This isn’t how they usually do it. No.
Usually she’ll push him down, ride him hard. Hand to the back of his neck, gripping the meat of his hips and pulling him back, take it, take it, alpha hormones gifting her the strength, the simple biological truth of hard bone and solid muscle and the instinct for dominance.
His fingers spasm in the sheets and it’s a head-trip, always, the way he gives it up, for fingers and hand and fake cock, the stark line of his profile against the white, the shadow of his eyelashes furling out, the open red of his mouth.
Take it, baby.
But sometimes. Sometimes, she’ll lie on her back, legs splayed open and pull him on top and inside, sweet burn of being filled, so good.
Sometimes, when the eyes of another alpha linger on the wide line of Jensen’s shoulders, before their nostrils flare and they register the subtle scent of him. When they size him up, the height and width of him and then the plush curve of his lips, of his ass, what I could do with that ass, with that mouth.
The times when she steps closer, fingers circling Jensen’s wrist. Back off, asshole, this one is taken, this one is owned, and the color high on Jensen’s cheeks, faint but there, giving the truth of it.
Those are the times when Danneel smirks, slap in the face of destiny, for all the times when being an alpha and a woman seemed like some kind of cosmic joke, because sweet little omegas want alpha cock, where’s your cock, where’s your knot, Danneel?
Those times, they get home amped up, Jensen picking her up off the ground behind closed doors and her hands tear at his shirt, buttons scattering, no patience. Nails at his skin and teeth at his collarbones and there’ll be bite marks.
There’ll be bruises on those shoulders and down his back from when she forgets to be careful and grabs him too hard, belt coming undone and pants pushed down just enough for her to haul him forward and in.
Take me, baby, take me.
He’ll hide his face on the curve of her neck, kissing the underside of her jaw and breathing her in, hips snapping, while she paws at his ass, kneads the flesh there and finds her way between his cheeks, finds his hole, sloppy and wet, fingers the ridges.
He whines. Danni, Danni, the keen trapped at the back of his throat.
Is this for me, baby, she says, asks before breaching him, before fucking him the way he’s fucking her, squeezing tight and coming, kissing his mouth, because the answer is yes, yes. This is all for her, he is all for her and she is all for him and later, they’ll do it the other way around.
Later, there’ll be time for more, to make him beg and make him scream. To cater to biology and to show biology the finger and to have each other. In all the ways.