Chapter Text
“To be perfectly clear,” Mizi says, “I don’t approve of this.”
In the wake of Till’s prolonged disappearance, the authorities launched an extremely belated investigation. There had been a number of suspicious individuals to look into, but Ivan had been the most suspicious of all.
Lo and behold, Till had been held captive in his clutches.
They found Till weeks ago, four months pregnant and hardly showing. He’s closer to seven, now, and he is sweaty with need.
Pseudo-heats were dangerous in and out of pregnancy. The added function of a bond, however tenuous, made the likelihood of Till going feral all too high.
There are drugs he should take. Establishments that would see Till through it and ease the connection between him and his piece-of-shit alpha, who’s right where he deserves to be.
Till looks up at her with watery, red-rimmed eyes. Clutching at his round abdomen, sick with misery, he rasps, “I don’t like this either.”
He never asked to be an omega. This sort of threat loomed over him from the moment he presented, alphas hungrily staring at his collar in changing rooms.
Till hates his designation, but he doesn’t hate his mate.
You should, says a voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously similar to Sua’s.
With a sigh, Mizi helps him hobble into the car. She drives whilst biting her bottom lip, heart bleeding for her friend.
She wishes the police would have taken her seriously from the beginning. Till might have been freed from his shackles with enough time to feel good about leaving such a dire situation behind.
She watches Till hollowly sign forms in triplicate, going over the rules and regulations with the guards. They whisk him away to a changing room, hosing him down and removing his shoes.
Mizi is asked to leave before they enter cell block four, home to a series of dangerous perpetrators. She’s a beta, so she protests loudly against their separation, but Till shakes his head. “I’ll be okay, Mizi.”
There’s a certain level of conviction in his voice that she hasn’t heard since they found him, dead-eyed and frazzled. He looks a lot like he did that day, barefoot and pregnant, except his hair was neater in Ivan’s clutches and his skin was smoother.
How was it possible for someone to be released from captivity and look worse?
Buzzes sound as they retrieve Ivan, who is perfectly alert and aware. The two of them are led into the conjugal visit room and given two hours of relative privacy.
“You look tired,” is the first thing Ivan says.
Till glances around the room, looking for cameras. As soon as Ivan assures him the room isn’t under surveillance, Till hesitantly shuffles forward, glancing at his middle with disdain.
Ivan pays no mind to Till’s struggle, wrapping his arms around Till’s waist. Ivan runs warm—always has—and he smells so deliriously delicious that Till feels woozy.
He clings back to the best of his ability, working around the obtrusion. Ivan scents him with roaming hands, lapping at Till’s skin.
“Are you getting enough to eat?” The question comes out in a hum. His thumb lingers overlong on Till’s navel, at risk of popping out. Their child shifts, aware of their parent’s presence.
“Don’t have much of an appetite,” Till murmurs. He waits for Ivan to refresh the bond bite before he communicates through it. You said you wouldn’t get caught.
I said I would be careful, Ivan replies, palm skimming north. He peels the panels of the cloth open to expose one of Till’s breasts, due to leak any day now.
He wouldn’t be surprised if he started leaking now, caught moaning in Ivan’s grasp.
It’s been so long, too long, since he felt like this, cherished and whole.
Ivan spends minutes kissing him, lying Till down on the sorry excuse for a mattress. He claps a hand over his mouth to stifle whines.
Usually, Ivan would goad him into letting out his noises, reveling in watching his beloved come untethered, but nobody in this piss-poor establishment deserves to hear Till’s sounds of pleasure.
These are for him and him alone.
As expected, Till is so slick he’s sore. Ivan laps up the excess, sneering because the guards didn’t grace Till with a set of pure cotton underwear. Don’t they know he’s sensitive?
Till shivers his way through his first, second, and third orgasms. He is sobbing openly by the time Ivan pulls his cock free, rubbing it against his belly.
It is, in a word, vulgar. This is too intimate for a place like this. Till desperately wishes they were anywhere else, but asking Ivan to stop is unfathomable.
He pushes in raw, interlacing their fingers as he drives his cock into Till’s notching juncture.
Till is pretty as a picture, sweaty hair fanned out on the sheets. His toes curl. His sobs intensify, satiated by Ivan’s knot.
Ivan gives Till what he wants, leaning down to whisper in Till’s ear. “I’m sorry I can’t be with you more often.”
In the worst way possible, Till had become accustomed to being used at all hours of the day or night. Ivan worked a job before his incarceration, but he was just as likely to work from home as he was from the office. He used Till as a cock-warmer even as he took phone calls, a manic smile painted on his lips.
He adored the resistance. The cries. He enjoyed muffling Till so that all he could do was bite and snap and twist. Till was intoxicating.
The police grimaced as they ran a blacklight over the room where Till was predominantly kept. Not a single space had been left untouched, Ivan’s musk horridly potent even to betas.
Till had sworn up and down and left and right that he would kill Ivan if given the chance.
Now, look at him. Out of this bastard’s clutches for two and a half months and he comes crawling back like a beaten, broken, loyal dog.
He blames the parasite growing in him, the creature Till can’t help but love and loathe.
They are glued together almost all of the time in which they are allotted. Someone knocks on the door to give them a five minute warning.
Till’s teeth itch.
Before he leaves, Till curls fists in Ivan’s jumpsuit, mechanically pulled back on. “They said I could reduce your sentence,” he murmurs. “Bondmate rights and all that.”
Ivan offers him a lopsided smile. “Foolish of you.”
“Probably,” Till shrugs, hugging himself, “but I don’t want to do this alone.”
Ivan kisses Till’s crown, pinching his hip for good measure. “Nobody will approve of your choice.”
Steely aquamarine eyes meet ink black. “It’s my decision to make. Nobody else’s.”
A thrill runs up Ivan’s spine. He adores Till, he really does.
“I’ll see you later, then,” Ivan says, waiting for the buzz as the door slides open and a guard handcuffs him. As a model prisoner, they don’t bother with the muzzle. Till gets to admire the lazy curl of Ivan’s plush lips and his ever-charming snaggletooth.
Mizi pats him down afterwards, frowning at his bondmark. “The guards didn’t let you cover it?”
Till shakes his head.
He’s lying, of course. They had given him every opportunity to protect himself. Till said no.
If one good thing has come out of this venture, it is that the color has returned to Till’s face. His countenance seems brighter.
He’s alight with determination. Mizi takes it as a good sign, even if she disapproves of the source of Till’s spark.
She drives them home in relative quiet. Till curls up in bed with Ivan’s scent thick in his nostrils.
This time, it’s Till’s turn to hold onto Ivan with both hands, eyes wide open.