Work Text:
The new omega twink was fucking gorgeous.
Oh no. No. It was barely 9 am and Patrick was already being a disappointment.
He knew Brian David Gilbert – the new omega twink in question – would hate to be thought like that. The dude was honest to god human rights activist, half of his academic career consisted of well-aligned arguments to destroy this kind of objectifying prejudice that reduces human beings to their biological reproductive functions.
(“While we continue to think about each other as ‘omegas’ or ‘alphas’, we will never stop having different expectations and judge human beings over something that is not, in any way, socially relevant.” He’d preached to Simone the first time they all had lunch together, a few weeks ago.)
But honestly, the whole thing – referring to his mind!Brian as the twink omega – would only be objectifying if Patrick was an alpha. Which he is not. He’s just an omega with no knot, no feral instinct, no impulse to fuck Brian into next week…
…Which is a shame, really. Because, seriously. Someone needed to fuck the twink into next week – Patrick never felt very happy about being an omega, but he now felt actually robbed. He could only imagine how delicious Brian would look hanging from a knot on all fours.
Jesus, he should not be thinking like that.
“Hey, Pat. What’s wrong?” Brian asked as he perched on Pat’s table, successfully scaring the shit out of the older man, where the hell did he come from?
“Ah! I mean… What? Wrong? What?”
“Hey, easy, sorry, did I startle you? You were growling and hiding your head in your hands, I just thought you might need someone to talk to.”
“Yeah… no, sorry. I’m just… Out of sorts?” At Brian’s worried eyes, Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know, man, maybe my OHs are acting up, I need to hit Grindr again one of these days.”
Patrick saw the immediate moment Brian’s face clouded. The easy and open smile was dropped, and Brian took a deep breath as if trying to prevent going on a rant right there standing by Pat’s corner.
“Hey, you know what?” Brian said after a second, fake cheerfulness and stormy eyes. “Why don’t we… would you grab a coffee with me? You’re not exactly being productive and I might need more caffeine to take this day.”
“Uhm… sure.” Patrick agreed. He had a feeling he was signing up to be lectured.
His feeling was right.
“You know, I won’t presume to tell you how to behave, you’re an adult dude with a life far more organized than mine.” Brian started as soon as they were out of the office building and crossing the street. “But I just think you should consider the implication of some things you say. I mean, if you haven’t, already. I mean… I don’t wanna be that dude that keeps calling you out on this shit but… I guess I am that dude. I’m sorry, but I can’t turn this sort of thing off.”
“Look, man, if I made you uncomfortable talking about Grindr, I’m sorry.” Pat genuinely apologized. “I guess I just miscalculated our level of intimacy. I know you are new at the office and I don’t wanna be the weird senior that makes sexual innuendos, I just-”
“No, what?” Brian turned to look at him, his hand halfway through the motion of opening the coffee shop door. “No, Pat, I’m not talking about Grindr, Jesus, we are all sad millennials here, everyone has used a bad app to find easy, painless connection and a warm body, no big deal there. I’m talking about how you mentioned Omega Hormones earlier.”
“OHs?” Patrick was completely confused, so much so he almost grabbed an overpriced carrot muffin that he hated. Best to stick to overpriced black coffee. “I mean, it is the WHO’s medical term to the things that run through my veins.”
And it was. Patrick had stopped calling it Bitch Hormones back when he was fifteen and his mom had threatened to smack him on the lips if he kept using the word “bitch” inside her home. They went through the motions of getting and paying for their coffees almost automatically.
“Yeah, and it’s important to have a medical term to it, but… Gee, let’s sit. I… I hate going into lecture mode with you, do you really don’t see anything wrong with using OHs as an… I don’t know, justification?”
Pat chuckled. “Sorry, man, the non-lecture boat sailed a while ago. I knew what I was getting myself into the moment I agreed to come to get coffee.” At Brian’s grimace, Patrick just moved on. “Look, hormones affect our day to day life. As an omega, my body is wired to need… I don’t know, to be blunt? Getting fucked from time to time. I don’t understand the issue of talking about it.”
“The issue is that that is not a ‘scientific truth’ as you are putting it.” Brian bit his lip, clearly torn between saying more and just dropping the subject.
“Brian, c’mon. Just spill it out. You’ve obviously studied this way more than I have, and you can just say what you dragged me out of the office to say.”
“Look, you’re right – hormones do affect us in many, many ways. But the way our bad Sex Ed teachers taught us is not how our bodies really work. Omegas are not ‘wired’ to feel the need to be fucked. Human beings, as a social race, often feel the desire to be with their pairs. You, as a young healthy man with a sexual drive, often want to get off with another willing body – there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, if you particularly wish to be fucked, there’s nothing wrong with that either. It’s just, it’s not because you are an omega. If we think that way, we start considering asexual omegas broken. Or even omegas who don’t like bottoming, who don’t feel the same sexual drives, who just don’t wish to have a partner in this particular moment. We turn all those individuals into pathologic cases because we convince ourselves that somehow their ‘Bitch Hormones’ are not working properly.”
