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Hershel Layton was not a foolish man, but he was rather prone to making foolish decisions. One of those decisions was walking alone at night. He'd grown used to the company of Emmy and Luke, but they'd gone home for the weekend. He didn't tell them why he'd needed to be alone, and they hadn't asked. He assumed they were thinking he had some important research that he needed to place his full attention on, which was true most of the time. However, the real reason he was alone this weekend was a little more personal than that. Without their company, though, he lacked security. He was prone, vulnerable.
And there were two men following him. His heart pounded, and they'd been following him for a few blocks now. He really didn't want them to follow him onto the bus either, because he fully intended to get off the bus and go straight home. The last thing he needed was for two malicious Alphas to know his place of residence.
But he was not entirely defenseless. Yes, he was an omega, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to defend himself. In fact he'd spent much of his youth learning, not necessarily because he had felt threatened at an early age but because his closest friend had dragged him into it. He'd lost often to Randall, but the two of them had still been the top fencers in the school. He'd just so happened to pick up other fighting skills along the way.
Glancing about, he realized he and the two following him were the only ones on the block. If they wanted to attack, they could easily do it then. Glaring, he hastily ducked into the next alley he came upon. Using the dark space to his advantage, he pressed himself against the damp wall and prepared for a fight. Within the space of two or three minutes, though, the two men had not turned into the alley. They hadn't passed the alley at all, either. Had they stopped? Were they waiting for him to reemerge? Wonderful. Instead of gaining the upper-hand he'd managed to corner himself. He waited a few more moments to be sure. Looking down and around the alley, his eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness that he was able to make out a pipe sticking up in a corner. Stepping towards it, he picked it up and weighed it in his hand. It would work. One of these days he'd carry a cane that doubled as a sword so he would stop resorting to pipes and similarly shaped metal objects. Unfortunate that that day was not today.
Bravely stepping into the open again, he was taken aback when he saw the two Alphas unconscious on the ground. He stared at them a moment, the implications of what may have happened running through his head at lightning speed. Spinning about, he saw that he was alone on the block. He racked his brain, chills running up and down his spine because he had no idea what could have happened. Who had done this? Why? Were they after him? If so, how far could he run to feel safe?
His hands shook so much that he dropped the pipe. Backing up, he was seconds away from turning and running for the bus-stop when something landed behind him. Whatever, or whoever, it was hit the ground hard, their landing followed by what almost sounded like gigantic wings. He straightened and stiffened as he thought no. Not wings, but a cape. Before he could take off in any direction away from the scene, long arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him back into the dark alley. Before he could protest, the individual in question slammed him against the wall he'd been hiding behind seconds ago. His face hit the damp and unpleasant surface hard enough that he cried out. Attempting to catch his breath, he soon lost it again as the man behind him pressed his front into Layton's back. Again before he could react, the man pressed his face into the back of Layton's neck and inhaled. When he exhaled, it was a long and deep growl complimented with a low laugh that made Layton's skin crawl. He recognized the dark, smooth voice resonating in his ear immediately. “Ah, you should know better than to be walking by yourself so close to your time of need, Professor.”
“Descole—.”
“Don't you feel fortunate? Having me here to keep an eye out for you?”
“Get off of me!” Layton snapped. He tried pushing against Descole, tried forcing him away. The more he struggled, the closer his rival seemed to press himself. Layton's hands formed fists as he prepared to sink his elbows into Descole. The other man reacted swiftly, taking Layton's wrists into his hands and using his whole body to slam him into the wall again. Layton closed his eyes on impact, becoming more and more frustrated as Descole leaned into him again. Descole inhaled again, this time his nose buried in the side of Layton's neck. The closeness made Layton tremble nervously. He tried pulling away, but Descole wouldn't budge. The professor twisted his head away, trying to get Descole off his neck, but his rival's head just followed. “Stop it!” he demanded, but his protestation only made Descole more determined to keep with him. He started growling again, the sound vibrating throughout his body and, on some levels, throughout the professor's body as well. He felt Descole's snarl in areas he'd prefer not to discuss. “Let go!”
“You smell exquisite,” Descole muttered. He placed a kiss on Layton's neck, which made the professor recoil in fear. The depth of his voice and the resonance of his growl made Layton want to curl in on himself in terror. He realized the two Alphas Descole had taken down had not been as much of a threat as the Alpha now pinning him to the alley wall was.
