Jack undresses, his eyes closed, exhausted by the long day. Brock diligently does not look at his alpha. He's still getting used to the fact of having an alpha, the more so the permissibility of looking at powerful tanned body. Taking off his shirt and casually throwing it in a hamper, Jack sleepy rubs his eyes and drops his hands to his fly. He unfastens three buttons in one motion opening thick pubic hair and Brock flushes and looks away again, inwardly cursing himself for inability to resist peeping. He'd think Jack was deliberately provoking him, but he looks like he's about to pass out. Being the squad commander is fucking exhausting, Brock knew it for a long time, that's why he does not rush for a dubious position.
Though, Jack could wear underwear under jeans. Brock licks his lips, realizing he's staring at him again. He stands with his head resting on the wall, jeans down to mid-thigh, arms hanging limply along his sides. Brock gets up and warily goes to the alpha. Jack barely lifts his eyelids, looking at omega from under his eyelashes. Brock feels his cheeks starting to glow, but he doesn't stop. It's like helping a teammate who's tired after a fight, he says to himself. With slight differences...
He puts his palms on the broad evenly rising chest, transfixed for a moment fascinated by difference between his olive skin on the Jack's tan. He slides his hands down the hard pectoral muscles, sharply outlined press, to the pit of the navel and that dark woolliness over the lower abdomen, which attracted his eyes in the first place, struggling with the desire to repeat this way with his mouth, to caress the hot skin with his tongue. Jack watches him without reaction, his soft cock rests in a nest of thick hair, showing no signs of interest.
Brock spreads his hands, stroking the pelvic bones, runs his hands under the loose belt of jeans and slowly pulls them down, kneeling in front Jack. Gathering fabric near the ankles, he helps Jack to step out from the pant legs and puts jeans in hamper to the shirt. Jack sighs quietly, weary. Brock strokes his legs, straightening stiff hairs. He can't help himself and leans forward to touch Jack's cockhead with closed lips, then rises from the knees. Jack doesn't need this right now. Brock embraces alpha's waist and leads him to unmade bed, then helps him sit down. Jack shakes his head at the question if he needs something and falls on the bed face down, hugging a pillow. Brock snorts and covers him with thin sheets, rather for beautifully draping nakedness than for warm.
Brock gathers dirty clothes and leaves the bedroom, turning off the light but leaving the door open to be able to see Jack. He doesn't want to sleep yet. He was just laying on the roof today looking through the rifle scope, providing a clean escape route for their team. Laundry done, Brock goes to the kitchen, assembles a sandwich with a mountain of meat, slowly and thoughtfully eats it, takes out of the fridge a jug and makes a few sips of thick dark beer, which Jack buys only for him. Brock licks off the sweet drops from his lips, once again experiencing a surge of affection towards his alpha, puts the jug back in the fridge and goes back to the washing machine. Clothes moved to the dryer, he returns to the bedroom. He could watch TV, but watch Jack is much better.
Brock bites his lip, gets rid of t-shirt and soft sweatpants. After a moment of hesitance he decides to leave his underwear on. Stepping to the bed, he carefully puts his knee on the edge, keenly listening to Jack's even breathing. Made sure the alpha is fast asleep, Brock climbs on the bed completely. But if he usually stretches along the edge waiting for Jack to tug him closer, today he suddenly has the illusion of freedom, so he gets on all fours and crawls to a huge alpha's body, beckoning him with it's golden skin, like a fire beckons moth. Jack radiates heat too, rich, even, calling to touch his hand, cheek, chest, whole body. Brock does not notice as he climbs on alpha, coming to himself laying on him from neck to ankles. Realizing his doing, he freezes for a moment, but without reaction from Jack, he waves his insecurity off and hugs alpha's shoulders, nuzzling at soft hair at his nape. Despite the shower at the base Jack still has weak smell of gunpowder and smoke. Maybe the smell just invaded his skin during the years of the war. Brock holds Jack tighter and falls asleep, lulled by a deep breath, swaying on evenly rising back as in his mother's arms.
The night at the bar after a long mission some time into seems not a very good idea. They should have sleep first and only then celebrated that they were all alive. Brock blinks sleepily, making a sip of beer when he remembers its presence in a mug on the table. Almost everyone is silent, even Westfall has no strength left against his usually endless flat jokes. Almost all the alphas are drinking whiskey. (Brock once took a glass offered by Jack; he liked neither the smell nor the sharp, acrid taste. Disgusting. He didn't know if it was a feature of his omega nature or he just didn't like the drink. Brock loved tasty. Whiskey isn't tasty. Except when Brock accidentally licked off the residual flavor from Jack's lips.)