“Well… and are they? Maybe if they go through a hormone replacement therapy-”
“My God, Pat, no!” Brian laughs, and it’s bitter. “I’m sorry I’m talking about it like this but, Jesus. No. Just no. Asexual omegas are valid. No-bottoming omegas are valid. They don’t have to go through medical interventions. Being sexually active is not the prime reason for the existence of an omega’s body.” Brian swallowed his coffee, lowered it on the table, raised his eyes, stared right into Pat’s soul. “Being fucked is not the defining function of an omega’s body.”
Being fucked is not the defining function of an omega’s body. Hell. Hell. Patrick mulled over that sentence. Of course not. He was not a whore, was he? He was an intelligent man, with a few dubious talents. He had friends, he had his work, he even had, my god, fans of his work; he had plenty of other interests beyond sex: he liked comics and games and wrestling and parks and nice shoes and not-overpriced carrot muffins.
So why does it feel so wrong to think about it that way? Being fucked is not the defining function of an omega’s body. His body, Patrick’s body, was not defined by its ability to create a nice environment to an alpha’s cock, of course not. Being fucked is not the defining function of Patrick’s body. He has a body so he can run, he can stretch his toes on the sand, he can laugh, he can wrestle, he can dance and stand on his hands and grow his hair. Being fucked is not its main function. Being fucked is not its central attribute. Being fucked is not… it should not. Being fucked should not.
But then again, a voice kept asking Pat, what is it? What are you good for, Pat, if not to be someone’s bitch?
“I… I like being fucked,” Patrick muttered, completely lost and probably saying way too much to a younger coworker.
“And that’s okay. But that’s on you. It’s your desire, and if it’s a social construct or if it’s the production of your own subjectivity we will never know, and you know what? It’s valid either way. But it’s not… the word you used. Your body needs to get fucked. Your body doesn’t need to get fucked. Desire is not the same as need. And we are not irrational animals ruled by our instincts or something like that. Surely not by our hormones, fuck.”
“I have no idea how you can be so sure of that. Most of the time, between alphas growling at each other and omegas fighting for attention on my Instagram feed, it’s barely impossible to distinguish ourselves from the wild creatures, dude.” That Pat could refute.
“Well, because it’s so much easier to explain that behavior as ‘natural’ than to actually think about the social norms that keep that kind of comportment as the rule. You ask me how I can be sure? Fuck, go read any good hormone study, I can link you to a few. Those that were written in the past fifteen years, not our biology books with outdated sources that still used the bodies of black enslaved people as test material. I can bet my ass your High School books had that old fuck George Combe’s The Constitution of the Colored Omegas essay as a source, and that’s from someone that was one of the biggest dudes on phrenology, did you know that? He may have written against slavery, but well, the dude isn’t all that much in my book.”
Pat didn’t know that, but the title of the essay was familiar enough he knew Brian was probably right. Brian wasn’t finished, though:
“Besides, you have to face it, Pat, I’m sorry I’m saying that, but you are thinking as if the American/European white society is the only norm there is. Any anthropological study, even the bad, racist, old ones, will show you that other societies didn’t expect omegas to behave in a certain sexual pattern. They didn’t expect them to bend and take it every two weeks if I’m not making myself clear enough. Non-European or colonial societies didn’t have cautionary tales about omegas who went crazy after too long without a cock. Some societies didn’t even have a name to differentiate omegas from alphas and that? Fuck off. That’s something. We are just too white and ethnocentric to see it.”
“I… what you’re arguing is that my hormones don’t impact my sexual urges?”
“I’m saying we are cultural beings and that our sexualities are much more guided by our social interactions than by our genitals. The brain’s the biggest sexual organ, my dude, haven’t you heard that? And anyway.” Brian made another pause, and Patrick could read now the silences that meant Brian had to stop himself from being too emphatic. “We either believe that or we believe those families that gang rape their omega kids to get them to jump-start their heats are right. That nonconsensual hormone treatments are good for the victims. That asexual omegas are broken. That omegas are ruled by their reproduction system. And I just… honestly, Pat Gill? I can’t bring myself to believe any of those things. It’s below us as a species. So it hurts me when a friend reproduces this kind of argument as thoughtless as you did. I just… I can’t let it go.”
Patrick cursed out loud. His coffee was cold and it was almost 11 am.
*
“Okay, but what about in Twilight Princess?”
“Why do you always go for TP as an argument, no one remembers TP!” Jenna threw a napkin at Patrick’s face, trying to erase his shit-eating grin.
“I remember TP, what are we arguing.” Oh no. Brian had just entered the kitchen and was looking so fucking comfy in a gray sweater and his hair was so fluffy and his eyes were so warm, Patrick was out of breath.