Panic surged through Layton as he tried once again to push his rival off of him. He didn't know just how much stronger Descole was than him, but he was strong enough that Layton couldn't fight the grip on his wrists. Fear crawled into every corner of his being as he realized he couldn't escape Descole. The man's chest was against his back, his arms and hands holding Layton's down, his mouth teasing Layton's neck, his pelvis . . . oh God, don't think about it. It would only make the professor panic more. Layton squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that struggling would only make him lose more energy. He tried to keep his voice from quivering as he said, “Let go of me. Please.”
Descole ran his mouth over the back of Layton's neck before whispering, “In a moment.”
Layton's temper rose. “No, let me go n—!” Layton was cut off when in a flash of movement Descole spun him around, pushed him up into the wall, and surprised the professor with a bruising kiss. Layton's eyes went wide at the position he was in: Descole had not only shoved him into the wall and proceeded to take advantage of his mouth, he'd lifted the professor up so that his feet barely touched the ground. Now his rival was kicking his legs apart so he could stand between them and— “I said get off!” Layton shouted as soon as he was able to break the kiss.
He hated Descole's smile. It was diabolical. It was puckish. It said more than anything he'd stated as of yet. Most importantly Layton didn't like the way it made him feel, especially when it was coupled with Descole's growling. “I wonder how much of a fight you'd put up while in heat,” the man mused. Against his better judgment, Layton started fighting back once more. Descole still had him by the wrists, and his legs were useless in this position. He shifted, trying to escape, only to slip. This would not have been such a big deal had he not slipped in a way that brought his rival's groin flush against his. Layton let loose an undignified sound followed by labored breaths, surprise at the sensation washing over him. He hadn't thought it possible, but Descole's grin actually got worse in terms of mischievousness. The man snarled, and if Layton could see his eyes he was sure they'd be wild and territorial. “I just might have to pay you a visit tomorrow,” Descole said, lips just shy of Layton's.
“No thank you. Please stay . . . far away from me . . . tomorrow,” Layton said, struggling to breathe. Descole was too close. He'd been too close before, but now it was worse. Much worse.
Descole's breath tickled Layton's lips. “Are you sure? I could be of assistance.”
“I don't want it. Please let me go. I just want to go home, to a place where I won't be accosted.”
“Accosted? Oh my dear professor, is that what you think I'm doing?” Layton glared up at him. “Well. I must admit I did not come here with the intention of,” he bit his lip before thrusting his pelvis suddenly and swiftly against Layton's, the professor gasping and wide-eyed at the move, “'accosting' you, if you must call it that. I simply saw you were about to be in trouble and decided, out of the goodness of my heart, to help.”
“Do me a favor: don't help me.” The words came easily, but he wasn't quite sure Descole could hear him he was so out of breath.
“Now that I've caught the scent of you, though,” he kissed Layton's throat again, growling against the professor's skin as he said, “I want more.” Layton gasped again as Descole thrust his hips once more, and he was trapped in a strange mix of irritation, fear, and . . . no, he didn't like this. Not at all. “However did you keep your being an omega a secret?” Layton couldn't answer. He was too busy trying to discern what sort of thoughts were flying through his mind. Descole leaned in, preparing to kiss him again when he uttered, “Just one more taste.”
His heart pounding, Layton turned his head in time to avoid the contact. Do his dismay, Descole chuckled. “Stop this. Now.”
“But Professor, a gentleman must offer his assistance. Isn't that right?”
“You're no gentleman.”
Descole gasped mockingly. “Your words do cut me deep, Layton.” Leaning in again, he whispered, “As a gentleman, you should at least thank me somehow for saving you.”
He didn't feel saved. “I didn't ask for help. Please. Go. Leave me alone.”
“You're about to tell me you don't like it.” Descole snarled, Layton not dignifying the noise with an answer. Then his rival, with no warning whatsoever, let go of one of his wrists to grope (harshly) Layton's crotch. The noise Layton made was not human, and the flush to his cheeks was not just from embarrassment. No matter how much he wanted to, he would not be able to deny the bulge in his trousers. His hand struck out, gripping Descole's shoulder tightly to maintain balance. “Well, I don't believe you.”
“P-please,” Layton begged, voice little more than a whisper, “just—.”
“Oh Professor, I will let you go,” Descole said, pulling back slightly. “For now.”
