Work Text:
The thing with Scar is simple until it’s really not.
There shouldn’t even be a thing with Scar, if they’re being strict with the definition of the word, but—
Well, friction generates heat. And Scar keeps rubbing up against him. Quite literally, too. You’d think he wasn’t otherwise preoccupied trying to sow discord and interfere with the predetermined order of the universe at all.
Rover will admit he’s doing a pretty good job at it if he’s just attempting to multitask, though. If—if it just so happens that the reason he’s currently got a lapful of surprisingly needy omega nuzzling at his scent gland is because Scar knows it’s the path of least resistance.
(And—and it is, isn’t it? God.)
“What are you doing?” Rover croaks.
He wants to touch. He wants to touch, and instead his hands are tightly clenched into fists at his sides, because—well. If he does fall, he’s going to plummet. He’s never known how to do anything by halves. And Scar certainly isn’t about to let him. Of course not. Why would he? What could possibly be the fun in that for him?
Scar nips at Rover’s earlobe with teeth. “Take a guess,” he says. “You’re a smart boy, I bet you can figure it out.”
Which—
Would be entirely fair in any circumstances where his cock isn’t valiantly straining against the zipper of his pants, really, but as it stands—
“Fuck you,” Rover spits. “This is—ah, this is all some ploy to you, isn’t it? Is that why you broke out? Because you got bored?”
“Is it so hard to conceive of that I might have simply felt the ache of your absence too sharply to bear?” Scar says. “It did leave me rather—ah, empty, you know.”
Damn omega heat scents. He’s not even—it’s just the barely-there suggestion of it, for now. More of a tease than a demand. Like what’s really doing it for Scar isn’t that he’s got Rover pinned, but that Rover is letting him. That any resistance he puts up would just be flimsy pretext.
God, he’s so hard it hurts.
Scar smells so good that he has to be wet between those perfect thighs, has to be more than just bored and vaguely entertained by making Rover suffer. Not that—it’s not exactly suffering right now, to be fair. But maybe Rover needs it to be. Maybe he’s the one self-flagellating for the sake of it. (So Scar can kiss him all better with sharp teeth, and he doesn’t have to feel as guilty about it.)
“I can fill you up,” Rover blurts. “If that’s what you want.”
“Talking big now, aren’t we?” Scar laughs, pulling back to cup Rover’s face with both hands in a facsimile of something tender. Slowly, he rolls his hips. Rover can feel the heat of him, wants the taste of it on the tip of his tongue. “Although, I guess you—ah, I guess you’ve earned it.”
Rover grips his hips. “Yeah,” he says, more of a growl than anything. “You could say I have.”
And Scar—
Scar actually mewls, all that warmth above Rover melting into a shuddering mess, and then he parts that red mouth just to say, “I thought of you. Not much else to do in prison, wouldn’t you guess. But I did take my time thinking about this part. Got the sheets all messy with slick. Think I made the guards blush.”
Rover can feel the heat of something too much like a blush prickling at his own cheeks, even if he knows it’s precisely what Scar wants. It’s too heady of a thought, either way. Scar on his back in a neat little cell, fucking himself on his fingers where anyone could hear if he gets even a bit loud until his little pussy clenches uselessly around them only to gush slick even if he’s hardly sated, hardly full enough.
To be fair, Scar doesn’t seem like the kind of person with an average conception of what counts as enough.
Good for Rover, honestly.
“Should have fucked you on the damn grass at Qichi village,” Rover says. “Should have, ah—should have stuffed your mouth full of cock so you’d stop talking.”
“Aww,” Scar coos, warm breath tickling the shell of Rover’s ear when he presses closecloseclose again like he’s busy proving a point. “You don’t like the sound of my voice, alpha?”
He nuzzles at Rover’s scent gland, pointy omega teeth scraping over it with intent, and Rover wonders if he’s left bruises on Scar’s hips from how tightly he’s holding on yet.
“Take off your pants,” he says. “I’m gonna eat you out.”
Scar stills. “Not going to say please?”
Rover laughs. “No,” he says, “but you will.”
…
He’s pretty.
That’s the issue, really.
He’s so damn pretty Rover might actually lose his mind because of it. Doesn’t help that the painfully alpha part of his brain is real fucking eager to sink its teeth in, to prove to their chosen omega that he’s strong and capable. Can’t help it, with Scar on his back for him. Willingly, it merits saying. Because—maybe it is just about willingness for both of them, isn’t it?
Maybe Rover should ask, once he’s done staring at what lays between Scar’s parted thighs.
He’s not shy about it. Of course not. Of course he wouldn’t be. But his cheeks are starting to tinge pink from his heat worsening, slowly creeping more towards need and further away from something he can use to tease and entice like it doesn’t bother him at all.
It does. It already did when he crawled through Rover’s half open window and settled on his lap without so much as a word, his scent enough of a tell. (And—Rover was already gone then, wasn’t he? When he let Scar straddle his hips like a spoiled cat claiming its favorite spot to curl up?)
“So fucking pretty,” Rover says.
It feels a bit like worship. Like kneeling for prayer. Except—
A lot more fruitful, obviously.
Rover leans forward, presses his lips over the swell of Scar’s clit. He’s all pink down here. All pink and wet and needy.
“Want to look at you forever,” Rover says. “Just like this. Dripping for me.”
“God,” Scar says. One of his hands tangles in Rover’s hair, forces him closer. “Get to it. Touch me properly.”
