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The locker room is eerily quiet when Erling comes out of the shower.
He lingered too long post-practice, got dragged into a phone call that he ought to have taken somewhere else but that had to happen right there in the hallway. By the time he hung up and headed inside, most were packing up their bags and checking out for the evening, and he only got a chance to say goodbye.
It leaves him seemingly alone to towel off and put on a clean change of clothes, carelessly stuffing everything in his bag. Checking his phone again informs him that it is late. Too late to still be here, on a Friday night.
Pocketing his phone, he swings his bag over his shoulder, stuffing his feet back into his slippers. He walks around the locker room, peeks out the other side of the wall, expecting no one there to say goodbye to—and then pauses.
“Jude?” He frowns, finding his teammate on one of the benches. He’s sitting by his bag, head lowered just like his shoulders, shivering visibly.
He doesn’t move when Erling calls out for him, doesn’t even react to it, shoulders tensed like he’s forcing himself to stay still.
“Hey, everything alright?” Erling asks, still keeping a safe distance.
“Fine, I am fine,” he bites, but there’s an uncomfortable tension in his voice. Desperation clings to it, like he wants to believe it himself more than it is actually true.
His next breath is actually audible—Erling hears it echo off the tiles.
“Don’t sound so good,” he comments, taking a few steps closer. He ought not to do it, because when Jude looks up, the AC humming quietly in the background grazes the top of his head, sending a whiff of him right at Erling and—
He’s anxious. His otherwise sweet orange scent with a soft tangy undertone is soured, like an overripe fruit, something that’s about to perish. Erling can tell the difference, alerting him immediately.
Beyond just anxious, he’s in heat. Pre-heat at the very least. He smells like he’s leaking slick, like someone ought to smother him in alpha pheromones to cover up the evidence.
He’s trying to do it himself, sticking another scent patch to the ones already put to the inside of his thigh. They work well enough in any other setting, keep his scent from infiltrating every inch of the locker room in any normal condition. When he’s like this, it fails to do anything.
Erling can still smell him, even with the new patch in place.
“Fuck,” he states in disbelief, staring at him with his brows furrowed. “Shit—do you—”
“You should leave,” Jude tells him, with the same small voice. It’s breaking between syllables, coming with his laboured breathing.
Erling does need to do that. Walking away would be the wise thing to do, letting Jude deal with this on his own. He’s an omega, but he’s not completely incapable of taking care of himself. Offering help would imply he can’t take care of himself. He wouldn’t take that very well, knowing him.
But there’s an alpha instinct to protect, to mitigate this, and beyond those primal instincts, there's also a friend that Erling doesn’t want to get hurt. There are protocols for this. HR has everyone’s emergency contacts, cycle-partners—there’s someone that needs to get here to take care of him.
“Do you have—” Erling starts, falling short for words. He knows what he’s asking, what it’s implying. Does he have someone, is there anyone he can call for him—is there someone that can help him. It feels oddly invasive, as well as just uncomfortable to think about Jude with someone else.
“I’m fine,” Jude states, jaw locked square. He manages to sit upright, pushing his shoulders out as if to prove his point. It doesn’t erase the perspiration on his forehead, or the cramp that he tries to push out with a hand on his lower back.
“You’re not,” Erling states. He pulls the zipper of his quarter zip higher in an attempt to cover himself up—he can’t afford getting his scent on Jude, not if someone’s coming to take care of him.
“No, really, I am. It’s just pre-heat—” as he says it, a cramp shoots down his spine with so much force he falls forward, hands planted on the bench to keep himself upright as he arches his back.
“Shit,” Erling hisses. He almost takes a step towards him, instinctually wanting to help, then remembers that he’ll be doing Jude a favour by staying as far away as possible.
“This is not preheat, you are—” he starts to say. Jude looks back up, the pain visible in his eyes.
“I know,” he hisses. “I know. ‘s stupid. Should’ve stayed back today, but I—”
“You are not on suppressants?” Erling asks.
“Course I am,” Jude hisses. He points at his bag with his eyes. “I took them, but I was sick last week.”
“Shit,” Erling hisses. He doesn’t even need to look at the bag, believes him. No one voluntarily puts themselves in this position—it must be more embarrassing for Jude than it is for Erling.
Not only humiliating, but also very dangerous to leave himself out here like this. Anyone could come in and not be as cautious or as helpful as Erling. “Who do you want me to call? Who’s your heat partner?”
Jude still looks at him like he’s about to tear up.
“I just need to get back to the hotel,” Jude tells him, with little conviction. He can’t possibly do this on his own—there’s a reason they all need to list partners.
“Yeah right,” Erling scoffs. He doesn’t have the patience to roll his eyes. “You need someone. Who is your heat partner? I’ll call them.”
“You can’t,” Jude says. “They’re um—they’re not here.”
Erling chuckles. “Then they’ll get here. You’re burning up, mate. You need help.”
“I’ll call them later,” Jude hisses, clenching his eyes shut through another cramp. “Please—I just need to get back to the hotel. Can you help me with that?”