Suddenly Layton was on his feet again and, cape fluttering like wings, Descole was gone again. When he realized he was finally alone, Layton wrapped both arms around his middle and proceeded to hyperventilate. Shaking all over from the encounter, he fought to regain some composure before stepping out into the streets again. By the time his breathing had returned to normal, he'd already resolved to lock every door and window in his house when he got home. Only then would he be safe, but he doubted he was going to feel comfortable again until this weekend was over.
:)
Layton didn't sleep at all that night, which he was going to regret as soon as the cramps and urges started. And they started early that night. At one in the morning, he was still fully clothed while tossing and turning. He began whimpering. Going into heat was difficult for him. It always had been. Pulling a pillow from under his head, he put it between his legs in hopes of relieving the pressure. Burying his face in the other pillow, he wished to all that was holy that pain medicine worked on him as effectively as it seemed to work for others in his position. Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore how tense his insides were. With no one in the house, he didn't feel guilty for vocalizing how difficult his heat was. At the same time, he still felt semi-self-conscious knowing that there was an Alpha out there who wanted to take advantage of him.
He let out a horrible sounding moan at the thought and his body couldn't quite decide if the thought of Descole terrified him or enticed him. Squeezing his eyelids together, he tried thinking of something, anything, to put the man out of his mind.
He froze when the door to his room started creaking. His heart stopped, eyes shooting open involuntarily. The door was closing on its own. At least, he thought it was at first. Then he glimpsed the individual who had been standing behind it, leaning against the wall casually like he belonged there. “You know,” he began, “locking down the house would normally work, provided the intruder wasn't already waiting for you inside.”
Descole smiled and despite the agony of his heat, Layton jumped up out of bed and backed into a corner. He kept the pillow with him, treating it like it would protect him from the intruder. “Leave! Now!” Fear crawled up and down Layton as Descole walked over to the lamp on the professor's bedside table. Layton's eyes were wide with panic as he observed the jaggedness of Descole's stride, clearly indicating he was holding back. When the light came on, Layton could clearly see Descole's nostrils flaring. There was a line of sweat coming from the corner of the mask, and Layton could hear the intensity of his growling growing. Worse yet, Layton could see the outline in his trousers. Clutching the pillow to his middle, Layton trembled.
“Nngh, I couldn't leave now if I wanted to.” Descole's voice had dropped two octaves, Layton was sure. For a moment, he thought he might be able to run for the door. He had to try. Kicking off the wall, he dropped the pillow and dashed for it. As he'd feared, Descole was far quicker than he was. Just as he'd reached the door, Descole slammed it shut with one hand before pushing Layton into the one chance he'd had at an exit. As soon as Descole touched him, his skin was aflame and he couldn't stop himself from crying out. He couldn't tell if the cry was from terror or relief, though. The lines tended to blur while Layton was in heat. As Descole leaned into him again and Layton distinctly felt his rival's hardness against his backside, suddenly he couldn't escape Descole's marking scent. It permeated the air around them. Layton reached up to cover his mouth and nose only to have Descole spin him around again and pin his hands to the wall. Layton struggled, but the moment Descole forced his lips on his he lost all hope. Descole's snarling was constant now, the man rocking his hips against Layton's even while clothed. Descole pulled back for air at some point, Layton gasping as well. “God, you taste amazing,” he said before plunging his tongue into Layton's mouth. Suddenly Layton was moaning without his own consent.
Descole proceeded to pull Layton's jacket and shirt over his head. It was that of all things that made him realize what was happening. Mustering the strength he could, he seized the opportunity to shove Descole backwards. Descole stumbled, ending up seated on Layton's mattress. He grinned fiendishly as a cramp hit Layton hard to punish him for pushing away an Alpha who had actually responded to his heat. It took all of the professor's resolve to say, “I'm not doing this with you!”
Descole's grin didn't leave, and he was still growling. His pelvis thrust upward before he stood, as though calling attention to his desire for the omega. Layton went back to clutching his middle, trembling as Descole exercised what he must have thought was restraint. The man untied his cape, the cloth dropping to the floor as he said, “I'll make a deal with you.”
“No deals!” Because Layton wasn't entirely sure he was capable of holding to his own word at the moment. His lips burned and his skin ached for more, but he couldn't let himself do it. He just couldn't. “Just let me get through this on my own.”