Brian took another step forward and held his eyes way longer than was socially acceptable, intense and undoubtedly hungry, and Patrick felt a shiver run over his spine.
“Ooookay!” Jenna laughed, and still, it took another second before Brian looked away. “We were talking about our good boy Link, actually.”
Patrick was getting worried. This omega crush was getting out of hand. Sure, Patrick had a few omega crushes in his life, his first girlfriend had been a sweet, round cheek blond omega – she had also been 8, and he had been 7, and that was enough explanation as to why everyone thought it was quite okay to let them hold hands at recess.
Well, even the most omega of omegas could have a crush on Troye Sivan, or think Ezra Miller was the cutest – it was nothing, uhm, abnormal. It was not exactly natural but it was common to have crushes. It didn’t mean anything. Aesthetic pleasing and all that.
There was, of course, people who went beyond that. People willing to act on said crushes. Omega relationships. It was all… a bit not good, that. And it’s not that Patrick is one of those that would paint slurs on those people's homes or curse at them as if they were in the 1960s, but he was very much a normal omega, thank you. One that wanted a knot and a normal relationship with a normal alpha. To have normal sex.
Except, well. Brian.
Brian looked so delicious. So comfy. So forbidden and yet willing and also so gorgeous, even as Brian took a sip of day-old company coffee, Pat was weak in the knees. Thank god he was sitting down.
Actually, he should be paying attention to what the guy was saying, right?
“…well, it just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“What? Sorry, I got distracted there for a sec’.”
“Hehe, we noticed.” Jenna actually said “hehe”, because she was a loser. “Brian is telling me he can’t see Link as an alpha.”
“That is not what I’m saying-”
“Look, look, look.” Patrick raised his hand. He was something of an expert on non-canonical Link’s gender. “I know BOTW!Link looks like a by-the-book omega twink, but I argue that that’s just ‘cause he’s still just over his first knot. Now, TP and Ocarina’s Link were clearly older and both look like majestic alphas.”
“And Skyward Sword’s Link looks like he’s five seconds away from begging for Ghirahim’s knot.” Jenna smiled with too many teeth, and Patrick had to be reminded that she had Big Alpha Energy yet again. “Patrick only wants Link to be an alpha because he has the hots for that trashy Tolkien elf culture appropriation.”
“And what that has to do with anything?” Brian flipped his hair, and the urge to run his fingers through it made Patrick hold onto his coffee mug. “You want a piece of Link’s ass, go get a piece of Link’s ass man. Go live your best elf fucker life, my dude. No need to try to search for signs that aren’t there.”
“What do you mean, aren’t there? There are surely some signs.”
Brian sighed. “Look, Pat, I adore you but we need to talk about your reasons to believe everyone around the world sees gender and sexuality through western lenses.” Brian stopped, smiled to soft the hit, but hit he did. “It’s racism, Patrick. The reason is racism.”
Patrick laughed, beside himself. “Why do I like you so much if you’re calling me racist every time we sit down to talk?”
“Because someone has to! Look, Zelda is a Japanese game. Alpha and omega are just not the same things for them that it is for us. Besides. Fuck, okay. Jenna, you up to some gender talk?”
“I’m always up to gender talk, hit me up, babe.”
“I’m not giving Patrick any choice, so just sit there and enjoy your coffee, my man. So yeah. There’s no possible way to figure a person’s biological status unless you either sleep with them or ask them directly. And honestly, unless you are way too fucking close, there’s no reason to go asking for a persons’ biological status, that’s creepy.”
“Oh, wow, hey-”
“Now, Brian, c’mon, surely-”
Brian raised his arms as if to defend himself from both Jenna and Pat’s attack. “Look, you can call me on my bullshit any day, but I’m not changing my mind over this. Have you ever read Gender Trouble by Judith Butler? I hate to go on a rant over academics, but fuck, that woman is my hero. She basically explains that omega and alpha, as we view in western societies, are performances. We put on a show to indicate our biological status, but that show is social. If you’re alpha you have to be more aggressive, if you’re omega you have to be softer, you have to talk in a certain way, sit in a certain way, behave like this, because it’s socially important that your status is always clear. But those behavioral patterns are purely social. There’s no biological imperative that determines how an alpha or how an omega must behave.”
“Wait, wait. No. Some things must be biological, otherwise…”
“Otherwise the way we understand omegas and alphas is pure bullshit and we are just reproducing our prejudice? Gee, Pat Gill, I’m glad you and Butler got to the same conclusion.”
“But how about…” Jenna was thinking hard, both hands holding her chin as her eyes danced back and forth as if she was reading every word out of Brian’s mouth. “Well, you know. How come we can always tell when someone is alpha or when someone is omega?”
