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"Ah, fuck," Cain grunts as his foot slides on a damp spot on the mattress, shoving into Abel even more, his forehead pressed between the wings of Abel's pale back. "Goddammit." It's hard to find purchase anywhere--on the bed, in his mind. The world is a slippery slide of desire and the urge to mate. He can't recall what day it is or what time or how many times he's spilled inside Abel, but he can feel the burning of his thighs and his abs as acutely as he can feel the grip of Abel on his cock. It's delicious and intoxicating, sore in the best of ways.
"Cain, Cain," Abel whines when his mate slips out and rolls off of him. Cain soothes his omega by running a hand down his flank, pinning him down the bed by straddling his thighs. The difficulties of heat are that Abel loses his mind with it, too hyped on hormones to notice other things like hunger and fatigue. Any sense of practicality vanishes in the wake of the imperative to mate. At the thick of heat, Cain has to be the one to think for both of them, ironically enough. It would be funny if it weren't so damn terrifying. Sometimes, he thinks, in the brief moments of lucidity between ruts, they could easily die of exhaustion if they weren't careful.
Abel writhes under him, his hole wet and glistening. Cain's thumbs hook him open to watch it clench in the absence of his cock. "Cain, please."
"Shh, baby. I'll take care of you. Whatever you need."
"Your knot, please, o-oh god…"
Cain has long since learned that during a heat cycle Abel wants for only one thing; what he needs is vastly different. What they both need right now is water, some sleep, and maybe a shower. The latter sounds divine. He should probably change the tacky sheets too.
If he knots Abel now, they won't be able to move for another half-hour or so. It wouldn't sound so bad if Abel's skin weren't so sensitive to his own slick. The last time they let it sit for too long down his thighs, he'd gotten a rash and had been miserable about it for days, grumbling whenever he had to take a seat.
Compromise, then. Abel would definitely be more compliant after another orgasm. The omega keens when Cain presses three fingers into him, but it doesn't stop there. Cain pushes until the palm of his hand is halfway there, waits until Abel twitches backwards trying to get the whole thing inside of him. Another push and he's in all the way in to the wrist. Abel's internal muscles flutter around him, and unbelievably, another rush of slick flows around his hand. "Feel good?"
"Not as--mmmm, not as--" Abel gasps when Cain moves his hand lightly, just a slight spread of his fingers. "Not as good as your cock." It makes him keen anyway. It's still a tight fit, despite it being the third day. Cain's hand is good enough to simulate a knot, spreading him wide and thrusting into where he needs to him be. Abel comes with a shout into the mattress, and Cain pushes hard into the swelling glands that will finally get Abel some reprieve.
Abel goes limp as satiation spreads through his body, leaving him lax and sleepy. Dopamine. Oxytocin. Serotonin. Chemical cocktails that are as powerful and as addictive as any synthetic drug. It turns even the most straight-laced crazy. Case in point, Abel. Cain nuzzles Abel's lower back and gives him a few minutes before he carefully dislodges his hand. Hopefully it'll get the omega quiet long enough for them to get into a shower.
Abel doesn't complain once during the short walk to the bathroom, and neither does he protest when the warm water hits him. He looks content enough to let Cain coddle and manhandle him. He wraps his hand around Cain's cock in the shower when he notices that the alpha is still hard, but Cain bats his hand away to swipe soap at Abel's skin. Abel returns the favor and massages shampoo in Cain's hair, which he allows with the softest of grunts.
Somewhere along the way, Cain's hands have wandered to fondle the lush globes of Abel's ass, bringing their groins closer. His cock rubs against the softness of Abel's belly, making him groan. Abel attempts a second grip to his alpha's cock. Cain lets him appraise the heft and weight of it in his hand, but when the pleasure becomes unbearable, they shut the water off and step out.
With the water still drying on their backs, it's easier to think. Cain is painfully hard, though, no thanks to Abel's earlier ministrations. They do a poor job of changing the sheets, which mostly consists of ripping the soiled bedding off and haphazardly tucking in a new one, but it's a necessary chore. Abel is dripping again already, his slick adding to the scent of the already musky room. Cain barely contains himself before he's bracketing the omega in his arms, his chest draping Abel's back in warmth.