“My deal,” of course he wasn't listening, “is this.” In one fluid movement, Descole wrapped something around both of Layton's wrists. When he pulled away, leaving the cold metal rings of handcuffs, the professor was paralyzed with horror. On the verge of screaming, Descole dragged him forward and, lifting him almost effortlessly, tossed him onto his bed. The combination of fear, aches, and urges forced Layton into the fetal position. He froze solid when Descole positioned himself directly above him, caging the professor in with his limbs. When Descole spoke, he was whispering in Layton's ear, “I'm giving you until I undo your trousers to give me one last definitive no. The second you say stop, and you don't even have to ask politely this time, I leave.” His hands grasped Layton's hips, making the omega cry out. “But if you don't protest before I reach your zip,” he slid a hand to Layton's groin, groping it in a way that made Layton tear up from the strength of his need, “you're mine for the rest of your cycle.” Layton was squirming now, ready to shout no as soon as possible. “Do we have a deal?” Descole's hands slid up the professor's torso to rest on his shoulders, making Layton gasp and sigh at the touch. By now, he was so frustrated he was crying. Without thinking, he nodded. “Excellent.”
He was going to protest. He truly was going to tell Descole no, that he didn't want this, but he should have known his rival was willing to cheat. He should have known better, because as soon as he agreed to the deal Descole clapped a hand over Layton's mouth and the professor could not have protested even if he wanted to. Eyes wide as Descole slid into place behind him, using his free hand to roam over Layton's exposed torso. Layton screamed against Descole's hand when his rival's fingers dipped towards his trousers. As quickly as they grazed the material, however, the hand slid away. Layton couldn't hide his sigh of relief, which made Descole chuckle behind him. The chuckle brought to the professor's attention that Descole's growling had grown soft, like a low thrumming. The vibrations hit his back and Layton almost found it . . . relaxing. It didn't help that the hand on his torso was roaming his skin not with haste, but slowly. The movements were ridiculously slow. The gentleness was a mockery, he knew that in his head. He couldn't believe that Descole would be this soft the whole time. Then a painful spasm made Layton gasp and curl up tighter, reminding him why Descole was here in the first place. He tried speaking, but all that came out was, “Stmmp nt.”
“What's that, Layton? I couldn't quite make it out,” Descole whispered. Layton let out an angry growl of his own, to which the man responded with a laugh. Then his voice deepened more (he hadn't known that was possible) as he said, “Oh, I know what you want.” Layton stiffened, unsure of what to expect until Descole's head dipped down and his tongue began drawing patterns on the skin of the professor's throat. He didn't want to react, didn't want to encourage it, but he couldn't stop himself from moaning. Descole's hand ran over Layton's chest, fingers brushing his nipples and forcing a series of short gasps from the professor. His rival's hips started moving against Layton's rear and for a moment, Layton forgot where he was and who he was with entirely.
Eyes closed, the hot hand running across his bare skin suddenly felt overwhelming. When a second hand joined in the roaming and pulled Layton closer to the individual, it didn't occur to him that that meant his mouth was available. Well, it wasn't available for long because the second he opened it to breathe, it was being invaded by a tongue. The kiss was electric, drawing him in and keeping him occupied as the hands rubbed circles into his skin. When the kiss broke and he was finally allowed to breathe again, the mouth that had seized his began carving a trail of kisses along his jawline. Layton sighed as hands dipped down to his fly and the button came un—wait. Wait, no! “Oh God, no!” he shouted, coming to his senses.
But it was too late and he knew it. Descole's chuckle was a mix of mirth and cruelty before he whispered, “I win, Professor.” Rolling Layton onto his front, his rival then proceeded to pull both Layton's trousers and pants down. Completely naked, he was doomed. Spasms kept him from trying to escape and his cock was throbbing so hard from the contact and the need he felt tears forming in his eyes again. Descole pulled both of them up onto their knees, his rival holding him to his chest with one arm and looking over the professor's shoulder as his other hand dipped down. Fingers grazing Layton's hip, the professor shut his eyes so he wouldn't focus on the sight of the two of them. Instead, his sense of feeling intensified and he let out a pained whimper. “I'll start slowly. First, allow me to relieve this for you.” Then Descole's hand was on his member, pumping slowly and rhythmically. Layton cried out, tears falling. Intrinsically he knew the tears were from relief, not frustration or defeat. He didn't want to admit it to himself, seeing as he'd started off completely against the idea of this happening, but he wanted this to continue. He let out a dry sob at that realization, his need taking hold as he began rocking his hips in time with Descole's hand. When Layton came, he did so with a small utterance. Spasms ceased momentarily as his rival caught the spunk in his palm. The professor went limp and would have collapsed had Descole not caught him and helped him lie down on his front slowly and comfortably. Layton closed his eyes, wishing to whatever higher power was there listening that he hadn't gotten himself into this. The beginning had been mild, but he shuddered to think what was in store for him. As far as he could tell, the decision of what was to come next was solely in Descole's hands. He was no longer in control of anything.