“We can’t! That is the thing. We can’t. We think we can. There’s bullshit like ‘oh, the smell’, but humans aren’t able to perceive hormones in the air with accuracy for over four thousand years. Look, remember the Chris Evans scandal?”
“Fuck, that was a mess.” Patrick agreed.
“That was a fucked up thing we as a society did to a fellow human being.”
“Well, he lied, Brian.”
“He- Fuck, no! He didn’t!” Brian was gesticulating now, and that made Simone curious enough to rise from her desk and walk towards them. Soon everyone was going to come to look, Pat was sure. “He didn’t lie! We expect action heroes to be alphas, we expect beefy guys to be alphas, we expect gorgeous big actors to be alphas, so we just all assumed he was an alpha! Did he play the part? Yes. Yes, he did. But just as much as everyone else. Everyone is always playing a part, always performing to be adequate do a certain biological status.”
“Are we talking about Captain America?” Simone asked, looking way too excited to get into a polemic on a slow Wednesday.
“We’re talking about the actor, right, don’t get me started on that fucking character.”
“Why, because Marvel is a coward that doesn’t have the balls to represent alpha on alpha action and Steve and Bucky will never be canon, even though they queer baited us like the clowns we are?” Simone was clearly still bitter about the last Avengers movie.
“Exactly, and then they throw Chris Evans under the bus claiming we were seeing things in Steve and Bucky’s relationship because Evans was a liar and an omega all along, as if an omega could not interpret an alpha, as if he hasn’t been playing an alpha convincingly for his whole career. Jesus, I hate Marvel.” Brian goes to take a sip of his coffee, discovers the mug is empty, points it at Jenna. “But that just proves that we have no way of knowing a person’s biological status and sex. We only have social cues that we trust and obsess so much over that we claim people are lying when they don’t conform to those social cues. It’s fucked up.”
“Right, but then, how do we find sexual partners?” Patrick asks. Three pairs of eyes turn to him, and Jenna’s wolfy smile returns with a vengeance. “Shut up, what I mean is how do we find sexual partners if everything we observe over someone’s biological status is just social… what, performativity?”
“Fuck who you like, bro.” Simone answered. “Life is short. Fuck whoever. I’ve fucked alphas.”
Patrick’s heart stopped. What?
“WHAT?” Jenna asked, punching the table in excitement.
“Jesus, do you guys know no shame?” Tara asked from the kitchen door, just over Simone’s shoulder. “It’s 3pm, don’t you have any content you guys should be creating, you assholes?”
“Tara, shut up, Simone is telling us she fucked another alpha.”
“Really?” Tara was suddenly inside the kitchen. They should just call it a day and go hit a bar; it would be more honest by that point.
“Yeah, guys. I mean. Yeah.” Simone shrugged, as if what she was saying wasn’t shaking Patrick in his very core. “I mean, it was… look, I’m a bit ashamed of putting it in those terms, but it was a bit of a social experiment? I was in a study group reading Beatriz Preciado…”
“He’s Paul Preciado now.” Brian gently corrected.
“Fuck, yes, my god, sorry. I totally forgot. Fuck, sorry, yeah, sorry. So, I was reading Paul Preciado, he’s from Argentina, he has this great book, Countersexual Manifesto? Yeah. So he talks about how our sex practices are all scripted over the notions that being omega and being alpha means we should only get pleasure in a certain way? And how capitalism, like, rules over our sexual practices and there’s no space for creation, for imagination, for really getting to know the body of your partner because you are stuck in a certain script of how to fuck if you’re an alpha and how to fuck if you are an omega. And the book goes on to say how rad and important it is to open yourself up to new possibilities. And there was this guy in my group. And he was an alpha. And we just thought, hey, it doesn’t get more unscripted than two alphas fucking, right? And so we. Yeah. Fucked.”
“But wait – wait.” Patrick should just keep his mouth shut, he was revealing way too much. “Did it… was it. Did it work?”
“The relationship or the fuck?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Well, we surely fucked, so yeah. No trouble there. He came, I came. It was good sex. It was very good sex, and it was way less hard to negotiate than we would have imagined. I guess we matched, somehow. But after two months he got a scholarship in France to study Foucault and I’m here, so yeah. I’m not up to long-distance relationships in this economy.”
Patrick could feel his mouth hanging open but there was nothing he could do about it. Ten minutes ago he was just thinking how abnormal it was to have sex within your own biological status and there it was. Simone. Perfect normal, well-adjusted Simone, fanfic writer Simone, and it were just there telling a room full of people she works with she had fucked another alpha.
“Close your pretty mouth, Pat Gill,” Brian said with a wink, and Patrick was suddenly sweating. “You’re telling me you’ve never considered getting the hots with another omega?”
Brian’s eyes were back at that unbearable intense look, scrutinizing Patrick in a way that was just too much, never mind they were in the officer’s kitchen surrounded by all their coworkers.