Erling gulps. He’s not supposed to help him with anything—not supposed to come close enough for anything of him to stick to Jude, but he knows what Jude is asking now. Help means to scent him, to make sure he gets some kind of cover to make it back to the hotel. It’s an extremely bad idea, because Erling’s scent sticking to him now will throw off the heat partner that tries to claim him later, but.
Sending him out there on his own might just be the only thing worse than helping him. If he goes out smelling like this—Erling has to hold back a groan at the thought alone. Everyone smelling him would be—
Would be worse. He has to help him.
Sighing, he dumps his bag on the bench and opens it back up. His clothes are still damp with his own sweat, and they smell enough to break through the orange frenzy Jude’s turned the locker room into.
“You’re lucky. They’re fresh,” he comments, fishing out two knee-high socks from the bag.
It’s objectively disgusting, the sweaty socks he just played in. They’re drenched enough for Erling to smell himself on them, a heavy cedar and pine scent. In Jude’s condition, they’re much like offering a meal to a starving man. He snatches them up and brings them to his face, inhaling right into the fabric with his eyes closed.
He realises what he’s doing only when Erling can’t contain his laugh.
“Sorry,” he apologises quietly, avoiding Erling’s gaze. “I’ll put them on.”
Jude looks comically small in Erling’s kit, as he climbs into the taxi.
His socks are too big on him, coming mid-thigh. With the sweater nearly swallowing him, it looks like he’s not wearing any trousers, which isn’t even close to the horniest thought Erling’s had in the last five minutes.
It’s not like Jude can be any better himself, body constantly flooded with enough pheromones to produce slick. He’s sitting with his knees together, shifting back and forth uncomfortably, quite literally leaking into Erling’s shorts. He could smell it, if he couldn’t see it.
Now that’s a thought he’s going to have to deal with much longer.
“Try not to hump the seat,” Erling comments under his breath.
“Shut up,” Jude hisses, awkwardly adjusting the fold in his shorts.
“What were you thinking?” Erling asks. “Didn’t think to just sit this one out this morning?”
“Didn’t think it was this bad,” Jude mutters. “My heat is very regular, I always… I have… y’know, take care of it. Fuck, why am I telling you all this.”
Erling doesn’t think Jude has it in him to get more flustered about the situation, but he giggles and hides his face in the edge of the sweatshirt, as Erling laughs with him.
“Sorry. I was fine this morning, y’know, finally feeling better, then it just—” he interrupts himself by arching his back theatrically, gripping the edge of the door.
“You were pretty messed up last week,” Erling agrees.
“Yeah, must’ve thrown up my suppressants or something,” he agrees, nodding.
“And you didn’t think—”
Jude elbows his side to shut him up. It’s a lot of movement, shifting their scents in the car, allowing Erling just a little taste of him. It’s enough to clench his teeth together, swallowing down the animalistic urge that’s crawling through him.
“Like you’ve never messed up,” he mutters.
“Never made the locker room smell like a sex dungeon—” Erling shoots back.
“Hey!” Jude argues again, a little too loud, a little too explosive. He nudges his elbow into Erling’s arm again, and it brings the scent of him just a little closer.
He pulls the collar of his own shirt up higher, hoping he can shut the scent out. It’s intoxicating, having the desired effect on his alpha. A primal part of him is screaming with it, begging him to take what’s right in front of him—and a much more rational part is shutting it up.
“Sit still,” Erling says. Tries to do so patiently, but can’t help the alpha snark that bleeds through. “Your scent, it’s—”
“Sorry,” Jude squeaks, suddenly aware of what he’s doing too. It’s better when they talk, easing some of the tension out of the situation, but it’s making things worse when Jude spreads his scent, only poorly masked by Erling’s clothes and the scent patches.
Erling checks his phone again, the maps widget telling him how far out they are. “Just five more minutes, yeah?”
Jude pulls the sleeves of his jacket down further, arms wrapped around himself to cover up as much as he can. Five more minutes. Five very long minutes.
The car ride wasn’t so bad. Getting through the hotel is more of a challenge, out in the open. They take the staff’s entrance they’ve been using, waiting patiently for the elevator. Erling stands in front of Jude, as if he could cover him up, and becomes hyper aware that any person they could run into could smell him, could try to take him—
The thought is so enraging his gums ache, squaring his shoulders just a bit more, as if he could take on whoever’s about to step out of the elevator.
It ends up being no one, the elevator empty when it arrives in the garage. With a sigh of relief, Erling walks them on, letting Jude crowd himself into the corner, standing in front of him defensively. It feels stupid, but not completely redundant when the elevator stops at another floor and the doors roll open.
A man stands outside. An alpha. Someone that’s going to take Jude away from him, going to get his nasty scent all over him, going to hurt him—
Something snaps. Erling can’t stand still. He almost jumps right at him, containing himself at the very last moment. Fist curled up, he ends up smashing one into the wall, right above Jude’s head, using his body to corner him in, attempting to shield him from what’s outside.
