Archive of Our Own ^beta

He’d been so careful. He’d taken every dose of his suppressants at the exact same time since he’d started his prescription. He’d done everything he could to make sure they didn’t end up like this, and none of it fucking worked.

And, okay, the articles online had said the meds might fail around a true mate, but at the time he’d chalked it up to sentimental garbage written for the kind of omegas that found romantic comedies interesting. How could someone’s mere presence throw off years of extremely precise medication?

It’s not as though Bro finds the idea of sharing a heat with James repulsive; on the contrary, he figures they’ll do it eventually and it’ll be fine. Different from the sex they have normally, but James is a good Alpha and a real stand-up guy. He’ll know what to do even if Bro is half out of his mind. Still, he’d imagined they’d talk about it and he’d ease off the medication gradually and it’d be something slow and predictable. Bro had pictured them more settled in the relationship they’ve got going, that his instinctual twitch at the idea of being bonded would be all but a memory.

Instead, he’s standing in James' kitchen, a freshly poured glass of water in his hand when the telltale tingling pricks the back of his neck.

The sound of the glass hitting the floor brings James into the room, no longer content to wait for Bro to bring it to him. Bro, for his part, stands stock still, feeling more and more flushed by the second. It had never picked up this quickly before, but then, he’d also never had a heat break through his suppressants either.

“What’s going on here? Are you al...right?” James questions, though Bro can tell he knows what’s happening even before the sentence is fully out. By now Bro’s cheeks are tinting a high pink hue to match the warmth spreading down his chest and pooling in his gut. The sweet smell coming off of him in waves has got to be obvious, even at the distance between them. James' voice snaps him out of his shock long enough to register the mess of glass on the floor between them. Neither of them are wearing shoes, but the broom is on the side of the kitchen closer to James, so Bro starts to drop into a crouch to pick up the pieces by hand when James moves to stop him.

“I’ll get it,” James assures, a warm hand pressing firmly against Bro’s shoulder. Even through his shirt it feels to Bro like salvation and damnation both. “Why don’t you take a seat on the couch and we’ll figure this out?” Bro is sure he has a million things he needs to say, but his mind is blank and making words seems like a herculean task, so he nods and makes his way out of the kitchen. 

It doesn’t help that the entire house is practically infused with James' smooth scent of aftershave and cinnamon, so when Bro sinks into the couch they’d been watching TV on, the air is just as claustrophobic as it had been in the kitchen. His skin feels tight and hot, and he needs to rub his eyes under his shades a few times when his vision begins to swim. Bro needs a solution, and quickly. It’s uncomfortable enough now, and he’s still in the itchy-warm-crampy phase. He’d been taking his suppressants so consistently it’s been years since he’s fully gone through one of these, but from what he remembers he’s only got a few hours before he’s gonna need help. The soft tinkling of glass being swept up comes to a stop from the kitchen, and moments later James reappears and takes a seat next to Bro on the sofa.

He doesn’t touch this time, and Bro is thankful for the space even as his body burns to be near his partner.

“How do you want to do this? If you don’t want to go through with it, I can drive you back to yours, or if you’d rather stay, you can use John’s old heat room. It’s your decision, either way.”

Bro holds his gaze, as though James' clear eyes will help him come to a reasonable choice. He thinks about going home, about trying to make it through the first heat since meeting his true mate alone in his apartment. He thinks about trying to do it here, in the long abandoned bedroom John used to use for this. He’d wanted more time and advanced warning, but the tug in his gut and ache in his chest when he conceptualizes going through this without James makes his mind up for him.

“Nah, I wanna do it. The whole nine yards, if that’s cool with you?” He asks, every fiber of his being on edge for James’ consent.

James nods, a warm smile on his face. “That’ll be nice. I’ll run you a bath.”

The minutes blur together as James gets him set up with a nice lukewarm bath, cool against his warm skin. He even goes so far as to wash Bro’s hair for him, his hands soothing and sure where they massage his scalp and the back of his neck. Bro’s cock is stiff in the bath and he can’t help but run his hands over it. It doesn’t bring him relief, but the compulsion to touch is hard to ignore at this stage. He tilts his head back so they can rinse and is rewarded by the firm press of James’ lips on his.

The cocktail of cinnamon and aftershave is strongest from the source like this, heady and overwhelming at such close proximity. Bro groans into the kiss, his body loose and lazy. Even with the water to cool him down the heat has long since upped its game, and it’s all Bro can do not to wrap his wet arms around James’ fully clothed body for some sweet goddamn contact. Luckily, his Alpha seems to catch on to his urgency and unplugs the tub, grabbing for the fluffy towel he’d prepped by the toilet.

The bathroom in the Egbert house is far more indulgent than Bro’s own in his apartment, which to be fair, isn’t saying  a lot . He doesn’t even have a tub, and all the towels and washcloths in James’ house have a ‘carefully selected’ vibe to them, which is more than can be said about Bro’s more...utilitarian style. He’s grateful for the differences now, wrapped in a soft fluffy towel as the water from his bath drains steadily.

As nice as it is, without the water to cool him down, heat is once again rising in Bro’s cheeks. This time, the neediness he feels in his gut is magnitudes stronger than it had been when he’d first noticed it, making even something as simple as standing on his own two legs problematic. Without his shades to cover his face, everything feels too bright, too open, and all the while his body feels like he’s under attack.

“Uh, we’re bumpin’ this party train up t’DEFCON five, here,” Bro says, and even his voice sounds strained. James finishes drying Bro’s wet skin and ushers him into the bedroom where he can get off of his wobbly legs. Bro is at war, and it’s a stark reminder of why he hates heats, why he hates letting another person see him like this. He needs this faster, he needs them to get this show on the road right the fuck now, but it’s so outside the realm of anything he actually feels like saying. He can’t keep the desperation out of his eyes or hide the growing wetness between his legs and it’s humiliating in a way sex never is for him. For Bro, sex has always made him feel powerful and sexy. It's an area he's long trusted his confidence in. Heats feel like a core betrayal of form and function, and it’s all he can do to reach out to James as he’s puttering around the room making sure the protein bars and water bottles are evenly distributed.

