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Eddie is already there when Steve walks into the room. On the bed as usual, wrists cuffed to the sturdy steel bar mounted to the wall in place of a headboard, muted lights caressing his naked skin and bringing out the lines of his tattoos.
“Hey, big boy,” he smiles, stretching as well as the restraints will allow. “You’re back early. Thought you weren’t due for another heat for at least- … ow, shit, rough month?”
“You have no idea,” Steve mutters, pulling off his shirt and tossing it in the direction of the armchair in the corner, not bothering to check where it lands. His joggers and boxers go next, carelessly discarded on the carpet as he crosses the room and climbs into the bed. Eddie is hard and good to go already, a condom rolled over his flushed cock, a silicone ring nestled snugly just above his balls. Steve feels his own cock twitch in reply and the familiar, hot wetness of his slick leak from between his thighs.
Shit, he's been needing this.
“It’s okay,” Eddie says, and he realizes with a sharp jolt of humiliation that he must’ve made a sound. “Just go ahead.”
Steve heaves a shuddering breath. His throat is dry and he can feel sweat beading at the base of his neck. The awful, hollow tightness that has been building at the base of his spine all day explodes, punching a wrecked moan from him. Eddie's eyes are soft as straddles his hips, gripping the steel bar for support, fingers brushing the cold metal of the shackles.
“That's it,” he rumbles as Steve sinks down on his cock, where he allows himself only a second to adjust before he starts bouncing up and down. “There you go, take what you need. That’s what I’m here for, right?”
Something in the empty pit of Steve’s stomach stirs, and for a moment or two, he thinks that today’s the day he’s gonna spit out the question that has been burning at the back of his throat for months.
Why?
He had heard stories about places like this, of course. Facilities that specialized in helping unbonded omegas through their heat when meds were not an option. Everyone knows of them, even though it isn’t a topic for polite conversation.
That didn’t mean kids in the schoolyard didn’t talk, of course. Hushed whispers about family members twice removed that nobody mentioned. Omegas so fucked up they couldn’t find a mate if they tried. Alphas so ugly and old and desperate they’d do anything to stick their knot into something, even if it meant whoring themselves out in some dingy backroom brothel.
Reality is nothing like that, of course.
Sure, Steve is every bit as fucked up as those omegas in the stories, and then some. Hormones sent completely haywire by one too many hits to the head, the meds they gave him against the migraines sending his cycle into total disarray, rendering any blockers and suppressants he has tried utterly useless. He tried finding relief the usual way - going on dates, picking up alphas in bars and clubs. Except, ever since the Russians, the touch of unfamiliar hands on his skin sends him into a panicked frenzy, and the feeling of being held down, unable to move or get away, has him spiralling into anxiety attacks.
When he first came here, he half expected to be laughed out of the building. After all, what kind of alpha would be willing to hand over control to an omega like this? Except the girl who did his consultation - a tiny, bubbly blonde who introduced herself as Chrissy - told him not to worry about it, that she knew just the alpha for his needs.
And that’s how he ended up here, once a month when his heat is at its thickest. Riding Eddie’s cock, until his hair is soaked with sweat and his muscles are trembling with exertion, until that awful, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach mellows out into a low, exhausted simmer.
Eddie has never once complained about being the one on the bottom - or about the shackles chaining his wrists to the wall. Or the fact that Steve hasn’t even told him his name yet. He seems content to call him big boy - or darling, sometimes, when Steve is too far gone in his own pleasure to mind. His voice is smooth as well-aged whiskey when he says it, earthy and woodsy like his scent. It makes Steve wonder what he calls the other omegas he's with, and then it makes him loathe himself for wondering.
And still, he can't help it.
Eddie is kind and funny and beautiful. Dark, wild curls, large chocolate eyes, and the fullest, most kissable lips Steve has ever seen. He should have omegas queuing up left and right, begging for his bite, eager and willing to bear him pups.
Instead, he's here, letting himself be used by Steve, who barely ever talks more than five words with him, who can't even stand to have his hands on him, who is so broken and damaged inside and out he'll probably never have a mate, or kids of his own. It makes no goddamn sense at all.
“You're thinking too much, sweetheart,” Eddie says, and rolls his hips. Steve moans again, startled and punched-out, grinding himself down and clenching around him. He can't quite tell if it's because of the way Eddie’s cock catches inside of him or because of the nickname. “Just let go, c'mon. Let's see you come.”
It's all the encouragement Steve needs. Gripping the steel bar so tight his knuckles go white, he picks up his speed, slamming himself down on Eddie’s cock again and again and again, chasing after his building pleasure. When he comes, it's with an intensity that sends tears to his eyes and makes his vision black out. Through the firework of red and white lights bursting in the darkness, he’s aware of the chains rattling as Eddie’s body trembles under his. With the cock ring on, he's unable to form a knot or come, but his scent still spikes all the same - sharp and heady and distinctly aroused. It makes him wonder what it would be like to feel Eddie's knot swell inside of him, to feel his relief fill him up. To feel his teeth on his neck.
When he returns back to himself, Eddie is smiling up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy.
“Good?” he asks. His chest is heaving, his lips lightly parted, and Steve has never found it harder to not lean in and kiss him.
“Yeah,” he rasps. “Thank you.”
The golden specks in Eddie’s eyes are bright in the dim light of the room - pretty like fine whiskey against the light like a fire, alluring as his scent. Steve can feel them on him as he climbs off the bed and shrugs back into his clothes.
“Anytime, big boy,” Eddie rumbles. “See you next month?”
“Next month,” Steve nods, closing the door behind him as he steps out into the cold, bright corridor.
Maybe his next heat will come early again. He's almost starting to hope it will.