When that’s not enough to steer the intruder away, he starts to growl, something deep and drawn out from inside of him, something so threatening he didn’t know he possessed it.
The man stumbles back immediately, with a scared little yelp. Erling glares at him until the elevator doors roll shut. One breath later, and he realises what he’s done, stepping back while the white-hot shame floods through him.
“The fuck was that,” Jude squeaks a laugh, inching back into the corner, further away from the alpha.
Erling’s beetroot red when he looks at himself in the mirror, and he has every reason to be. It was an embarrassing display of dominance—over an omega that technically didn’t belong to him.
“I’m so sorry,” Erling whispers under his breath, unable to look his teammate in the eyes. “I don’t do this—”
“Never seen you like that,” Jude breathes. He doesn’t look particularly scared of it. It’s not shock in his eyes, half-narrowed, lips parted, breathing shallow. Erling knows that look. Knows it’s entirely attributed to the heat, and nothing else.
“I don’t know what happened,” he admits, taking another step back. Truthfully he’s never felt that possessive drive over anyone, not even his past partners—but they’ve never put him in this position either. Jude’s pheromones are so strong it's making him lightheaded, alpha urges scratching right at the surface.
They’re almost there—Jude’s almost safe in his hotel room, with whoever’s going to help him. Erling’s going to need a suppressant for himself after that.
Another small eternity later, and the elevator arrives.
“Let’s call him,” Erling says. Jude’s already in the doorway, holding the keycard in his hand still. “I can’t leave you like this. Not alone.”
Jude holds the door open with his foot, turning back to Erling. They’re standing dangerously close together. Erling only allows it because he knows it’ll be over soon, and then he can leave and fix all that it’s doing to him. “Yes you can.”
“I can’t,” he states, gritting his teeth to stifle the ache in his gums. Thinking about it alone is painful, leaving Jude in a state where he smells like he’s about to perish—it hurts. “My alpha can’t—you’re in distress, I can’t walk away. Physically.”
“I can just go inside and leave you here,” Jude quips, still finding it in him to be smart mouthed. The delivery is slightly flawed by his attire, Erling’s sweaty practice clothes, now mostly drenched in his own sweat. “What’re you gonna do? Break down the door?”
“I will sit here,” Erling tells him, stomping on the floor to demonstrate exactly where he will sit. “Until you call someone, I will sit here.”
Jude sighs, knowing Erling is stubborn enough to actually do it.
“Call him, and I’ll leave,” Erling insists. It’s the last effort—after that, he can go to his own room and furiously jerk off thinking about this, and then hopefully never think about it again.
Impatient, he reaches into the pocket of his own jacket, now belonging to Jude temporarily. He takes Jude’s phone, holding it in front of his face to unlock, and then opening his contacts.
Jude grabs his wrist to stop him. His skin is so warm Erling’s almost distracted by it, but not quite enough to stop his search.
“If you don’t call him I will!” Erling argues, raising his voice enough to give him alpha leverage. It works, but it doesn’t have the desired effect as Jude starts to squirm.
“No, no, you can’t—” Jude starts to protest, trying to take his phone out of Erling’s hands.
“I will—” he insists.
“We can’t fucking call him, ‘cause it’s you!” Jude raises his voice too. It tears at the edges, still too burdened by the heat, but it gets the message across.
The phone clatters to the floor.
“What,” he hisses, glaring at the omega. “Why would you—”
“I had to put someone down, and I didn’t have anyone else. Not like I would ever need it. I take care of myself, I can time it,” he explains.
Erling stares at him in disbelief.
“That’s fucking stupid,” Erling states, because it is. It’s incredibly unsafe to put someone down as an emergency heat partner without telling them, without asking them. Could lead to awful situations. Could lead to this.
“Is it?” Jude asks, eyes wide. They’re wet, and they’re so deep you could drown in there. Could agree to almost anything if he just asked nicely. “You wouldn’t help me, if I asked?”
Jesus fucking Christ. Looking at him like that, Erling would crawl to the end of the earth for him on any given day. Always. Now, is not any different.
Tongue-tied, Erling watches the patience run out of Jude.
“Yeah, okay, so it’s fucking stupid, now can you leave—” he starts to deflect, reaching down to retrieve his phone.
“I can’t, actually,” Erling says. “I can’t leave. You need to ask me again, and then I’m gonna come in.”
“What are you, some kind of vampire?”
Jude does ask him. First at the door, as coherently as he can, to please come in, and to please help him.
Then he’s quiet all the way to the bed, because Erling’s kissing him, gathering him up into his arms to carry him there. Jude’s arms clinging around his shoulders, ankles hooked behind his back, he holds on like he doesn’t want to let go—not until they’re at the foot of the bed, and Erling tries to put him down on it.
He won’t let go even there, hungrily licking into Erling’s mouth, grabbing a handful of his hair to keep him right where he wants him, an awkward clash of elbows and knees until they make it horizontal.
There, their bodies aligned, heat burning through layers of clothing they’re trapped in, he starts to ask again—an impatient whine when Erling stops kissing him.
