by the strange pull

Scattered

Still new to this, Wriothesely can't shake the feeling that this'll be like the other times; ending with one alpha bolting off.

CW: Contains Smut

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Wriothesley feels like it's a dream.

He's fucked plenty of others before but it's always been a fight with bites that break flesh, and the threat of broken bones and torn flesh. He reaps what he sows with his preference for alphas—that's what he's always told himself. And it isn't like he hasn't fucked an omega or two either, or betas; whomever it was has always been a means to an end.

Neuvillette is different. He plagued his thoughts and fueled the sorts of fantasies that had to be driven away by Wriothesley's hands. Wriothesley has desired him for long enough that he still isn't quite sure this is real, that Neuvillette is really underneath him in his rough-worn sheets in a too-small bed.

Arousal chokes the air. Neuvillette moans, back arching as he begs for more. He catches Wriothesley's gaze through half-lidded eyes and tilts his face until his neck is on display. A sign. A call. There is no sour smell of rank alpha, only the addicting scent of arousal as he begs to be bitten. Wriothesley can't stop looking. The pale stretch of the column of Neuvillette's throat is tempting, and Neuvillette knows it.

"Go on," he murmurs, his voice low and heady. "Do as you wish."

Neuvillette understands. He's an alpha too and carries the same instincts and desires, and he knows that Wriothesley itches to latch onto his neck, sinking his teeth into that damned gland. To hold him there and fuck him deeply until he's lost all his words, thoughts full of only the press of Wriothesley's cock.

He would let him. Neuvillette. He'd let Wriothesley indulge however he wishes, and Neuvillette would love it in return, relishing it in the same way that he begs to be filled.

Truly a dream—how Wriothesley's sheets are stained with Neuvillette's ocean-salt scent; the way that he keens underneath him and wriggles his hips for more; those moments when he rolls them over and rides Wriothesley instead because instincts be damned and this is what they want.

Wriothesley does not trust many but he trusts Neuvillette, and for Neuvillette to not just give himself freely, but to ask for it, to itch for it... Wriothesley's alpha is caught between roaring in satisfaction and shrinking back in fear of eventual denial.

No alpha can handle this for long. No alpha actually enjoys being taken.

But Neuvillette is unlike any other alpha. And Wriothesley isn't the standard either, and that is why the two of them fit together like puzzle pieces, notches lining up perfectly. Made for each other. Aren't there stories about that? Fairytales of fated pairings and destined mates?

He's thinking about this too much, but can't help it. Anxiety pricks at Wriothesley's spine and lingers in the back of his skull, white-hot in the same way his pleasure is.

No, no, Neuvillette. It's too early to think of something so permanent as mate, but it's hard to ignore the instinctual pull that tugs at Wriothesley's being. He leans over him, nuzzling Neuvillette's sweaty nape. Tilts his hips up and thighs back for a better angle, and Neuvillette goes so easily, letting Wriothesley manhandle him without a second thought.

"So good for me," he mutters, trying to forget his worries, "and so pliant. You love this and my cock."

The more he says it the easier it is to believe. Even with Neuvillette gasping underneath him, yes, yes, Wriothesley's alpha still wonders when it'll all come crashing down. But it doesn't, it never does, and he takes the moment to just fuck Neuvillette earnestly.