For all that tracking down Ellen Harvelle was Sam’s idea in the first place, by the time he walks in the door to Harvelle’s Roadhouse he’s decided to let Dean deal with her. And with her daughter, too, when she shows up with rifle in hand. As soon as they’ve quit aiming firearms at Sam, he sinks down onto a chair by one of the tables and closes his eyes.
He can’t remember the last time he got sick, but this flu’s slamming into him like a freight train. He aches all over, but it’s worst in the pit of his stomach and behind his balls, which suggests a new and exotic strain of flu. He must have a fever, too; he’s sweating straight through his t-shirt and possibly his polo shirt, too.
He hears his name and blearily raises his head. “He’s not in heat, damn it,” Dean says, glancing to Sam for confirmation. Sam blinks at him.
“You a beta?” Ellen asks. Dean nods. “Then you don’t got the nose to tell, but that boy is ripe as an August peach.” She approaches Sam, and she draws in his gaze like a black hole sucking in light. Which is weird. “What’re you doing, leaving home when you’re like this?”
Sam’s having a hard time concentrating, probably because sometime in the last fifteen seconds the temperature got turned up by fifteen degrees. “It’s just the flu.”
“Like hell. What, you been on suppressants? You don’t know your heat when it knocks you upside the head?”
“I’m not...” Sam pushes himself upright. “I don’t go into heat.”
There’s a pause. “You mean you ain’t never had one?”
Sam shakes his head, which wafts new scents up his nose and makes him start to throb in places he’d rather not. “I’m, I dunno, defective or something.” Those were some very awkward conversations, mid-high school, Dean inquiring with some concern as to why Sam hadn’t ‘pussied up’ yet. Eventually they’d settled into the fact that he wasn’t ever going to. Jess had made noises once or twice about taking Sam to see someone, but, well. She burned to death before they got the chance.
Ellen slides into the chair opposite him. Vaguely he knows that Jo’s drawn near – Dean, too, for that matter, although somehow Dean is the least important person in the room right now, in ways that Sam’s too fuzzy-headed to articulate. “Sam,” Ellen says. “You’re not defective. You’re late.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
She huffs softly. “My point is, you’re having a heat now. Where you come from?”
“Sioux Falls,” Dean says.
“Too far. You better stay here. Sam, we got a room in the back you’re welcome to. Bet Ash can scrounge up a choice item or two he ain’t used yet, help take the edge off.”
Sam blinks at her. It occurs to him suddenly that she’s closer than she was, and it’s because he’s leaning half across the table. He snorts and pushes himself upright again. “I’m, I’ll be fine.”
“It’s your first time, kid,” Ellen says. She reaches and cups his cheek, and he leans into the touch. Finally he’s able to pinpoint why: it’s because Ellen smells so good. “Hell of a thing to go through at any age. You maybe want some company?”
“What?” Sam pulls back and blinks at her.
Ellen glances across to Jo in some silent communion, and then she says, “Me and Jo, we’re both alphas. One of us could help you along, if you want.”
Dean’s protesting, but it doesn’t matter. “I don’t even know you,” Sam says.
Ellen shrugs, unperturbed. “Suit yourself. Come on, big boy.” She stands, gets a grip on his arm and pulls him to his feet. “Bed’s this way. Clean sheets and everything.”
Dean mumbles something about them being the only clean thing in the place. Sam doesn’t pay much attention. Between Ellen’s nearness and the strength of her scent mixed in with Jo’s, more dilute but equally distracting, and the effect that it’s all having on the throbbing behind Sam’s balls, he really can’t give a fuck about Dean.
Soon enough he’s standing in a bare-walled room with a naked lightbulb overhead. On the twin bed and its clean sheets is a dildo, squat and thick. “You need anything,” Ellen says, “just holler.”
The door swings shut behind her and closes with a faint click, and Sam is alone.
He knows his way around a dildo; one mysteriously appeared in his duffel years ago, back when every sweat he broke was a possible impending heat. He messed around with it for a while – for ‘practice’ – but it never did much for him then, and he eventually quit bothering with it. Now he needs that fullness, needs the dildo in as far as it’ll go.