“Shh,” Erling hushes him. He’s already working down the zipper of his jacket, opening it up over his chest. As much as they were protective, the layers are now suffocating their scents in a space where it’s completely safe.
“Get this off, darling,” Erling tells him, helping Jude up to push the jacket over his shoulders. It’s followed by a sweatshirt, one that gets stuck on his head and requires his own effort to remove, and then finally the jersey he put on before. Erling’s jersey.
It smells a lot like him. Has his name on the back. His name, on Jude’s back, it’s—
It’s still going to have to go—Erling needs to see every inch of him, needs to cover all of him in his scent, makes sure he belongs to him if only for the next few hours. It triumphs the possessive need to keep his shirt on.
With all the layers on top off, Jude’s stunning, all wet and glistening in the sheets. Erling reaches out to switch on one of the bedside lamps, realising now that he wants to see it too.
It allows for a little bit of distance between them, but enough for Jude to whine with impatience. It’s not fair on him—he’s not just horny, he’s also in pain.
“Shh,” Erling hushes him, settling back down between his thighs. They fold back with impressive agility, knee resting against Erling’s hand. “Gonna scent you. You’ll feel better.”
Jude tilts his head back obediently, revealing all of his neck and throat for Erling to take. He’d make fun of it if he weren’t so drunk on the scent of him, and the promise of getting right to the core of it just at his throat. The urgency with which he puts his mouth over Jude’s scent gland is more humiliating than Jude asking for it.
It’s overwhelming, obliterates everything else for a moment. For a split second the world is just where he’s sucking at Jude’s skin, all sweet and citrussy, and no other thought exists. Nothing else is important, just licking over Jude’s scent gland, where he won’t stop bleeding that sweet scent.
“Fuck, you smell so good,” he murmurs, speaking it right into Jude’s skin. His teeth graze the edge of his scent gland, accidentally on purpose making Jude mewl. He arches up into him, hips stuttering against Erling’s thigh to chase the friction.
Then he asks again. It’s kind of driving Erling mad just to hear it, that little whimper in his voice that gives away how much he wants it.
“Ah, ah, ah—please, alpha,” Jude moans as Erling kisses over his neck, leaving tiny little bites where it’s safe to do so.
Erling’s fist in the pillow nearly tears it apart, teeth gritted together to hold it together.
He claims Jude’s mouth to distract himself with something, effectively shutting himself up, before he tears the entire bed apart. The kiss slows down, giving them both enough room to breathe, to inch a little space between them. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Shut up,” he hisses. “You can’t—” he tries to protest, but his body won’t let him, arching into Erling when his finger traces over Jude’s nape, resting just at his scent gland.
“Can’t what? Can’t enjoy it?”
Jude groans, fingers digging into Erling’s bicep, fiercely trying to do any kind of damage but failing comically. Erling sits back on his knees, looking up the length of Jude’s body, resting his gaze on his eyes.
“Can’t tell anyone about this,” Jude breathes, forcing himself back to get some air into his lungs. “Can’t tell anyone about the dumb shit I’m about to say, yeah? ‘s fucking—”
“It’s hot,” Erling says. So hot, they’re both burning up with it.
“You’d say that, yeah,” Jude huffs. “Just—you can’t ever bring it up, yeah? Or I’m gonna tell people you growled at a guy in the lift.”
“Alright, alright,” Erling agrees. Another breath to pause between them, as Erling’s finger traces over his hipbone. “Did you just want to chat, or—”
“Yeah, ‘s lovely weather we’re having, no? Looks like you’re gonna have to fuck me now.”
“Still,” Erling hisses. His patience is about to run out. Jude’s incredibly sensitive, incredibly squirmy underneath him, and most of all, even more impatient than him.
Erling’s working him open on two fingers, and he’s been writhing in the sheets, trying to fuck himself down on it, begging for more. It’d be easy to give in—it’s significantly harder to keep it slow, to make sure he’s alright, to not let the lust-delirium take over completely.
“Can you stay still—I don’t wanna fucking hurt you,” Erling tells him, edge of alpha tone bleeding through his voice. Jude seems unaffected by it.
“I’m fine,” Jude insists. “You’re not gonna hurt me. I’d fucking tell you, I can fucking take it—”
He can take it, takes it beautifully. Erling makes sure he knows it too, when he curls his fingers up until it interrupts what he’s trying to say, and he’s just trying to breathe instead.
“Bet you can,” he murmurs. Three fingers might still not be enough, even if they’re Erling’s own fingers, and they’re pretty big. Jude’s still not relaxed—probably not going to be relaxed until he comes. “Can you come like this?”
“Why?” Jude asks, not answering the question.
“You’ll feel better,” Erling suggests. “Takes the edge off.”
“I’ll feel better when you fuck me—” he protests immediately, which is what he’s wanted ever since the locker room, but it’s not what he needs right now. Erling can tell, even if Jude doesn’t want to admit it.
“After, yeah?” He promises, leaning down to kiss his cheek gently. “Just one. You’ll feel better.”