Egbert looks back at him, and to Bro’s great relief, there’s understanding in his face.

“I’m sorry, I know this is hard for you,” he offers, sitting next to Bro on the bed and running a hand over his hot skin. “I’m just about done here, but I’ve got something to help you out.”

James leans forward and reaches into a drawer and draws out a dark, silky fabric and some basic wrist restraints. They’ve used those things before, but the intention is different here. Bro nods, and James ties the blindfold around his head and nudges him onto his back lower on the bed. The wrist restraints set his hands up above his torso, fastened easily to the headboard. It’s grounding, not being able to see. It feels somehow more private that Bro no longer needs to witness his own depravity, that when he’s reduced down to crying and begging for penetration, some of that responsibility is already gone from him.

James kisses him again, and Bro pours his thanks into the gesture as another wave of need rolls through him. “Please,” he groans into Egbert’s mouth. His partner pats his bare thigh reassuringly.

“I know. I’ll get you what you need.”

It’s a relief to hear the rustling of clothes because Bro has made it to the uncomfortably hard and uncomfortably wet portion of the evening and there’s nothing he can do to alleviate either. He rubs his thighs together to work up some lackluster friction, but it’s almost worse than doing nothing at all. The warmth in his belly only burns stronger at his paltry attempt at relief. He sobs deep in his throat and finds it difficult to recognise the sound of his own voice, now. His salvation comes in the form of two strong hands prying his legs open and running their way up the insides of his thighs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there.

Bro is used to exercising an impeccable amount of control over his body, but here and now he can’t help the squirming and shifting of his hips. The hands on his thighs tighten their grip holding him in place just in time to feel a wet mouth engulf him. Again, he’s grateful for the blindfold obscuring his vision as the noises that spill from his lips seem in some way outside himself. It’s as though someone else might be making those noises, rendering Bro powerless to stop them. He’s had James’ mouth on him before, but everything is heightened like this. His skin is more sensitive, and Egbert feels warmer and wetter around him as he applies that gentle suction. Were it not for his restraints and the hands holding him down, he’s sure he’d be thrashing off the bed.

When James brings his fingers into the mix, Bro is done for. His brain is fried, on vacation, gone. He doesn’t even realize he’s started babbling a string of ‘ pleasepleaseplease ’ alongside the occasional ‘ ineeditineedit ’ until his throat protests the effort. Fingering isn’t even strictly necessary at this point, he’s wet and open enough to take whatever Egbert can give him.

“Shh, I will,” James responds, kissing the side of Bro’s thigh. “Just getting you ready.”

“Don’t need it,” Bro slurs. “Need you right now. I’m good, 'm so good, I just need more, ” his hand twitches like he’d meant to make a gesture but the wrist cuffs keep him anchored.

James doesn’t seem to take Bro’s statement much into account, instead continuing his rhythm pumping his mouth and fingers. It’s too much, and has Bro hovering on the infernal precipice of pleasure he can’t crest over by himself. He’s too spaced out to worry about the spectacle he’s making of himself as he begs for his release, especially when James eventually complies with his request. The fingers withdraw, and that hot mouth leaves him exposed to the air of the room as Bro feels James position himself between his legs. 

“You ready?”

“Jesus fucking christ, I can’t fucking--” Luckily for Bro’s sanity, James had been teasing him and surges forward, sliding home and easily slotting their hips together. He’s large enough that on a normal day, it is a bit of a challenge getting inside, but now it’s easier than it has ever been. His hole is so wet and sloppy now that even that first thrust makes an obscene sound in the quiet room. Again, Bro registers that he’s speaking, but the words have no meaning, their only purpose to spur James on as he grabs Bro’s hips and pistons forward over and over again. It’s enough to make Bro forget why he hates this--how could he hate anything that feels this fucking good? Bound the way he is, he can’t be as much of an active participant as he usually is, but Egbert is more than making up for it in the way he enthusiastically wrecks Bro. The fingers pressing into his legs will undoubtedly leave bruises and Bro is over the moon about it.

His heat is the only time he’ll ‘lay back and take it’, but holy fucking shit does he understand pillow princesses now. The sex they have on a regular basis is always good, and arguably more fun when Bro is a lucid participant. Still, here and now, confronted with the reality that his body was made for? His nerve endings are throwing a fucking fiesta.

“Close, I’m close,” He manages, the arousal like a warm stone in his belly. Coming is a whole different ball game when he’s in heat like this--it’s actually difficult to tell when he is or isn’t close. The feeling of urgency doesn’t change much, he can only tell by way of a slight difference in pressure that it’s going to happen at all. James strokes his chest the way he likes it and he’s done for, suspended in a harsh, torturous pleasure that only crests when he feels the tug of his Alpha’s knot starting to form. If there were any brain cells left in his head, they leave with the spurts of clear fluid he paints over his stomach as James’ knot locks their bodies together. It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and Bro has never felt this strung out in his life. Egbert leans down and sucks a dark bruise into Bro’s neck but doesn’t bite, instead kissing the hollow of Bro’s throat.

He’s quiet as they both come down from the flood of endorphins, shifting them onto their sides while they catch their breath. He leaves the wrist cuffs on, but detaches them from the headboard to give Bro more range of motion as they lay there together.

“Doing okay?”

Bro manages a nod and is rewarded with another deep kiss and the primal satisfaction connecting with his Alpha brings.

Maybe running out a heat cycle won’t be so bad after all.