Chapter Text
Standing at a good six foot with his Seventeen years, Elio should've been good on his way to normal. If it weren't for his lanky build immediately destroying the illusion.
His size plenty without the muscle to fill it out. Fine hairs gracing the skin of his arms and trailing down to his crotch.
Only his swell of a knot and his scent betraying the first impression one might get of him — the ideal Omega.
Instead becoming this Omega standing in an Alpha's body, his parents once quipped at the lunch table.The perfect trap.
Both of his parents Betas and unaffected by it entirely.
Unlike Oliver — the American graduate student his father picked to stay with them for the summer. Also an Alpha.
Guided by his father into the living room to meet the family, Oliver's eyes immediately fall onto Elio. Drawn to him.
Reaching out a hand in greeting, he eagerly takes Elio's when he does the same. His hold firm. Testing. Playing every bit of the perfect gentleman.
A movie star, his mother's swooning voice upon finding his application photo still rattles through his mind.
Growing ever more potent the longer Elio stares. Admiring the bright blue eyes framed by Oliver's dirty blond strands.
Oliver cinching his brows at the scent that curls around him. Elio's. Decidedly Alpha as well despite his appearance. Not appalled. Merely taken aback by the unintentional reveal.
Surprise soon morphing into something else. Interest. Intrigue. His distinct smell of sea salt and warm sand tinged by it. A small spark of it in his pupils. A fire. A challenge?
The heat of it and the utter fascination it brings with it betrayed in the way he roams his gaze across Elio's frame clad in a loose tank top that'll never quite sit right on his narrow shoulders and his low-hanging swimming trunks he already tied together by the strings. Attempted effortlessness that ended in dressing the first things Elio could reach in his closet.
Somehow matching but still exposing the intent that didn't work out.
And Oliver smiles. Taking him in. The soft features he carries despite his status, the pouty rose lips and the downturned hazel eyes he inherited from his mother with the dark brown curls framing his forehead and sides. Loose. Bouncy.
Never quite laying flat. Never quite behaving the way he wants them too.
Not like Oliver's slicked back hair at least. A few wispy strands of golden blond falling into his eyes like rays of sunshine. Windswept. Careless. Effortless.
Elio grinds his teeth at the display of their contrast. Biting his cheek as jealousy stings between his ribs.
Oliver every bit the image of an Alpha everyone expects — tall, even taller than Elio (and that's his one good quality), with wide shoulders and muscled arms. Athletic. Strong. Being an Alpha and playing the part. Easy. Simple.
Nothing's ever simple with Elio. So he also raises his brows in an unspoken challenge. Oliver's grimace softening with amusement upon his attempt at measuring up.
Oliver tightens the grip on Elio's hand just that bit closer. Holding Elio. Feeling his smooth skin. The way Elio shrinks under his stare. Shivers when Oliver teases his lip with his canines in silent appreciation. Thumb trailing over his knuckles. Stroking each tendon in between.
So... intimate that when Oliver eventually releases Elio's hand — the whole moment of mere seconds stretching infinitely, whirling in Elio's mind like a storm — to properly greet his mother instead, Elio has half a mind to reach out again.
Regain that electricity that still prickles under his skin. Singing his flesh where Oliver (such an American name, easy on the ears, rolling just as easily off the tongue) touched him mere moments before.
Possessive in a way. Jealous in another.
Wanting in a way that's burning low in his chest. Rumbling quietly. A warning. An announcement.
Oliver picks up on it. Of course. Keeping him in the corner of his vision. Blue irises glinting in the sun. Lips still spread wide over his teeth. Exposing those perfect pearly whites.
The magnetic pull finally breaks when Oliver nods to his family as a whole and stretches wide. Tucked light blue shirt offering no further glimpse as he heads up the stairs with his father's directions to his — Elio's — room. Leaving open the door as he sinks into the sheets surely smelling of Mafalda's chamomile detergent.
And Elio just stares from his spot in the hallway. Unable to tear his eyes away from Oliver's form sprawled atop his bed. Proving almost too small for an Alpha his size. Yet still fitting. Barely. Comical.
Snuggly.
The next urge that buds in Elio's chest just briefly is that he wants to sink into the mattress as well. Sidle up next to him. Breathe in his scent. Through his nose, his opened mouth, tilting his head this way and that because why can't he look away?
Oliver is exactly as he imagined he would be. Another Alpha to be taught by his father during the summer. Like anyone before him.