“And wh-” his voice failed him, Patrick was so fucked, he could see Jenna raising her coffee mug just to hide her smile. “And who would be the omega I’d be lusting after?”
“Well.” Brian smiled, shrugged, lowered his eyes, raised his eyes again, and it was all a very well-crafted seduction that Patrick could not help but fall for. “I mean. There’s always Link, right?”
*
…the music was too loud, the heat was unbearable, and Patrick was suddenly feeling way too old and anxious to be inside that club.
“Man, I’m… I’m fucked up. I think I might be on the verge of a panic attack.”
“A what?” Jeff asked him, screaming to be heard over the terrible music.
“Panic attack!” Patrick screamed right on the dude’s ear, but it did the trick: Jeff’s eyes got round and big, and he immediately got to his feet, pulling Patrick closer to his body to protect him from unwanted touches all the way out of the door.
He should feel bad that they were leaving without saying goodbye to their friends, but honestly, their friends were probably the cause of Patrick’s anxiety even more than the strobe lights in the club. He should also feel bad for ending Jeff’s night like that, but fuck. What are friends for, right?
This outing was a mistake. He knew it was a mistake from the moment he saw Simone smirking in his direction. All of their friends were just waiting for the moment Pat and Brian would start making out on the dance floor. The innuendos were turning more and more ridiculous as they drank more alcohol, and it was difficult to ignore. It was difficult to ignore Brian.
Patrick breathed the night air as if he was a man on a desert and the chill was a tall glass of water. Brian had been touching him. His arms, his hands. On the taxi over the club – a hand on his thigh. An arm around his waist as he pulled him close to dance. Dancing close, dancing closer. Brian’s fingers on his neck. He hated when people touched his neck. He loved when Brian touched his neck.
Brian.
“Let’s go get coffee, Pat.” Jeff said, with a gentle voice. Patrick realized he had been standing outside the club, hands over his own knees, head low. “C’mon. We need to sober you up a bit.”
They sat in a sad 24/7 diner and ordered black coffee. Water. Patrick felt sick but didn’t throw up. The diner looked like an Edward Hopper painting. Jeff was quiet. Patrick had to focus on breathing.
In and out. Brian.
They were in silence for a long, long time. An hour, maybe? The minutes stretched. It felt like something horrible had happened, but Pat couldn’t rightly pinpoint what. Patrick opened his mouth suddenly, realizing he had to say something, he had to talk, but it seemed like an impossible task.
“Drink your coffee.” Jeff said, still using his calming tone. “You’ll feel better. Order another one.”
Patrick drank his coffee, and it was horrible. It was bitter. He ordered another one, and it was a simple task that didn’t require words. He realized he hadn’t said a word since he was inside the club.
He drank another coffee.
“How are you feeling?”
“Unexplainable anxious.” Patrick answered, and felt amazed right after because he hadn’t realized he could talk again.
“Clubs can do that. Too many blinking lights, we can’t see the corners, the music is too loud, we are drinking. People everywhere. It’s very disorienting.”
“Whose idea was it?”
“Simone’s. She felt it would help you and Brian.”
Patrick’s chest was heavy again. He took a sip of his water. Cold.
“Look, Pat. Can we talk about that? Would you like to talk about that?”
Pat chuckled, without humor. “I’d like to be talked at. I’m not sure I can talk about it.”
“Okay. I can do that. When you feel like talking, you just shut me up, okay?” Jeff had gentle eyes, and a friendly face. Patrick suddenly wished they were closer, that Jeff knew everything about him, and not that they were friends from work that never got together to just talk. “We are your friends. Everyone just wants to see you happy. No one is judging you and no one is pushing you. If you don’t wanna be with Brian, you don’t have to. He would never be an asshole. You just have to be honest with yourself.”
“I… I think I have been crushing on Brian since the moment I met him.” Patrick admitted, having difficulty in saying out loud something anyone with eyes already knew.
“Okay. Do you wanna be with him?”
“He’s an omega.” Was the immediate response.
Jeff smiled. “I’m pretty sure he would be seriously offended if he heard you talking about him in such terms.”
“But that’s him!” Patrick pushed away the cup in front of him, tired. “He’s like that, he talks about gender and sexuality and biology and he lectures me about not being racist and about prejudice and goddamn Michel Foucault, and it’s all so simple for him, so simple, but it’s not for me. It’s not. That’s not. Fuck.”
“Not how you were raised?” Jeff asked, and there was no judgment in his voice. “Catholic boy, army brat? Good little omega? Look, Pat, is no fucking surprise this is hard for you. It’s to be expected. I don’t think Brian expects this to be easy for you, and that’s why he’s been waiting on your first move.”
“He has?”
“Jesus, Pat. The boy looks at you as if you hung the fucking moon and invented Mario Kart, you think he would be dropping clues all subtle like if he wasn’t just waiting for you? Brian has made up his mind about you a while ago.”