With three fingers inside of him and one hand around his dick, Erling gets him off easily, his heat driving him so close to the edge almost instantly. It can’t be a very rewarding orgasm this early in a heat, doesn’t even kill his arousal—but it does leave him a little more pliant, a little less tense when Erling puts a hand to the inside of his thigh after, trying to rub out the aftershocks.
“I’m fine,” Jude insists, still coming down from the high, still impatient. “Please—If I got any wetter we’d flood this place. You can fuck me.”
“I dunno. I’m pretty big,” Erling tells him. Factual observation, not ego stroking. More like a warning.
“Shut the fuck up,” Jude scoffs, kicking his heel into Erling’s side. “Can’t believe you said that.”
“You don’t believe me?” He asks. He undoes the strings that keep his sweatpants in place, maintaining eye contact with Jude, who starts laughing.
“Doesn’t matter what you show me now, ‘m not gonna be impressed,” he chuckles, shaking his head.
“No?” Erling asks, quirking a brow sceptically.
“Unless you got it like—bedazzled or something,” he adds.
It is not bedazzled, but it is decently sized, so decent that Jude wouldn’t be the first if he couldn’t take it. He does look at it a beat longer than he ought to, lips parted like he was going to say something.
“There are bigger knotting dildos,” he says, after a small pause for thought.
“Should we get that?” Erling asks.
“Shut up,” Jude rolls his eyes, leaning back on his arms. He still hasn’t looked away.
“No let’s see where you have it—” he starts, pretending to look around the room, stepping back from him.
“No!” Jude protests, a little too quickly, a little too panicked. Erling smiles, sits back down between his legs, sweatpants and boxers now discarded on the floor.
“Please,” Jude asks. His voice breaks, and he’s looking at Erling with those watery eyes again, and it really is impossible to say no to him. Unfortunately, he knows it too, using all of his weapons. “Alpha.”
He falls for it, of course. One soft broken cry from the omega’s lips and he’s sitting himself down between Jude’s legs, putting the head of his dick at his entrance. The sight is obscene—he just about sucks him in, oozing slick to cover him in.
Erling lathers it around his dick just before he starts to press in, moving ever so slowly. It pushes the air out of Jude’s lungs, exhaling so deeply Erling worries he might not start breathing again.
He checks in, sees his eyes closed, lips parted in bliss. “Fuck,” he murmurs breathlessly. “Fuck, you’re so—”
Immediately he wants more, pushing his hips down to take more of it, groaning when he succeeds.
“Easy, easy—take it slow,” he says, telling himself more than Jude. There’s part of him that just wants to dive forward and take, that wants to feel that smothering heat all around his dick. The other part helpfully supplies that he can’t hurt him.
“Okay?” He asks, hand curving around Jude’s hip to hold him in place, to ground himself.
“Yeah,” Jude breathes. “I’ll tell you if it’s not, yeah?” Jude bites, but he can’t do it without the laboured breathing disrupting his voice.
It’s slow, and it does not pace with Jude’s impatience, grinding his hips back down for more. Erling lets him have most of it, rocking his hips slowly as he’s almost fully sheathed, enjoying the way every thrust ripples through Jude’s body. Head thrown back, throat exposed, he’s surrendered to the desire of wanting an alpha.
He’s almost fully there when Jude tenses up, whining with something that’s not just pleasure. “Fuck fuck, give me a moment.”
Erling eases back, rubbing soothing circles into Jude’s hipbone, right where his fingertips left bruises earlier when he tried to hold him in place.
“Almost there,” Erling soothes him.
“What, you got more?” He asks, looking up at him like he won’t believe it.
“Little bit,” Erling admits, glancing down to check very demonstratively.
“You’re fucking with me,” Jude states, but he looks like he believes it, only slightly scandalised.
“Almost fucking you,” Erling smirks.
“You’ve never called me,” Erling observes.
Jude squints through half-open eyes, turning his head to the side to get a better look at Erling. He’s not fully asleep—Erling can tell by the scent of him. There’s arousal, and he’s thinking about something, flickering through the warm citrus scent. He’s trying to be asleep, after getting three orgasms fucked out of him and taking a knot—his body needs the rest.
“Huh?”
“All this time, you put my name down, but they never called me,” he reasons. He’s been thinking about that, while he’s certain Jude is overthinking something else.
“I told you. I’m good at timing things, y’know—if I keep to the schedule, I can handle it on my own,” he explains. Sure, he can time his heat to make sure no one’s around to call his emergency contact, but that means he has to go through it all alone. For an alpha, that’s just inconvenient. Means Erling almost breaks down the whole hotel room. For an omega it can be incredibly distressing. The mental tax alone would set him back so much.
“That’s not healthy,” Erling tells him.
Jude shrugs. “It’s not so bad. I don’t like to lose control so I usually just… power through.”
“Power through,” Erling repeats. “This means what?”
Jude looks at him until he can’t anymore, too embarrassed. His eyes flicker with it, lip drawn between his teeth. “Can’t tell you.”
“You don’t get embarrassed,” Erling points out, laughing. “I’ve seen you do much worse.”