And yet. Elio's rooted into place by the entrance of his own room. Burning with an indescribable urge. The what and why of it still hidden.
Only Mafalda's voice is enough to draw his attention downstairs again. To the afternoon table where a basket of ripe peaches and apricots perch atop the flowery linen tablecloth. Reddened with shame. Close to bursting with their sweet nectar.
Sliding into his usual seat next to his father thumbing through the newspapers, Elio takes a blushing apricot and bites into its ripe flesh. Letting its sweetness burst across his tongue and drip down his chin.
“Offer our guest some too,” his mother says over the rim of her lemonade glass, pushing the basket toward him and nodding upstairs.
Digging for the pit, Elio shoves the rest of the fruit into his mouth, juice spilling everywhere, and hums around his mouthful.
Cleaning his sticky hands on his trunks, he grabs a handful of assorted fruit before traipsing up the stairs again. A faint snore trickling into the hallway, growing louder the closer he gets.
And Elio merely waits by the foot of the bed, sizing Oliver up. Eyes dragging over his sleeping form. The way his muscles ripple under the shirt, head tilted to the side. Styled blond hair still in place despite his position.
Snapping himself out of the reverie, his cheeks heated, Elio taps at him with a forefinger to his shoulder. Repeating it with intensity until Oliver blearily opens those brilliant blue eyes once more.
Shimmering like the sea. Turquoise and blue.
No words offering themselves to be spoken, Elio simply holds out his arms stuffed with the fruit piled on top, presenting them to him. “For you.”
The French windows let in a few rays of sunshine that cast onto Oliver as well. Setting him aglow with warmth.
“Thank you.” Oliver smiles despite the rude awakening, eyes crinkling as he glides into a seat. Elegant. Effortless.
So much unlike the lanky dance of limbs that Elio's body does whenever he rearranges himself.
Oliver's nostrils flare at the scent as he takes a ripe peach and inspects it this way and that, turning the fuzzy skin until its flushed cheek faces him.
An appreciative hum rumbling in his chest, Oliver takes a bite, keeping his eyes on Elio as his sharp teeth dig into the skin, tearing off a chunk of flesh. His features lighting up at the gush of juice.
Elio's throat bobs. Imperceptibly. But Oliver catches it. Of course. Chewing thoughtfully.
Licking the nectar that spilled down to his chin, Oliver holds out the peach to Elio. Offering the side he hadn't taken a bite out of yet.
“You too.”
Elio ducks his head toward the remaining blushing fruit in his grasp. “I already had some.”
Oliver raises his brows in emphasis. “It's really good.”
Elio chuckles. “I know. Anchise treats the trees like his own children.”
Oliver shakes the fruit in his direction, his eyes unwavering. “Please.”
Elio's whole face flushes with heat, cradling the fruit closer to his stomach. Needing something to hold on to as he replies, “Okay.”
Surrendering the apricots and peaches to the bedside table, losing his only barrier between him and Oliver, he returns to his place before the other man. Elio taller than his seated form but feeling much smaller despite it.
Eying him from under his lashes, Elio leans in, gingerly taking a bite of Oliver's peach while Oliver does the same on the other side, noses brushing.
Their breaths meeting. Elio's skin electric.
The tart sweetness washes over his tongue immediately and Elio retreats with a hum that covers the nerves buzzing under his skin. Set alight by that one simple brush of skin alone. That hint at closeness.
Oliver nods in thought, eyes levelling with his. “Delicious.”
Elio clears his throat, lets the taste linger. “Yes. Pretty good.”
As a kid, he once ate a whole basket unsupervised. Mafalda finding him with a belly ache next to the bowl in his room. Winding with the cramps. Lips smeared. The evidence of uneaten pits scattered about. Exposing him.
Anchise told the story proudly to anyone who spared an ear. Boasting with his irresistible fruit.
And Oliver keeps his gaze on him. Brows raised just that slightest bit. The corners of his mouth upturned. As if knowing something he doesn't.
Is he talking about the peach?
When Oliver quirks his brows and tilts his head, the moment breaks and Elio looks away. Of course Oliver is talking about the peach. What else?
Elio turns to gather the remaining fruit before deciding against it, they're Oliver's after all, and heading out.