Why did he find that thought comforting? Why was ceding control suddenly . . . a pleasant feeling?
He heard something uncap and his eyes shot open. A tremor of fear forced him to start trying to get away before his cramps began again. Before he could twist around and away from Descole, however, the man was between his legs and pulling his hips up. Layton's face became buried in his mattress as he attempted pulling away. However, Descole held him firmly in place. “I c-ca—,” he cut himself off, trying not to stutter. He failed. “I ca-can't!”
Descole didn't really give him much choice. In fact, he reached around and grasped Layton's suddenly hardening cock and uttered, “You're mine, remember?” Layton should not have moaned at that, but his body had been doing a lot of things without his consent of late. Gasping and cringing slightly, Layton suddenly felt two of Descole's fingers pressing into him. He held his breath, mistakenly thinking that would ease the pain. When the air came out, it was a harsh whine. Descole's growling increased in volume as he proceeded to stretch Layton. The professor whimpered when a third finger was added before he was really ready. Descole's hands stilled upon the insertion, however, and the professor felt him lean down and kiss his back. “I promised I'd go slowly,” he whispered against Layton's spine.
His voice strained, he retorted, “You call that slow?”
Descole let out another one of his damn chuckles that were beginning to grate on the professor's nerves. “Well, this is slow for me.”
“Congratulations,” Layton replied sarcastically, laying his head back on the sheets.
From this angle, he could just barely make out Descole tilting his head. He didn't like that look he was giving the professor. Not one bit. “Would you prefer if I sped things along?”
Layton shuddered, cramps threatening to return if Descole didn't actually do anything. “I don't want to know what you consider fast.”
“Then let's meet halfway.” Layton screamed as Descole's fingers started not only thrusting rapidly into him but curling and hitting his gland. Burying his face in blankets to smother the noises he was making, his entrance was burning from Descole's attack and his member was so hard he bit down on sheets to keep from crying out over and over. He wanted to shout when Descole stopped, but was afraid his volume would only make matters worse. Then his rival was grabbing his hair and pulling his head up enough to shove something—his boa—into Layton's mouth. “If you're going to gag yourself, use this.” Well, it wasn't like he'd given Layton much of a choice. The professor's breaths were short and shallow now as he heard Descole undoing his belt and trousers. Layton closed his eyes, trying not to think about what was happening and trying desperately not to want it. He was failing at both, and he felt awful. The handcuffs rubbed his skin raw as he gripped the sheets, feeling Descole line himself up with Layton's entrance. Before he pushed in, he leaned over Layton's back and wrapped a hand around his throat. Layton's eyes went wide, but the hand remained gentle as he heard Descole's voice in his ear, “Although, I do intend to make you scream much louder tonight.” He didn't push in slowly. He thrust in, hard and fast. Layton's mouth went slack and the boa fell out as he gulped for air and cried out. “Much,” thrust, “much,” thrust, “louder.”
The thrusting was shocking, but not painful. His knees buckled, his voice cracked, and the angle of the thrusting made him see stars. He felt Descole's snarls against his back, bleeding into his system. The man had the professor's hips locked in an iron grip that wouldn't let him fall. Layton felt his mind turning off and his member throbbing and throbbing and leaking until he came with such a force he didn't have the lung capacity to shout. The professor wanted to fall back onto the bed, wanted to get off his knees, but his rival wouldn't let him. Descole continued thrusting until he came, and only then did he allow Layton some respite. The professor let out an involuntary whimper when Descole slipped out of him without so much as a sigh. Shoving Layton down onto his side, he settled in front of him with his head propped up on his hand.