Sighing, Jude gives him.
“Knotting dildos, ice water bath, cooling blanket, couple aspirin—you know what it’s like,” Jude explains. He doesn’t sound particularly humiliated to admit it, even if he’d suggested so before.
Erling doesn’t know what it’s like at all—only knows from what he’s heard, but he can imagine it’s not a fantastic way to spend the weekend. The alternative comes, of course, with the vulnerability of giving yourself up to someone completely. It’s a rock and a hard place.
“This is better?” Erling asks carefully.
“Dunno,” Jude murmurs. “Usually a lot more quiet.”
Erling snorts. “I meant what I said earlier. It’s our secret, yeah? I’m not going to tell anyone. It's not gonna change anything.”
“You better not, unless you want them to hear about the growling,” he threatens again, though it’s not with much aggression.
Jude’s scent is significantly less putrid now, placated by whatever Erling said or did. He readjust himself against Erling’s chest, palm resting right over his beating heart.
“I’m probably gonna like—snuggle you in your sleep,” Jude confesses, spitting out the word snuggle like it’s personally offending him.
“Snuggle,” Erling repeats, trying the word like he can taste the same disgust Jude said it with.
”Touch you, probably,” Jude admits. “I can’t help it. When I’m in heat, I do it in my sleep, I…”
“Touch me? Pervert,” Erling teases him.
“Shut up,” Jude whines, kneeing him underneath the duvet. Erling knocks his knee back against his, but before it can evolve into a full wrestling session, Jude turns back into him, squeezing himself into the hold of Erling’s arms.
“Sleep well,” he tells Jude, whispering right into his ear.
Sleep does not come easy. Erling’s between a state of asleep and awake where he registers that Jude isn’t—tossing and turning in his arms—but where it’s not urgent enough for him to actually wake up. This lasts a couple hours, until the mattress moves and the heat’s leaving his body, and he realises that they’re probably out of the very sparse hours of sleep Jude’s heat will allow him.
Erling’s glad they got something, and that Jude seems somewhat lucid, somewhat aware of what he’s saying, what he’s asking for. There’s still the heat of the moment nonsense that falls from his lips, but he’s lucid. He still manages to hold onto a shred of self control, even when his body is telling him to abandon it.
The lights come on, and Erling squints the sleep out of his eyes, groaning as he feels the mattress dip. When he sits up against the headboard, he finds Jude sitting at the edge of the bed, eyeing him with those same big wet eyes.
“What’s this,” Erling asks, reaching out to pull at the shirt Jude’s wearing.
“Your jersey,” Jude explains.
“Why?” Erling frowns, still stuck between half asleep and half awake, not quite understanding.
“Why is it your jersey? ‘s very philosophical for five in the morning,” Jude chuckles, as he kneels on the bed, planting a hand on Erling’s chest to ease the process of sitting down in his lap.
“Are you cold?” Erling asks. The next question following a positive will be are you mad, because his skin feels like it’s burning when he slides his hands up to settle on Jude’s hips.
“No,” Jude shakes his head with a breathless laugh. “I’m fucking horny, and I know you want to fuck me in it, so I’m trying my luck.”
Erling laughs with him, teasing a hand up to his nape. He feels the jersey between his fingertips, his scent now almost completely replaced by Jude’s own. Sweet and indulgent, he leans a little closer to get a lungful of it, nosing into Jude’s neck.
“Yeah, sure,” he agrees easily enough.
“Yeah, sure,” he mocks. “All this effort, mate. Even put the socks on.”
Erling pulls the edge of the sock-turned-stocking, waiting for it to snap back into place. He laughs against Jude’s neck. “Kinda feels like a really bad porn when you seduce me like this.”
“What d’you mean bad?” Jude protests, fighting a hand into Erling’s hair to pull him back, look into his eyes when he says it.
“Dialogue’s not great,” Erling argues.
“You watch for the dialogue?” Jude snorts, resting his arm around Erling’s shoulder, squeezing his nape to hold him close.
“Yeah. And the character development, of course,” Erling adds. He’s still holding Jude’s waist underneath the jersey, keeping a secure grip.
Jude shifts forward, grinding his ass down in Erling’s lap, moaning unashamed right into Erling’s ear.
“I want to ride your big fat juicy cock,” he whispers with the most overdone sultry tone he can muster. Erling can barely contain his laughter. “How’s that for dialogue?”
So he gets what he wants, despite the choice of words. Erling laughs as he kisses him, helping him down in his lap.
The jersey stays on. And then Erling tears the jersey apart later, tangling a hand in it when Jude’s bent over the dresser and he’s eating the come out of him.
Jude gets worse towards the end of the first day. His heat should peak then, the spikes more a plateau, but he’s physically used up, so he just lies there, fidgeting with the cocoon of sheets he’s wrapped himself in, sighing impatiently every three seconds.
“Everything okay?” Erling dares to ask, after trial and error of things to say. “You should drink more water.”