Patrick swallowed his own misery. “He told me had uninstalled Tinder and Grindr. He told me he wouldn’t date anyone casually. He told me it- it felt like cheating.”
“And did you ask him why?” Jeff wondered.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I know the answer.”
Jeff pulled at his hands because by now Patrick was hiding behind them. He waited until Patrick made visual contact to talk.
“Why did you ask for me, Pat?”
“What?”
“Today, at the club. I get you needed space from Brian, but Simone was there. Jenna was there. You are closer to them. Why did you ask me to come with you?”
“Look, man, I’m sorry, I-”
“I’m not. I’m glad you asked me to come. I’m your friend, I care for you. I’d spend my whole night drink bitter coffee with you if that’s what you need. But I think you know why you chose me tonight.”
“Because… because you are an omega. Because I thought you’d understand.”
Jeff sighed. “I do understand, Patrick. I do. But not because of my biology, but because I care and empathize with you. Jenna would understand. Simone would understand. They love you. This is not a matter of genitals, this is a matter of hearts. Stop believing you are an omega first and a person second. Stop believing that about yourself so you can stop believing that about Brian. Let yourself see him as he is.”
*
Hey, u up? Coffee, y/n?
Pat stared at the message for good five minutes. He started to type, but fuck it. He just called.
“Hey, Pat Gill! Good morning.”
“Good morning, Brian. Do you have any plans for today.”
“Not exactly. That’s why I was asking if you’d be up to some coffee, I’m feeling cagey inside my apartment by now.”
“Yeah, uhm. I think I might cut down on coffee for a bit.”
“Oh. Oh… That’s, hm. No coffee? That’s really healthy, Patrick Gill, it’s so good to see you, hm, see you embracing a healthier life style. So, hm, I guess I’ll-”
“No! I mean, yeah, I’m not drinking coffee, but, hm.” Jesus. They were awkward. They were too awkward. Never mind being two omegas, this would never work because they were two dweebs. “Do you, hm, have you seen the new season of-” think, Patrick. Think. Anything. The new season of anything. “hm… The Good Place?”
“…Do you watch The Good Place?”
Patrick, you moron.
“Ugh, no.”
“Pat, is this you trying to ask me to Netflix and chill?”
“My parents aren’t home,” Patrick answered, so glad they could resort to memes. “And by ‘my parents’ I mean my roommate is out of town.”
Brian’s laugh was bright even over the phone, and Patrick could picture him with his neck throw back, his eyes bright.
“I’m getting an uber.”
Brian got there faster than Patrick was ready for, but then again, he might have combusted if he had to wait any longer. The younger man had an easy smile and his own nerves were betrayed only by the way he kept fidgeting with the flap of his messenger bag.
“Come in, man. You know the place, right?”
“Yeah, I was here when Jenna made a gingerbread house for us all.”
“And proceeded to destroy it with her fists.”
“Fucking savage.”
They were both standing on Patrick’s living room, smiling softly, eyes glued on each other, and it was both awkward and arousing and possible a few other confusing feelings.
“You left early that day at the club,” Brian commented, apropos of nothing. It had been a week since Pat’s crying-in-the-club moment.
“Felt nauseated by the lights. Jeff talked me out of a panic attack.”
“Oh.” Brian looked worried. Brian also looked gorgeous. “You should have said something, I would have helped you.”
“I know you would. But you were having fun.”
“Jeff wasn’t?”
“I didn’t wanna worry you.”
“Worry me. Next time.” Brian took off his bag, took a step forward, eyes hard. “Worry me, not anyone else.”
Patrick couldn’t take it anymore.
It happened fast – they were kissing. It was desperate in a way it shouldn’t be: this should be a Netflix-and-chill fuck, this should be two coworkers having fun, but he was pulling at Brian’s hair and biting at Brian’s lips and Brian was sobbing his name and the kiss felt like a revelation of too fucking much.
They fell on the couch.
Patrick was straddling Brian’s lap and rubbing his beard behind the man’s ear, getting drunk on the scent of Brian’s shampoo, scratching Brian’s shoulder blades. He felt like he could consume the man under him, like he would need only his teeth and his mouth to bite at that expanse of flesh and drink on his moans.
Brian moaned and moaned and moaned and his hips were rubbing against Patrick’s and yes, yes, he was hard, Pat could feel it now, how hard he was rubbing against his ass and-
“Brian, anything, anything you want, anything you want, Brian, anything, I’ll do it, want you so much.”
Brian growled and it was feral and it was amazing and Patrick felt like he was an idiot, how could he ever imagine this would be inadequate, this would be lacking, that Brian would not be able to satisfy him, that this could be wrong when Brian knew exactly how to rub his nipples over his t-shirt and bite on his neck?
“Let’s get you naked, I wanna see you, Pat.”