Layton rested his eyes, breathing slowly and trying with all his might to both slow down his heart-rate and not give Descole any indication that he'd enjoyed that (because he was having a hard enough time trying to convince himself that he hadn't). When he finally looked back at his rival, Descole was snarling with a crooked smile on his face and it was disturbing. Most of everything should have been disturbing to him about this situation. However . . . he was steadily becoming certain this was not as bad as he—Descole kissed him. He didn't just kiss him, but bit his lip. Layton growled, jerking his head away. Glaring at Descole, he snapped, “I was just starting to like this!”
He regretted the words. He regretted every syllable as soon as he saw what it was doing to Descole's already massive ego. “Oh my, Professor. You might make me blush,” he joked. Layton wanted to roll away from him, but realized that it probably wasn't the best move given what they'd just done. Closing his eyes again and sighing, he was struck by a spasm. Groaning, he felt himself getting hard again. Descole made a sympathetic noise before saying, “What a terribly short time you have to recover. However do you survive without an Alpha?”
“Easily,” Layton tried to say, but it came out so weak that Descole's grin broadened.
“I knew an omega like you, once. Short refractory periods, terrible cramps. Makes me wonder.” He reached out and ran a finger down from the column of Layton's throat to his belly, making Layton shudder. “Would you get violent if I didn't continue to sate you? That omega,” he let out a whoosh of air, “when that omega wanted it, they were not to be denied.”
“This really isn't helping,” he uttered, curling up and trying to stave off the cramps. What was Descole doing?
“So I wonder,” Descole sat up, pushing himself up so that he was leaning against the headboard, “if I sat here long enough, would you make a move.”
Layton didn't know he was capable of glowering in such a way until Descole's meaning sank in. He expected him to . . . no. Layton's teeth started grinding, though he didn't know if it was because of the growing pain in his center or the frustration he felt over Descole's pondering. “Before this even started, you could barely contain yourself. How do you expect to hold up now?”
Was Descole entertained at how incensed the professor was? He certainly looked like it. “I don't.” He tilted his head forward, a particularly deadly growl rolling out from his chest. “My patience may run thin sooner than I'd like, but for now we shall see what you do.”
Layton squirmed as spasms racked him. He hadn't thought they could be worse. They were so much more painful now, and curling up didn't seem to give him the same relief it once did. The cramping seemed to affect every corner of his body, and nothing he could do made it go away. It was like his very bones required some sort of soothing agent. He knew exactly what his body wanted, but he just couldn't say yes. He couldn't ask for that. It went against everything within him. Yet it was slowly growing tempting. Without his permission, his mind wandered to the session that had just ended and the reminder of how it had felt made his hips buck. Jesus, why was that appealing to him now? How could he want it?
He could have it again if he just . . . said . . . .
Layton locked his jaw, biting on his tongue in the process. He tasted blood as once again salt water threatened to spill from his eyes from the pain. Meanwhile, Descole had rolled onto his back, hands folded behind his heads confidently as growls continued making his chest vibrate. Each breath contained another set of snarls, and Layton really shouldn't want to run his hands over the chest from which they emanated. He didn't want to. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want this. If he thought that enough, it would be true. That's how it worked, right? There was only one problem in his logic: he did, in fact, want this. That realization destroyed what little willpower he had left.
He didn't remember moving, but somehow Layton wound up straddling Descole's waist and pulling his rival up by his tie with both hands. For once, Descole did not have a triumphant grin on his face. He must not have actually expected that to work. Noticing that would have made Layton lose his nerve any other time, but the aching in his center wouldn't let him now. Faces inches from touching, Layton's voice was little more than a whisper as he said, “Do it.”
Descole must have been in shock. “Layton—”
“Please!” The word was a whimper, spasms making his whole body shake.
After a few additional seconds of disbelief, Descole's grin was back in place. Hands touching Layton's hips, the professor whining at how small that contact was, Descole said, “I like the way you beg. Do it again.”
Layton's face turned magenta. Still shivering, he said a little softer, “Please.”
Shedding his jacket even while Layton was still holding his tie, Descole asked, “Please what?” Oh God, Descole was not making him do this. Grinding his teeth once more, Layton closed his eyes and tried to drop what few reservations he still had left. It wasn't working. Some reservations were so steadfast not even he could shake their foundations. Descole hummed something, hands reaching up to encircle Layton's raw wrists. “Let me help you. Say 'Please fuck me, Descole.'”
