Chapter Text
Elias tries to bite back a noise of frustration when he rolls his hips down and comes up short; he does not entirely succeed. The knot on the toy under him is relatively small and stubbornly not in him regardless, and the delicate balance between mostly-pleasant anticipation and bone-chilling absence is practiced, for him, but not exactly easy.
He does actually have to work himself open, like this. Heat notwithstanding, the absence of another body with appropriately compatible pheromones puts a hard limit on how far out of the ordinary Elias’s own body may be without further coaxing and good reason. He wants something more inside him, of course, in a way that beats a tattoo in his skull fit to override any other priority if he hadn’t already made plans to set the rest of his life aside. But, just now, desire be damned, it literally wouldn’t fit.
This is part and parcel of why spending a heat alone is always interesting to him; Elias does genuinely enjoy every time he ends up with free rein to get himself back into the habit after he and Peter have separated for good again. It may all make the scar tissue on the back of his neck feel tight and sore and itchy, certainly, but that’s balanced out by the much sweeter ache climbing inexorably from the base of his spine, urgent and interesting and just as familiar, as long as he knows first to be prepared.
When they are strictly together, and he’s left alone without warning – that does hurt, consumingly, in a way that annihilates thought or planning. Given time to plan out what he’ll do instead of his currently-ex husband, it’s more than a bit different, and Elias likes the challenge, though to his slight mystification he’s never examined another omega who’d agree.
Certainly the ever-growing market of relevant sex toys implies other omegas are doing something, though, even if there’s no accounting for taste in how they feel about the experience. There’s a pleasing variety waiting for him (it’s a hobby, at this point) once he satisfies himself as much as is going to happen with the dildo he’s currently riding. Or should be riding, instead of grinding absently against the knot that’s too large for him as he gets ahead of himself reviewing plans for later.
(Set within arm’s length on the bed, also, because he learned that lesson quite some time ago.)
He doesn’t have to hold the dildo steady to start riding it again, at least to the extent that he’s doing, more lazy but increasingly urgent rolling of the hips than actual bouncing. Why put in the effort of the latter if he doesn’t have to, honestly. This early in the heat, his body still acclimatizing to even the first rush of hormones as it truly sets in and his mind deceptively clear as long as what he’s thinking about is getting a dick inside him, his cunt’s discontent no matter what he does; lift off the knot that he can’t quite take and he misses the pressure and the promise of it in a way that fucking stabs him when he experiments with holding himself an inch away for longer than natural, grinding against it and it’s too-still-not-enough.
Elias sighs – he can’t resent the logistics, not really, but – and gets his hand on his cock to take his mind off it, slicking his palm with precome in a way that’s almost routine. His hips buck towards his own hand, getting a better rhythm against the dildo by finding something else to prioritize, and he keeps his grip loose at first, every graze of friction rolling through him like a shockwave.
He’ll be coming dry and untouched sooner or later, of course, but that’s another thing he’d prefer to draw out, on his own. Right now he shudders as he actively strokes himself through it, spine bowing, climax drawn out almost to the point of pain as the tension between his cunt and his prick seeks and fails to find an outlet even as he paints himself a bit with come –
Then, of course, at the point of the somewhat frustrated breath after that first orgasm, while he’s unclenching his jaw and blinking the spots out of his eyes. Then the knot pops in, of course, his ass suddenly and unceremoniously flush with the bed, that tension twisted immediately into grounding pressure. Elias has to rest his hands on his thighs and breathe through it, for a minute, even as part of him keeps up the commentary that this should hardly be all that impressive.
And it strictly speaking isn’t; it’s not enough to feel right or satisfying or filling, exactly – his cock’s still hard and everything – it’s just pleasant on its own account anyway.
He sighs at the necessity of moving again this soon and circles his hips, critically, letting the knot drag against every part of his cunt it does put pressure on, somewhere between teasing and assessing. The amount of work – preparation, still, strictly speaking – left to be done means that when he tries to lift himself off the dildo the first time it instead rises with him, at least, a somewhat uncomfortable tenuous weight; he has to bend forward to brace his hand between his legs in order to hold the base steady, instead, to painstakingly pull it out.
It’s terribly awkward – nothing to be done for it, though – but pays off in the way that the knot pulling free brings involuntary tears to his eyes, breath coming in short pants at the unnatural sensation as the knot stretches and his body struggles and then the toy pops out of him, a jarring but tantalizing loss that’s remedied as soon as he brings his hips down again.
At first it’s almost too much, which is rather the idea, especially with how abrupt the shape of it is as it works in and outside of him. He works himself through it as the dark, hot tension adapts to wanting more, to the harsh punch of the knot inside him and the increasingly-easy stretch of pulling it out, until there’s no pause to it whatsoever, just a smooth, slick glide, like the knot isn’t even there.
Even compared with his limited patience with this position, though, it happens very quickly. He supposes that can't really be helped.
Save insofar as he helps himself, of course.