Patrick had to raise himself for that, and once he was out of Brian’s lap he took the executive decision of moving all that to the bedroom. He turned around and just walked over, knowing that if he tried to pull Brian with him they would end up fucking on the carpet.
They managed to get to the hall just outside Pat’s bedroom.
Brian caught up with him and turned him around, pushing him against the wall and kissing him violently.
“Told you to get naked. C’mon. Now.”
Pat was trembling as he ripped the shirt out of his body, Brian’s hands working on his fly. The jeans were pulled off his body alongside his underwear, and Brian lowered himself to pull on the pant legs as well as shoes and socks. And then Pat was standing, naked, flushed, while Brian kneeled on his feet.
“So gorgeous.” Brian whispered, kissing one thigh and then the other. Pat’s cock was so hard he could have stabbed someone with it.
Brian slowly, slowly, slowly licked on his head. When the subtle movement made Patrick tremble beyond control, Brian caught his cock firmly in his hand, pushed his hips against the wall and swallowed him whole.
Patrick almost fainted.
It was just too tempting to tangle his fingers in that beautiful hair and guide Brian’s head up and down, and that was exactly what Patrick did, amazed once again that he got to touch after so much time of desiring. Brian’s mouth was soft and warm and the boy had a talent to coordinate his up stroke with his hand with how he swallowed Pat’s cock down. His member was stimulated fully the whole time, make it impossible to catch a breath. Soon Brian’s other hand moved from Patrick’s hip to caress his balls, and that was it, that was Pat’s hands pulling on Brian’s hair and finishing up in his throat.
Fuck.
His knees finally gave up – after threating to do so every time Brian so much smiled in his direction at Polygon – And Patrick was a mess on his hall floor. He pulled Brian to kiss him, planning on making it sweet and sort of apologetic, but he was naked and warm and Brian still tasted like come and, well. The kiss turned into Patrick open mouthed licking inside of Brian’s mouth, chasing the taste of come and palming over Brian’s surprisingly big cock over his jeans. Why was this boy so big?
“Fuck me, Brian.” He had a small second of doubt, would Brian even want to do that? But the thought didn’t last long, Brian had been holding onto his ass and spreading his cheeks with too much intent for someone no interested in tap that. “Fuck me, I want you inside.”
“You just came, you wanna wait?” Brian asked, as if Patrick could not feel his desperation against his naked thigh.
Pat was, in fact, feeling lethargic as he rubbed himself over Brian, but it was not like he would do the hard work here. He could show his more intense acrobatics on their next fuck, right now he just wanted to be filled.
“No, just fuck me, I’ll be hard again before you finish, just do it.”
It would be easier to prepare him relaxed as he were, and besides, he would not have enough coordination to suck Brian right now.
“I’ll get the lube, just wait a sec.” Brian was up in a rush, running towards his bag.
Patrick let his body fall in the floor, ass in the air, presenting without even realizing. “You better be naked when you come back.” He closed his eyes to wait for Brian.
It took Brian a few moments, but he was back: Patrick knew because of the weight over his body, so he must have dozed off for two minutes there. But the weight on his back was delicious, the hotness of Brian naked body, hair tickling Pat’s neck as Brian kissed his shoulder, finger searching for his hole. Pat spread his legs more, moaning as Brian’s fingers circled his entrance.
The lube wasn’t cold – Brian was perfect, really – and Patrick’s body opened with ease for one finger: it wasn’t his first rodeo, after all. Soon Brian was fingering him fast, his hand making a sound like a slap every time his finger dug deep inside Patrick’s body, Brian other arm crossed over his chest, supporting and pulling him by the shoulder at the same time.
“You want more fingers or do you wanna feel this?” Brian whispered against his nape.
Well, the weight and warmth of Brian’s cock against his thigh – a cock he hadn’t made visual contact with yet, but right now it would feel kind of rude to stare at – was a warning that the task at hand might not be too easy. But, on the other hand, Patrick felt the urge to please his al- his lover. It was obvious that Brian wanted to take him now.
“Fuck me, please.” Pat moaned, asshole opening and closing in hunger.
Brian pulled him by his hair to kiss him messily, his legs framing Pat’s. The head of his cock bumped against Patrick’s entrance and slipped out, the lube making it difficult to aim. They both moaned as the hard member slipped between his cheeks, catching at his hole without breaching it. Brian had to stop kissing him to take his own cock in hand, holding onto Patrick’s hips with his other hand while Pat got on all fours: Brian aligned himself and pushed.
Pat had to scratch at Brian’s hand to deal with the pain – the head was fat and large and hard and what kind of omega had such a goddamn large cock? It put a lot of Patrick’s exes to shame, if the feeling of stretching to accommodate was anything to go by.