Layton tasted blood from biting his tongue again. His eyes still shut, his head started shaking. His shaking intensified, cramps making him squirm in Descole's lap. He felt the other man's hard cock beneath him and so help him God he wanted this, but the words wouldn't leave his lips. Opening his mouth, he throat closed and nothing would come out. As if sensing his distress, Descole slid his hands up Layton's arms to his shoulders, pulling him so that his rival's lips met the professor's neck. The first kiss on Layton's throat made the professor gasp, throat opening and allowing a whimper past. A second kiss made him open his eyes, one more tear falling down his face. The third kiss gave him the ability to utter the words, which didn't tumble from his lips so much as breeze past them, “Please fuck me, Descole.”
Just like that, the kiss turned into a bite and Layton cried out. Arms wrapping around the omega and lifting him up, the Alpha situated his legs before bringing the professor back down onto his throbbing member. Layton's hands grasped the man's shirt and relief poured through him, moans slipping from his throat as Descole drove his hips upward into him again and again. Descole's own noises might have rivaled his, but the professor's cries were so deafening to his own ears that all he could do was hold onto the other man until he reached orgasm. When he did, he wasn't entirely sure the noise he made was human.
It wasn't long after that Descole joined him in his release. Layton was surprised to feel Descole's hand in his hair, cradling his head as he leaned Layton onto his back. Still poised over him (and still inside of him), Descole unclasped the handcuffs and tossed them on the floor. Wrists free, Layton found himself feeling more relaxed than he'd ever intended in the presence of a supposed enemy.
“Now, Professor,” Descole whispered, and Layton automatically wanted to punch him, “was that so difficult?”
“Don't make me regret this,” Layton uttered back.
Descole's smile turned devious again, and Layton discovered that it was more appealing than he could ever admit aloud. “Oh, I can assure you that you won't.”
:)
By the end, Layton was so exhausted that he passed out on the pile of messed up sheets that had become his bed. When he awoke, it wasn't his comforter covering him but that all too familiar cape. However, there was no Descole in sight. He couldn't deny his lack of surprise over that, honestly. It wouldn't have been like Descole to stick around once he'd gotten what he wanted. Layton would have been angry, but he genuinely believed it was better this way. He'd hate himself more if he decided to admit to himself that not only had he enjoyed the experience of having Descole as an Alpha, but that he'd also enjoyed the surprising amount of intimacy his rival was capable of.
Of course, the intimacy must end. He wasn't sure how he would address Descole when next he saw him (because he knew he'd see him again eventually). He was certain the man wouldn't call to attention what they'd done outright, but Layton was almost positive that there would be a devious smirk meant only for him.
Rolling onto his side, his body was still sore but he was no longer tired. Oddly, the soreness came less from the actual sex and more from the bite marks on his neck and scratch marks on his back. He wasn't going to be able to turn his head or lean against something without feeling them for a week. Two weeks possibly. He felt the need to cover his smile as he recalled how many marks he'd left on Descole as well. He went to check the clock only to find a cup of tea and . . . a rose, blocking his view. He picked up the flower first, a note attached to it. It had only two words: 'Thank you.' Layton was prepared to roll his eyes, but found himself appreciating the rose's scent instead. Mingling with that fragrance was the aroma of Descole's mark. It was more pleasant now, but he wondered how he was going to hide it. He probably wasn't. Showers tended not to wash a marking scent off as easily as omega's tended to desire.
Setting the rose down, he picked up the cup of tea. Still warm. Descole had left only recently. Sipping it, he glimpsed the time and nearly shouted. He needed to get dressed and ready now. Emmy and Luke would return any minute.
But he was going to drink this tea first, dammit. He deserved it.
:)
Several months later, they were all aboard the Bostonius.
Raymond leaned forward to whisper something to Desmond that only he could hear. The others were too busy watching through the gigantic windshield to notice the elder professor sitting on the couch, elbow propped of the arm of the seat as his fingers rubbed his chin.
Raymond's words were clear but quiet, “Master, perhaps you should refrain from undressing the professor with your eyes.” Desmond would say that he didn't know what Raymond was talking about, but he would be lying. He really had been doing just that. “While wearing the mask makes your lustful stares less obvious, you are clearly enjoying his company in a very different way than you possibly should.”
Straightening up, Desmond forced himself to stop remembering a specific night when he'd had Layton all to himself. Staring at Raymond, he nodded. “You're right. Point taken.” Raymond smiled and resumed his duties. Desmond intended to hold true to his word and stop staring at the professor.
But a few more minutes of admiring that posterior wouldn't hurt.