Brock is warm and calm. He hums occasionally hearing his name without paying attention to rare snorts after that, and tries not to move so as not to disturb his dislocated shoulder, which he warms on the alpha’s flank. Muddy fatigue covers his head with a cotton blanket, it seems to him that he is ready to fall under the table and sleep there until the end of the world. He is not sure that even then he will be able to wake up to the clarions of the Judgment day.
It feels like he's being moved to someone else's side. He notes with edge of consciousness - his shoulder is not affected, the heat is not taken away and the arm hugging him is even gentler than one before. He forces himself to open his eyes a little to see whose fingers are absently stroking his elbow. Westfall. To be expected. No beta will miss the opportunity to cuddle omega. Brock is being unfair to him. Probably. Usually Westfall behaves in a way that only seven blanks of explanation regarding the improper expenditure of bullets stops them all from shooting him. He simply has no filter between dump in the head and shit falling from his mouth.
However, now Brock just drops his head on beta’s shoulder, noting how it turns slightly to make him more comfortable. The soothing soft movements of the fingers on his hand lull him into sleep. He's losing grip on reality again. The hum around is like the sound of the sea, the night beach, the summer, the rustle of sand under your feet, the warm of the water heated through the day.
It's like it's getting darker around, and Brock's brain wakes up shaking him. Someone is hovering over him, blocking the light. He feels the body he is leaning on moves, the hand under his back is tensing, another one is picking him up under his knees, and he is slowly floating up. Someone talks over him in hushed voices. He manages to open his eyes once more.
Jack already dressed in leather jacket, with their duffel bag with a change of clothes threw on his shoulder, extends his arms to take him from the Westfall. He carefully passes Brock to his alpha, making sure his head lays comfortably on Jack’s shoulder. One last time sliding his fingers over Brock’s arm, Westfall steps back and kinda shakes himself. His face looses expression of quiet delight, being replaced by a more familiar smug face. He grins and says to Jack,:
- Don't fuck Princess too hard, she’s still use to us.
Jack snorts from above. Brock rolls his eyes, and they remain under his eyelids, deciding that waking up makes no sense. Alpha's taking him to the car and home.
Chapter 3: Spontaneity is the best plan
Brock gets out of the shower in his sweatpants low-set on narrow hips and with a towel he wipes his wet hair with. He raises his head in search of Jack who took a shower first and finds alpha sitting in an armchair in a gray robe holding big cup of coffee. Brock freezes drinking him in — Jack’s bathrobe is not tied up just thrown carelessly so as not to soak the upholstery of the chair. One flap is completely under Jack, the second nominally hides his right flank and groin exposing a powerful body covered with a thick layer of dark hair.
Brock mindlessly rubs his hair with towel, watching his alpha with fascination. Jack stares out the window serenely and pays no attention to him. Or maybe he doesn't really notice him — they came back after a three-day operation and the plan was to get home, wash up and crash to sleep. Brock bites his lip feeling the plan is going to hell. He unbearably wants to come closer, to get between his legs, kneel down and put his mouth on the soft alpha’s cock. Brock spends his life in constant struggle with such desires: he is afraid that he will lose some part of himself by succumbing to an absolutely natural urge for omega to submit to alpha. He loses battle after battle accepting each defeat with unexpected joy.
Finished with wiping his head he carefully puts the towel on the dresser and steps to his alpha. Jack turns the head to him and raises an eyebrow questioningly. He hasn't read Brock's thoughts on changing plans, apparently. Brock doesn't know how he'll react to his actions. He still walks up to alpha, stops between his thighs, puts his hands on his shoulders and strokes his wet curling hair at his nape, looking into grey-green eyes. Jack smiles with the corner of his mouth but doesn't laugh. There is no challenge in his smile that flashes at the shooting range or in the ring. Brock rarely caresses him, still shy (and struggling with a pile of nonsense caught in the lockers and stupid omega forums).
Leaning down and pecking Jack's lips, Brock kneels putting his hands on his thick hips, stroking his warm skin and playing with the hairs tickling his palms. Jack spreads his legs invitingly and leans back more comfortably. Brock leans down to lying on his thigh still soft, but clearly interested member and gently breathes on it, curiously watching the reaction. He tries to remember how Jack usually sucks him, but his brain is empty, because all that remains in such moments in Brock’s mind is cloud of pleasure jangling with stardust.