But Oliver catches him by the shirt, standing, now bigger than him again, tugging him back, nostrils flaring. “You've got something right there,” he says, pointing to his face. “Let me just…”
And his thumb and forefinger hold Elio's chin into place as Oliver closes in, tongue dragging across the corner of his mouth where the juice spilled and then moving lower. Swiping over his throat. His bobbing Adam's apple when Elio tries to swallow the sound that's brewing in his lungs.
The whimper that's escaping his lips when Oliver reaches his scent gland definitely smelling of Alpha. Of inherent conflict. But Oliver flattens his tongue against it regardless. Nosing into it. Just briefly. Scenting him.
The moment over in the blink of an eye, returning them to their previous positions, slightly altered — Elio now crouching in front of the bed. Oliver sat on the edge. Peering straight through him.
Showing off his teeth, those gorgeous canines that catch the sunlight just right. Amusement, intrigue merging and lurking as Oliver runs his tongue along his gums, nodding with a hum. “Sweet.”
Elio every bit unsure what exactly that word is referencing.
So he simply stills, every bit Omega in an Alpha's body, his whole frame burning up. Bursting into flames under Oliver's watchful eyes still tracking his every move.
The way Elio opens and closes his mouth. To gasp. For oxygen. Words. Anything. Left utterly speechless. Something like pride gleaming in Oliver's expression as he returns to another apricot. Languidly biting into it with a drawn-out moan around the soft, dripping flesh of the fruit.
His neck tensing. Muscles shifting.
Daring him.
Why?
That's when Elio's groin stirs. Making itself known. Exposing him. And he gulps hard around the nonexistent lump in his throat.
“Dinner's at five,” Elio quickly mumbles under his breath, attempting to puff out his chest. Appear strong. Bigger than him.
Not of much use in comparison to Oliver's customary Alpha physique brimming with lean muscle and broad shoulders. That unmistakable smell of the ocean clinging to him. Drawing him in. Dangerous.
When Oliver finally lets go of him, Elio hurries out of the room with quick steps, shutting the door behind him. Exhaling shakily when it locks and returning to his own room with quivering legs.
Not daring to look because he already knows. Feels it strain against his flimsy trunks. Bulging the fabric.
Elio's hard. Aroused from this brief interaction with his father's guest and it's messing with his brain.
Nonetheless, he palms at his tenting bulge almost instinctively, hissing through his teeth. Duller in comparison. Not as flashy as Oliver's.
And at the mere thought, a throb of pleasure explodes in his abdomen.
His knees buckling, Elio hits the wall, catches himself, his fingers travelling past the waistband, taking himself into hand. Stroking once, twice. Teasing. Leaking.
Would Oliver be bigger than him? With a bigger knot?
And the unwilling image takes form. Oliver standing proud. His cock barely constrained behind his mid-thigh shorts exposed to Elio's hungry gaze. The curiosity brewing in his chest. Forcing him to look.
Oliver's length standing thicker, longer. Neatly trimmed hairs framing the base. Dark blond. Darker than his hair. His knot as big as Elio's fist—
Elio keens, back sliding down the wall, his ass unceremoniously hitting the floor as he pumps himself quicker. Desperate.
Imagines holding them both against one another. Elio's hand just big enough to wrap around his own. Barely able to touch Oliver's as well. While Oliver's sizable hand encompasses them both with ease. Effortless. Rough. Squeezing and stroking.
Elio's package dwarfed by Oliver's size. Yet still twitching. Still drooling pre. Still growing its knot until he spills. Heavy and laboured. Voice hoarse. Moans strained.
Strings of come decorating their stomachs as Elio fists the swell of his knot. Drawing out his orgasm.
Oliver reaching his peak as well. Ropes of seed spreading between them as he keeps fucking his fist. Showing off. Knot as big as his fist indeed. Maybe even bigger.
Opening his eyes again to the glow of the sun peeking into his room, Elio gathers his breath. His sanity. Looking down to assess the damage. A few spurts of come decorating his hand and heaving stomach bared to the empty room. Only the apricot trees outside witnessing his lapse of control.
Elio lifts his hand to his lips. To his throat where Oliver's saliva is still drying. Smearing it. Letting it mingle with the peach juice.
And his cock gives a valiant twitch, his pulse jumping against his fingertips.
Angling his knees, Elio balances his elbows on top of it, calming his stuttered breaths as the realisation washes over him. His arms muffling the strained groan that spills past his bitten lips.
The next six weeks will be long...