“Don’t want water,” he bites off. Erling’s not going to die on that hill now. It’s easier to make him drink when he’s post-orgasm, a little dazed, and a lot more likely to listen to him.
“I can’t get comfortable,” he whines. “My back fucking hurts, no matter what I do.”
“You want a heat pack?” Erling suggests. It’s like carrying water to the sea, but it’s the only thing he can think of to help him.
“No I want this to be fucking over,” Jude bites, huffing impatiently. “Been what—three days?”
“It’s a day,” Erling corrects him, which is not what he wants to hear, because he groans and trashes his feet in the blanket until he tears through it, ripping the sheets to shreds.
“Do you want to build a nest?” Erling suggests, because he’s doing it subconsciously by surrounding himself with the clothes they’ve scattered across the bed. It can hardly be called a nest in this state, but he’s trying to make a safe space of something.
Jude throws the pillow across the room. “I don’t want a fucking nest. I’m not—”
He sighs, helplessly shaking his head as he pouts. “I hate being like this.”
“I know,” Erling hums.
“It’s fucking—dunno. Hurts. And I’m still like, mad horny, and I hate that you see me like this,” he goes on, muttering the last words quietly, which seems to be the real issue. The more he starts to think, the more he realises what position they’re in.
Erling’s tried not to think about it—what happens after this. If he thinks about it too much, Jude will be able to tell by his scent alone, and that’ll set him off too. He owes it to him now to be reliable, to come across like he knows what this means, like at least one of them knows what they're doing.
“Come here,” Erling says, reaching out for the omega.
“What?” Jude objects, eyes sharp. He does let Erling take his wrist, pulling him closer. He’s not quite so pliant that he lets himself be maneuvered easily, but with some effort Erling can lie him down, head resting on the pillow. He aligns himself next to Jude, his chest to Jude’s back, slipping an arm across Jude’s chest to bring him close.
He doesn’t say anything, but he does stir against Erling a couple times, clearly unsatisfied with the position he’s in, spooned to the alpha’s chest. Erling tightens his grip, arm straining to keep Jude in place, but it’s a fight he’ll eventually win, a battle of attrition, he’ll outlast Jude’s squirming.
“Better?” Erling whispers eventually, resting his head back against the pillow.
Jude doesn’t answer. His breathing’s timed and slow, and Erling realises he’s asleep.
Day two, and Jude seems a little better. A little more lucid, when he’s lucid, a little more aware of everything he’s doing. It turns around equally as quickly when the heat spikes. One second Erling’s trying to rinse off in the shower, Jude promising that he’d be fine for a few minutes—and then he’s being dragged out of the shower, pulled back to bed with barely any time to dry off.
The sheets cling to his skin, still wet and soapy, while he tries to push Jude’s thigh back, pulling the shorts down his legs and off his body. He’s left naked underneath him, covered in a sheen of heat-induced sweat, his skin still so unbearably hot to touch.
“You’re so warm,” Erling murmurs. He trails his hand up his abdomen, past a nipple, flicking his thumb across it just to tear the mewl out of Jude’s mouth. It’s followed by a wet breath, something like a sniffle, and Erling realises that he’s crying.
“Hey, hey,” Erling tries to soothe him, cupping his cheek to drag his eyes up to his. There’s wetness under his thumb, desperation in the way Jude squirms underneath him, only trying to get closer to him. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”
“Need you,” he whines, the sound so guttural, like it’s coming from deep inside him. “Please, alpha, I need—”
He buries his face in the pillow, stifling the plea that threatened to come out, just as Erling pushes inside. He’s still so tight around him, dripping wet around his cock. There’s no longer any need to be careful about it, Jude’s opening up so well for him, exhaling deeply when Erling finally fills him up.
Jude wails, buries his face in the pillow to hide the sound. What little patience he had has long been depleted, and he’s immediately grinding his hips down to get more.
“Don’t do that,” Erling tells him, trying to get him to look at him. “Let me hear you.”
Jude whines, pushes his face into Erling’s hand to appease himself, as he’s frantically lifting his hips to meet his thrusts. “Alpha. You’re so—ah.”
“You feel so good, baby,” Erling murmurs, pressing his lips to Jude’s jaw, wet and hot. Jude immediately turns away from him, exposing the slope of his neck for Erling to see.
Erling knows what he’s doing. The squirming, the begging, saying all the right words. His omega’s trying to lure the alpha in, trying to entice him to sink his teeth down into his neck, to not just knot him but claim him for real. He knows because it’s working, because he’s hyperfocused on that piece of skin just below Jude’s ear, where he smells the strongest, where he needs to be claimed.
He knows, because his gums are aching, the need bursting into his teeth—and because it’s all he thinks about, eyeing the perspiration sticking to Jude’s skin right where he wants to bite.
Chasing his orgasm becomes secondary—he needs to knot Jude, feels how close he is simply by the idea of claiming him, how his hips drive in with reckless abandon, but only because he knows that's when he can bite him, that's when he's most likely to take it.