“I figured you’d be a bit more patient,” Rover says, the curve of his smile pressed to the inside of Scar’s thigh. “You were already like this when you got here, weren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Scar says, and it comes out sounding more like a whine than anything. “But I didn’t have your scent all over me then.”
And that’s—
Oh.
Rover pulls back, parts Scar’s pinkpinkpink lips just to stare at where he’s wettest, dragging a finger back and forth up to the swell of his clit, all puffy and twitching for him. “Poor little omega needs it bad, huh?”
“Fuck you,” Scar hisses.
Rover licks his teeth. “Sure,” he says. “Anything you want if you ask nicely.”
…
Scar is the type to scratch.
Figures, really.
Rover could get used to it, those blunt nails digging spitefully into his back while he fucks Scar, that tightwetperfect heat taking him so well he’d compare it to heaven if he didn’t already know the celestial would fall short.
No, this is better.
And each little whine Scar lets out when Rover fucks into him, thrusts hard and deep, feels like a hard-earned reward. Proof that he could give his chosen omega everything he wants. Could keep him like this forever, all sated tucked into his lap.
Even—
Tentatively, Rover presses a hand over the little bulge in Scar’s belly. “Here?” he asks.
Scar keens. “Alpha,” he says. It sounds like a plea. Like he’s trying to beg for something he can’t bring himself to say aloud just yet. Because—well. It’s not like he could anyway, is it? No matter what the thrall of a heat is doing to him. “I need it.”
“Want me to come in you?”
“I’ll bite your head off if you don’t.”
Rover laughs, can’t help it. “Come on,” he says. “Be a good omega now. Could always just pull out and come all over your pretty tits, sweetheart.”
He’s a masterpiece. Strong and solid and still soft all over for Rover’s sake, when Rover is touching him like this. And he’d be softer if it took. If the swell of Rover’s knot in his pussy left him round with pups, tits slowly swelling up with milk, aching and tender, until he’s begging Rover to help him with that, too, rough hands wrapped around his little tits, trying uselessly to get the milk out.
Rover could use his mouth for that. Go slow and careful until Scar is wiggling his hips against his thigh and coming just like that. Just from his alpha drinking his milk.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he hisses now. He looks like he might cry. Like he’d find a way to make that horribly endearing too, despite any remaining self-preservation instincts Rover might have.
Well, at least he’s honest. Always, but especially like this, with his pussy clenching around Rover’s cock like the swell of his knot is the only thing that could sate the ache deep in him, even as each little thrust fills and stretches him. Rover can feel it. The head of his cock already pressing where he’s supposed to fill Scar upupup.
Maybe, if they practiced a little more, he could stretch him there, too.
Rover cups Scar’s face, leans in. “You’re right,” he says. “I wouldn’t.”
It’s an easy truth, surprisingly enough.
And then he’s kissing Scar, and it doesn’t matter anyway.
…
Scar does cry when the swell of Rover’s knot finally settles inside him, stray tears slipping down his flushed cheeks. And then he’s wiping his overheated face and hissing, “Not a word,” but Rover has never been that great at listening when he doesn’t want to. He knows that much, even with most of his memories missing and the weight of his choices not quite settled in yet and Scar still warm and real and perfect on his knot.
It feels worth it, is the thing. Even if he knows it should sting and he wouldn’t have if he were just that little bit wiser and, really, you you’re not supposed to chase something that could kill you even if it doesn’t seem like it particularly wants to.
Want seems important in their current context, though.
“It’s okay,” Rover says, mouth curling. “I hear most omegas get emotional during their heats when they feel safe enough with an alpha.”
“Oh,” Scar says, “shut up already.”
He does let Rover hold him until the swell of his knot goes down enough to slip free, though, and then he doesn’t protest Rover crawling between his thighs again to lick him clean, so. He can’t be altogether that mad.
Maybe he just likes Rover’s mouth on him, though.
(That’s fine. Rover does too.)
…
In the morning, Rover wakes up first.
Scar is still there, curled up in Rover’s sheets, wearing nothing but one of Rover’s shirts, marked up but mostly clean. He looks younger like this, his face soft and peaceful with sleep. Rover leans in, and presses his lips to Scar’s forehead.
It’s enough for him to start stirring awake.
He looks confused for half a second, and then his face settles into something like reluctant acceptance. “Good morning,” he says. “I suppose I owe you my thanks.”
Rover shrugs. “Wasn’t really expecting it,” he says, even as he strokes Scar’s cheek, tracing the shape of him as if to commit it to memory. It wouldn’t be so bad, honestly, if he could only remember one thing and had a choice in the matter. “How about pancakes instead?”
Scar’s nose scrunches. Rover can’t quite figure out if he’s more offended or confused. “I don’t cook,” he says haughtily. “Don’t tell me you were picturing me in an apron?”
“Mm.” Rover indulges him. “That, and not much else. Preferably a pink one.”
Scar swats at his chest. “I found you much more tolerable when you had your knot in me.”
“Same here,” Rover says. “Still wanna feed you, though. Wouldn’t be a very good alpha otherwise.”
“Oh,” says Scar, surprisingly soft.
So. Rover ends up making the pancakes, watching as Scar takes his first bite after drenching them in Objectively Too Much Syrup.
It’s not too bad. Not bad at all, really. If anything, Rover could get used to it. To Scar wearing his clothes and eating his food and glaring at him across the kitchen table.
The thought doesn’t worry him nearly as much as it should, but that’s okay too. Of course it is.