He lies down on the bed and takes the dildo in hand. He draws his knees up and plants his feet on the bed, reaches down towards his crotch, and cautiously works his fingers into what passes for a vagina in guys like him.
The fingers come away wet, and he makes a face. That never happened before. Because he’s never been in heat before. At least he doesn’t need any extra lube this time. He grips the dildo and start working it in, and grunts with the shock of cool silicone – or whatever – sliding inside overheated flesh. Once it’s there, he jiggles it and shifts it until he finds a rhythm that resonates with the throbbing.
Things are over pretty quickly after that. Afterwards, he pulls the dildo slickly free, and he lies back, heart thudding. He dozes a little while. When he floats to consciousness again, he can’t tell that he feels particularly improved. Or at all, really.
He goes three rounds with the thing before muzzily deciding that it’s not working much more for him now than when he was a teenager. It barely takes the edge off.
Having reached this conclusion, he lies on the bed for a while, fingers fisted in the sheets. Then he pushes to his feet, stumbles into his boxers in a probably hopeless attempt at decency, and pulls open the door. “Hello?” he calls down the empty hallway.
Half a second later, Dean pops around the corner and sizes him up. “Dude. You reek.”
Sam rolls his eyes. The motion makes his eyeballs ache. “Is Ellen around?”
“Went on a supply run,” Dean says.
“What about the other one?” Sam scrapes his memory. “Jo?”
“Yeah, she’s here.” Dean eyes him carefully. “You want me to get her?”
Sam rubs at his face. “Yeah. Please. Tell her if, if that offer’s still open, I’ll take it.”
Dean grimaces – in sympathy, Sam hopes. “Will do.”
Sam sits back on the bed and waits. A few moments later, Jo pushes the door open and peeks in. “Hey. I hear it’s my lucky day.”
Sam stares down at his hands. “You ever done this before?”
“What, heat sex?” Jo shuts the door behind her. “Sure. Never with a firstie, though. New experiences all around.”
He lifts his eyes to meet hers. She bites her lip. “How you doing?”
Sam snorts. “I’m gross. And everything feels wrong. I can get off, but it doesn’t even matter, you know? Although I guess you wouldn’t. God.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you. No offense.”
“It’s okay. First heats are the worst. Or so I hear.” She takes a few steps towards the bed, and the scent that teased at Sam before now washes over him in a flood, runs down into his lungs and hot into his veins like molten silver, pooling in his belly.
“Oh my God,” he says.
Jo chuckles. “And I haven’t even got my hands on you yet.” In fewer motions than Sam can process, she’s naked in front of him. She leans over him and her hands land on his hips. He shifts so she can slide his boxers off again.
“Wait,” he says, craning his neck to look at her. “I can’t get pregnant, okay?”
Sam grabs for her wrist, like the strength of his grip can somehow make her understand. “I can’t deal with that right now. If I got pregnant, I can’t even... I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Sure,” she says easily. “Fortunately, they invented these things called condoms.” She crouches and pulls out a foil-wrapped package with her free hand. “Industrial strength.”
Sam blinks at her. “For what industry?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Shut up. And, uh...” she shakes her hand, eyebrow raised, until he remembers and lets her wrist go. “So, do you have any preferences on how we do this?”
“Uh. Isn’t it pretty much tab A in slot B?” Speaking of slot B, he is suddenly extremely conscious of the wet spot presently soaking through his boxers and into the sheets beneath.
“I was thinking of, like, position.”
“Oh. No. However you want.”
She shrugs. “So, up on the bed?” Obediently he swings his feet up. “Okay, how about on your side? Now up with your leg.” She guides him with her hands as well as her words, shaping him like Silly Putty until he’s how she wants him. Then she slides up behind him. With her wafts a haze of the headiest fumes. Her dick presses hard and sure against his ass. The she slots up and in, neat as you please.