It’s a means to an end. When he knots him, he feels the obliterating wave of pleasure that bulldozes through him—and then he feels the pressure in his gums tenfold. Jude goes lax underneath him, accepting it with a strangled cry, punching the last of the air out of him. He falls back against the pillow, throat bare and exposed, angled right for Erling to see.
Jude’s scent lures him in, strong and potent right from his scent gland. Erling leans forward, feels like for a second they’re suspended in time, locked together. The air is rigid, standing still just as he comes close enough, breath fanning out over the expanse of Jude’s neck.
Jude’s not fighting it. He’s gone quiet, holding his breath, almost like he’s anticipating it, like he wants it. Rationally he doesn’t, but the last two days have prepped his body to yearn for it, to want an alpha’s bite, to be claimed, to be safe, to be taken care of, so Erling could do it now. Jude wouldn’t fight him. Would let him. Would encourage him.
His lips trace the outline of his scent gland, the touch tensing Jude up underneath him, around him. They part, teeth beating with it, so close to touching the skin there, so close to just taking.
He touches it. Lips grazing over it, mouth ready to bite, and he does, turning his head at the very last minute to dig into the pillow.
“Fuck,” Erling curses, spitting out a mouthful of feathers. He’s less annoyed about the carnage of the bed–more upset about what he almost did. His teeth ripped right through the pillow, the pillow that he hit instead of Jude’s neck.
It was very close. Too close. The bite landed just inches away from Jude’s neck. Inches away from locking them together forever—the thing he wanted most in that moment. And now he’s sitting right with the realisation that he wanted it. He wanted it—or his alpha wanted it. He reached a point where the two became so entangled he couldn’t tell where which ended and the other began.
It would be the end of the world, logistically. If he sinks his teeth into Jude’s neck he can’t deny this happened, it uproots everything they know, everything they want. It can’t happen.
Didn’t happen. That’s what matters most.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. He hides his face in the pillow, among the feathers threatening to spill out, unable to look Jude in the eyes. It feels a lot like in the elevator, like his body’s doing something against his will, like Jude’s the one tearing it out of him.
Jude’s hand is gentle on his back, trailing his warm fingertips up and down his spine. “Don’t be. It’s fine. Just a pillow.”
It is just a pillow. Could be a lot worse, could be—
“It’d be fucking crazy if you nicked my throat,” Jude chuckles. His voice is bright and airy, like he’s still trying to come down from it, feeling just a little lighter.
Unlike Erling, his skin doesn’t feel like he’s burning up anymore. He’s not trying to quench a whole storm in there, a whole near catastrophe that he almost was to blame for.
“Yeah,” Erling agrees, trying really hard not to think about it. “Crazy.”
Jude’s better the next morning. Stubborn and annoying, Erling can tell that he’s gone back to himself. He craves a shower, and though Erling offers to help him, he’s immediately turned down with a glare that says he’s absurd for suggesting it in the first place. Nevermind that Erling helped him wash up last night, that he begged him to stay while he rinsed off—he’s fine now.
While Jude’s washing up, Erling orders room service, because they’ve not eaten anything but the protein bars from someone’s gym bag for the last few days. It’s waiting on the bed when he comes out the shower, wearing a set of his own clothes, shorts and a t-shirt, looking the most together he’s done in days.
“You need to eat,” Erling tells him, pointing at the variety of breakfast they’ve been served.
“I’m not hungry,” Jude informs him defiantly. Erling’s not surprised—he’s still coming down from it, still not inclined to crave anything else. But coming down also means the hormones won’t hold him up—he could seriously hurt himself if he doesn’t eat something.
“Still need to eat—need to get your strength back, yeah?” Erling tells him.
Jude looks at him, frowning, as if he would listen to him. He apparently needs a reminder of the last two days.
“Eat,” Erling tells him, raising his voice to enforce it. It’s the first time he's done it on purpose, used his alpha voice to get something from Jude, and the shame is a little easier to stomach.
“Whoa,” Jude says, as he starts to laugh with disbelief. “Did you just—”
“If it’ll get you to eat, yeah,” Erling agrees, not sorry for what he’s done, despite Jude’s struggle to believe it. He is grabbing the plate of chocolate covered strawberries, sitting down at the foot of the bed with legs folded up underneath him.
“It works,” Erling points out, when Jude’s had a bite.
“Course it works, alpha,” Jude mocks. “So lucky I can’t boss you around all the time.”
“I only do it to help you,” Erling scoffs.
“Tell that to the guy in the lift,” Jude chuckles. He remembers that—of course he does. Erling didn’t expect anything else.
The incident feels very far away, even if it’s a matter of days. This weekend’s put a definitive before and after to their friendship—before Erling helped him through his heat, and an after. The after includes a lot of things he didn’t think he could ever do—a lot of things he didn’t know he wanted, but that still linger in the background now that the heat’s come down, now that they’re going to be friends again.
Friends and one time heat partners. Potentially.
“Can I ask you something?” Jude asks, popping a strawberry into his mouth. Erling looks up, nodding for him to go on. “Who’s your emergency rut partner?”
Erling snorts. “You’re not going to believe this.”