His cock catches at Abel's hole. Abel whines when Cain thrusts and misses, slipping away due to the wetness there. Abel reaches back and digs his nails into Cain's thigh, and the lines of pain make Cain shove forward into Abel's heat, sheathing himself to the balls. This round's rough and quick, an animal need to mate and be mated. Cain had already been on edge since before the shower, and it really is a wonder that he can still get it up after three days of this. Abel is sex-sore and aching, but the twinge of pain whenever Cain thrusts into him is nothing to the feeling of completion when Cain knots up, stretching the rim of his hole and pressing into the spots within him that make his vision white.
Abel shouts his pleasure into the pillows, a counterpoint to Cain's satisfied growl. His knees give, and Cain follows him down until his body is blanketing Abel's, his cock still pressed in deep and filling Abel's ass with come. He won't regain any rational thinking, not for another few minutes. Cain always goes delirious with pleasure whenever he knots Abel, his orgasm lasting as long as a full minute during heat. Whether or not Abel comes during this time is irrelevant. It's pleasurable regardless, feeling the stretch of the knot and the stimulation of Cain's shallow rolling thrusts. Even his weight over Abel is satisfying in itself. It makes Abel feel safe, that he's secured an alpha like Cain who, despite his perceived recklessness, is intelligent, competent, and most of all, a survivor.
Once, Abel would have considered Praxis as a worthy mate, despite the lost eye. He had broad, gentle hands, was level-headed and a nurturer at heart. Any children begat by him would have found a good father in him. Cain could be pragmatic as well, but he was also prone to bullheadedness and flashes of anger. However, what theoretically made Praxis a good mate also gave him a soft touch. Abel doesn't need that. In another life maybe, but in this one Abel needs someone who can protect him and fight for him. And when it comes to fighting, Cain is the best.
Biology, and the inconveniences of, Abel muses. He had chosen Cain because he was the worthiest alpha, not only in terms of physical prowess, but also because whenever he was with him, Abel couldn't help but be drawn to him like a magnet. At the very basic level, it was probably just pheromones and sexual attraction. Abel had looked at him and had been immediately enchanted by the symmetry of his body. He was poetry when he moved. He was strong. He fought off half a dozen alphas that had their eye set on Abel. He was a lot of little things that appealed to Abel's hindbrain, but it was the gentle way he'd swiped Abel's lip with his thumb after he'd broken a competing alpha's leg that sealed the deal.
Cain would kill for him. Praxis would not.
"Cain…"
"Nnrgh?"
"Heavy," Abel breathes. "Alpha, get off me."
He shivers when Cain licks a line up his nape, flicking the tip of his tongue on his bonding spot. Cain rolls them until they're more comfortably on their sides. The lassitude spreading through Abel's veins makes him sigh. He feels Cain drape a warm arm around his waist, his fingers lazily fondling one of Abel's peaked nipples. If Cain were not already knotted in him, Abel would be wet and dripping just from that. Such are the difficulties of heat. Even something simple as Cain breathing on his neck is painfully arousing, eliciting a rush of slick through his hole.
That he has enough lucidity to think now is proof that the heat is winding down. The peak of this heat had been nothing but mindless arousal and the biological imperative to present, on his hands and knees, his hole aching and open for his alpha. Cain had been tireless during those long hours. Abel rarely remembers it very clearly, but he always knows it's violent. He remembers fighting Cain until the very last moment he could receive the knot, or until Cain overpowered him and held him down. Heat-ridden omegas are anything but complacent things. Abel is known to be vicious at the peak of heat, all nails and teeth, bucking Cain off of him when the rutting starts to plateau, doing anything to keep his alpha from finishing. Abel can only settle when Cain forces him still and successfully knots him.
He tangles his fingers with Cain's, noticing the scratch marks at the back of his hand. He can't even remember when he'd done that. He'll catalogue the bruises and bite marks on Cain's person later, watch with an amused smile as each mark suffuses his alpha with pride. But that will be later.
Much later.