“Don’t stop, fuck me, please, please.” He would end up slipping and calling him alpha, my god, the pain was too much but it felt like a piece of Patrick was sliding into place, Brian made a small in and out movement, pushing more inches of the swollen cock inside. Patrick tried to escape the intrusion only to feel his own body rocking back, taking more of that wonderful pain. Brian kept pulling out and pushing back in, feeding him more and more of his cock, that seemed impossibly large and endless. A particular thrust made Pat yell in delirium, too lost to know if he was feeling pleasure or pain or both. His cock was getting hard again, as his body moved with the strength of Brian’s trusts.
Then, Brian did a circular movement and pushed more of himself inside and – and Patrick felt.
Felt the swollen base of Brian’s cock. The hard knot pushing against his already stretched to the limit rim.
“Brian is- is that your knot?” no. No way. He must be crazy with lust.
“Yes, baby. You want it? You don’t have to take it. We can do it just. Like. This.” And Brian punctuates with a quick session of shallow thrusts that hit exactly on Patrick’s prostate and made him howl.
Okay. Okay. Okay. Fuck. Brian David Gilbert was an alpha. On one hand, Patrick was sure that, as soon as they were done fucking, he was legally obligated to kill the man. He had been worrying himself sick over his crush – his fucking love, alright, he fell in love with Brian at some point – thinking about how socially unacceptable it was to sleep with another omega, how would he tell his parents, how would he face society. The asshole had a knot the size of a Coke can. The asshole had the biggest knot in the story of Patrick’s well-known ass.
On the other hand. Jesus. Brian David Gilbert had a fucking big knot and a delicious cock and it might be possible that Patrick wants to cry because he’s never leaving this house ever again.
All this passed his mind in a flash, as he was suddenly taken by the realization that he practically was begging for “knot me, alpha, I want your knot” like a bad porn star while on all fours in the hall outside his own bedroom, his ass full of Brian David Gilbert’s monster cock. The fucking audacity of that twink of having a huge magic cock. The thrusts came in quick and violent and then they weren’t coming at all, Brian was pushing his body and making him take the knot knowing it would only get bigger inside. Patrick was crying and being stretched and opening beyond what he was thought was possible and being knotted and coming.
He must have passed out for a few seconds, and it must not have been long because Brian wasn’t panicking – or maybe he was just used to people passing out on his cock. They were still properly knotted, and Patrick could feel the member pulsating inside his hole. That would be… a lot of come.
“That will be a lot of come.” Patrick whispered, voice hoarse.
“I’ll clean it all up after.” Brian kissed his shoulder.
“You’re an alpha.” His knees were going to kill him. Brian’s cock was not interested in stopping.
“Yes.”
“You never told me.”
“I never told you otherwise.”
“…Top 10 anime betrayals.”
Brian laughed, and maybe the humor was too much of a mood change, because Patrick could feel some of the pressure in the knot letting up.
“I never lied. You assumed what you wanted. I thought about telling you but I-”
“Felt uncomfortable preaching so much about gender and biology status equality to use the ‘I’m an alpha, you’re an omega’ card.” Yes, it was definitely getting looser back there, but then, oh, then Brian started to fuck him again, long thrusts that made him shiver. “Oh, god, what-”
“Shh, easy.” Brian started to slowly pull out. The knot was still big, even after it went back to a less intimidating size, and his long cock took a few moments to be out. “Just wanted to feel my come inside of you.”
Patrick could only stay still as Brian pulled the rest of his cock out. His hole opened and closed for a second, hurting but also too empty without a cock, and in the next moment Pat could feel the river of come bursting from inside. He dropped his head in shame, feeling dirty, but Brian just held his cheeks apart and stared as so much come escaped Pat’s gaping hole. Pat could feel it running through his thighs and through his legs, and the instinct of closing his legs and hiding his shame was not strong enough to get out of his alpha’s hands.
“So gaped, so open.” Brian’s three fingers found his entrance, and Patrick sobbed as the knuckles brushed his abused rim, getting inside with ease. As Brian opened his fingers, more come escaped, and Pat was so stretched he could feel the air touching his insides. “Can’t wait to fuck you again.”
Pat could only moan, too exhausted, finally letting himself lay down – Brian’s fingers escaping his body – over the mess of his own come and Brian’s, that formed a comically large puddle under his body.
“You’ll have to let me sleep a bit before that, alpha. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Patrick could feel Brian freezing beside him, and would have laughed if he had more strength. My god, Brian was something else.
“Hm… You don’t have. Don’t have to, you know.” Brian cleaned his throat, started again. “Pat Gill, you don’t have to call me alpha. Also, we don’t have to – you can fuck me, I’d like that, that you fucked me - if you want to fuck me, that is. If you’d. You know. Like that. And you don’t have to take my knot if you don’t want to, like, ever again, I like you and I-”
Pat used the last of his strength to pull him closer by his come stained fingers, kissing his lips and messing with his already messy hair.
“That’s enough gender studies for today. We can make Foucault proud when we wake up.”