He decides to act by intuition. Moreover he himself has a much smaller penis and Jack in any case uses other techniques sucking him. Brock bends down and rubs his nose on the suture between the heavy balls, then moves his open lips from the bottom up the shaft to the very head hiding under the foreskin. Brock loves to run his tongue under it and caress the head, licking the delicate skin on the inside and sucking on the quickly poured blood pommel, gently rubbing small slit with the tip of his tongue. Jack always sighs quietly over him when he does it. Brock takes half-full cock in his mouth while he has the opportunity and collects a taste of clean skin with the tongue.
Jack is always very clean. Even if Brock being hit with the unexpected need to make sure alpha is there caused by the still-strengthening bond, Jack’s always at least wiped clean with wet wipes. He gives Brock nothing but a knot if they're out of the home, but even so he always takes care of hygiene.
Brock remembers the contrast of the alphas in the desert. Remembers the smell of their unwashed bodies, about sharp stinking with the rut sperm as if chemically enhanced to break through the military blockers of omega prisoners. Maybe they themselves were disgusted to walk so beastly dirty, although he doubts it. He even remembers the taste of that sperm forcibly smeared on his mouth and tongue. In last days the soapy substance was the only food he was given…
Brock lowers his head and nuzzles Jack's groin to kill the memories with smell he started to associate with home. Cock in his mouth slowly fills, lying heavily on his tongue. Brock sucks it driving his tongue along the entire length and pressing on the still invisible veins. Finally soothed he pulls away slightly, tightly squeezing the shaft with his lips and releasing it at the head. Jack pets hair on his nape and Brock doesn't remember when he put his hand there. He only hopes that he dropped for a short time. Jack's cock continues to grow becoming thicker and it is already difficult to keep it in a comfortable position only with his mouth. Brock lets go of Jack's right thigh to wrap his fingers around the shaft and guides the cock so that it pushes his cheek with the head. He saw Jack's eyes get dark when he did it so he repeats it every time to make alpha feel good.
Brock sucks and licks cock head feeling the knot barely begins to form under his fingers. Tightly clenching his lips just under the head and running his swirled tongue into the slit oozing precum, he begins to massage the thickening near the cock base and Jack starts to breathe heavier over him — a sure sign that he close to the edge. He does not always give Brock to bring him to the orgasm — no matter how strong his hands are, the tightness of his ass still feels much nicer for alpha’s knot, so around this moment Jack usually pulls Brock off from his cock, puts him on his belly and thrusts all the way in (and Brock usually remembers that the preparing is very, very important, but he wanted to take cock in his mouth so much that he didn't even think about it; and he’s wet but not enough so that the upcoming knotting would be painless. He just hopes to get his pleasure before Jack knots him.)
(Brock has an incredibly terrible secret that Jack has not yet read in his mind. Brock saw alphas knot mouth instead of the ass. He's terrified just thinking about this. But he wants to. Really.)
Brock loves it when Jack cums in his mouth. The salty taste of his sperm does not go to any comparison with the dirt being fed to him in captivity. It's like he tries to eat, drink, forget completely that taste, confidently driving alpha to orgasm. If Jack wants to stop him he'll do it without further delay. Although Brock does not want him to. He raises his second hand and clenches his fist around the swollen knot. Cockhead pulsing in his mouth and Jack's fingers clenches painfully in his hair and Brock with a pounding heart is aware that today is his — another — lucky day. Jack throws back his head and moans low through clenched teeth. The first jet of semen spurts on Brock’s tongue while he rhythmically massages alpha’s knot, simulating ass contractions and milking him of his very essence.
Jack goes limp sagging even more in the armchair, laughs breathlessly and pets Brock's hair. Brock swallows thoroughly but there is too much sperm and it drains from his lips down the shaft to the knot and to his hands and to the dark hairs. Brock opens his mouth wider and collects the seed from the hot skin, running his tongue wherever whitish drops shine, greedily collecting all that he did not manage to swallow, while squeezing the knot with his hands. Jack pulls him by the hair, forcing to throw back his head and kisses him hungrily, licking his mouth and collecting his own taste of the Brock’s tongue. Then Jack releases him allowing to bury his nose in alpha’s groin again.
Brock doesn't have to say out loud how much he likes the taste of his alpha. He may be afraid of his desire but he is still ready to easily give up any other food except Jack's seed — thick, hot, tart, tasty. His little shy inner self is purring contently and Brock makes sure this rumbling won’t sound aloud so not to be the stereotyped omega. However this does not stops him from taking Jack’s softening cock in his mouth again while it slowly goes limp.