it can't pull out any further. He dives down for another kiss, needing to feel his mate’s yielding touch to release the taut coils wringing in his belly. But Tord yanks his head back, exposing the column of his throat and bites.
Tom moans like a filthy whore when the teeth sink into the flesh of his scent gland. The point of contact throbs with heat and Tom can feel the mating venom course through his bloodstream, irreversibly entwining his scent with his alpha’s. He cums like that, cock pouring a load that just keeping flowing. Pleasure racks through his spine and washes over him in never-ending waves of elation. His instincts are wailing an internal mantra of, Breed, Mate, Breed.
Tord growls into his neck, only releasing his hold once Tom begins to slump. Then he feels the warm caress of a tongue gently lapping up the bite. He leans into the touch, rumbling contentedly as Tord nurtures the wound. He feels different. Floating in a cottony sort of vulnerability when he submits control to his mate. Wonders if this wonderful sensation is how Tord felt when he did it.
“You alright?” Tord noses into his cheek, its the only place he can reach when Tom is boneless atop him like this.
“I'm so damn good.” Tom purrs.
“Yeah? Everything you wanted?”
“And more,” he adds. Finally pulling away to meet his eyes, “I love you.” he says for what must be millionth time. He refuses to be embarrassed by it now.
Tord’s eyes go soft, his kiss even more so, “I think I do too.”