She knows what she’s doing, he recognizes dimly. Despite the awkward angle – when it comes to male omegas, there are no good angles – she gets a rhythm going that plays him like a drum, one beat after another.
He comes harder this time than any of those tries with the dildo, and while his heart’s still thudding in his ears, Jo comes with a gasp, her fingers gripping his arm hard enough to bruise. Then something new happens. A new fullness begins to stretch him. “Ungh,” he protested.
“It’s my knot,” Jo says raggedly. “You never been knotted before?”
“It’ll make you feel better in a minute.” He nods; he hasn’t got the brain for words. Her knot pulls at him as she shifts position, and he grunts, but then she pulls the blanket from the end of the bed up to his waist. Ever so carefully, he pulls it up around him both. “You doing okay?” Jo hand rubs up and down his shoulder.
“ ‘s well as you’d figure,” Sam manages to say.
“Sorry.” She squeezes. Sam nods against the mattress. He is feeling a little less ragged now: the magic of a live knot wins the day.
He wakes out of a doze when Jo shifts behind him. That gratifying fullness is almost gone now, her knot almost deflaited, and with another tug backward she pulls out of him. He whines at the loss, but then she settles again, tight against his back.
Now that the haze has temporarily cleared, he realizes he’s not even sure what she looks like; the pheromones floating around her had obscured the view. Blond; he got that much. Straight blond hair.
It’s a tricky operation, turning over in a bed this size without kicking his bedmate to the floor in the process. Instead he crashes his elbow into the wall before he finally gets himself oriented and can look Jo in the face. “Hey,” Jo grinning at him from three inches away.
Sam thinks about that for a little while. “Yeah.”
“Good.” There’s a pause. “Can I ask you a question?”
Sam searches her eyes and sees only goodwill there. “I guess.”
“You’ve had sex before, right? With another person?”
“Was I that terrible?” Not that Sam cares. Much. Impressing the person kind enough to ease his misery is not an ambition he can afford just now.
“No! You were fine.” She strokes his arm. “I just thought, if you hadn’t been knotted...”
“I had a girlfriend. In college. Beta.” Jo nods. Her hair tickles his chin – like Jess’s used to do. Sam swallows an unexpected lump in his throat. “She was great.”
“Yeah.” After a pause, Sam blurts, “I miss her.” He wasn’t going to say that. Why did he say that?
“What happened?” Jo asks.
Her words are soft enough he could ignore them if he chose. He should. He doesn’t talk about Jess. He didn’t mean to now. Almost unbidden, the words come. “She died.”
Jo’s fingers curl around his arm and squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. I didn’t, um. I haven’t slept with anyone since then. Until today. With you.”
“And you don’t even know me.” The words sound familiar, and Sam realizes they’re his own from earlier.
“Yeah.” Sam’s throat is clogging. “Jess’d probably be glad, though. About my heat. She worried about me.”
Jo gives him a sad little smile, and then it’s quiet. Sam thinks about sleeping again. He doesn’t know how long it’ll be before that haze of need settles on him again; better rest while he can.
Jo stirs. “Would it help if I kissed you?”
Sam blinks down at her. “Help what?” When she just shrugs, he says, “If you want, I guess.” She was knot-deep in him an hour ago; he can’t see the point of being squeamish about kisses.
She pushes herself up on hand and leans in above him. She presses her lips to his, cautiously at first, then more boldly. She’s good at this, too; maybe he should have expected it. He twists onto his back so he can get grip her shoulders and pull her in, and she laughs into his mouth.
The sound lightens him somehow. He doesn’t stop to analyze it. He kisses her back, shares spit, lets her tug gently on his lip and then less gently. Finally she pushes herself up off him, and he follows her up until they're sitting hip to hip. He combs her hair away from her face, and her eyes are bright. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey.” She smiles crookedly at him.
“I, uh. I do feel better.”
Her fingers weave through his. “Cool.”
“You think you could fuck me again, pretty soon?”
This time when she smiles, he can see all her teeth. “Wouldn’t miss it.”