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Spoils of War

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John looked up from his journal as the sounds of the returning soldiers filled the base camp. It had been a small raid to the east this morning, and they were just making it back now as the sun sets. He stood and walked to his tent opening, hoping that there were none that he would have to see to. John may enjoy his work as a healer, but that didn't mean he ever wished ill upon his men.

Boisterous battle cries and barking dogs greeted him. Men slid from their horses and lead them off while the foot-soldiers dispersed among their brethren. John sighed heavily as a group of them, one man carrying another over his shoulder, made their way towards him. But, his gaze sharpened as they neared; the men were elbowing one another and leering, definitely not the faces of men with a fallen friend.

The largest of the soldiers flashed him a huge grin as he callously flung the body into John's tent. "Looky 'ere wha' we found ya, Doc," the others snickered, "ripe for the pickin' if ya know wha' I'm sayin'."

John glanced over into a pair of glassy, clearly concussed, eyes. The near black hair common to land was uniquely curly and unfortunately matted with dried blood. Most worrying, however, was the scent of fresh blood oozing from the man's ankle. The thing was sickeningly mangled. The men had bound his hands and feet, regardless of his obvious injuries. He must be in a great deal of pain.

John did his best to look indifferent, "Trevor, I thought your hounds weren't to go after civilians, especially children and omegas."

The man in question just shrugged, "it's no fault of my dogs ifin someone starts ta run off instead of stayin' in they's marked homes."

This was true, families where to lay some scrap of white cloth or paper over the top of doors to signal innocence. Once they left they entered the fray as any other soldier. One of the others piped up, "he's a bit strange lookin' if you ask me. Then again most of these people are, but you've been good to us Captain. We all thought you deserved some fun, eh?" They all began ribbing each other and chuckling darkly. They knew John was an alpha of course, many of them were as well. Which is why many such 'spoils of war' omegas never even made it back to camp like this.

No matter the circumstance, it was uplifting to know that his men respected him. This wasn't the first time he had been brought such a gift, but each time it happened it meant something.

John nodded his thanks and the men wandered off. He stood at his post for a few moments more, scanning the crowd for anyone in need of his help. The men could take care of their own scrapes and bruises, and thankfully that was all he could see of any injury among them. He stepped back and tied the curtains of his tent closed.


The sky had gone dusky blue already, and once the tent was sealed it was pitch black inside. He made his way quickly to light the lanterns. The flickering light danced over the omega. It appeared as though the man had passed out, but as John approached his eyes whipped open.

"Don't..." his voice was low and soft, probably damaged from yelling. John knew the omega was frightened, so he stepped back a moment to ready the pallet on the floor. He lay out extra blankets and opened his medical kit. John knew that anything he gave the omega to eat or drink was likely to be spit right back in his face, so he had to go with another option. He pulled out a mix of dried herbs and placed them in a shallow stone bowl, in his experience this was the best painkiller anyways.

All the while he could feel the eyes of the omega watching him. He set a glowing coal from the dying fire pit in the bottom of the bowl and waited for the mixture to begin producing a pungent smoke. John set it at the bedside. Everything else he might need was already prepared as he did everyday there was a raid. Pitchers of hot and cold water, cloths, wooden splints, and his reference journals all lay at hand.

John turned once more and approached the omega, "You must let me see to those injuries," he said trying to be comforting, "they pain you." The omega just sneered at him and tried his best to shift away. "I must let you do nothing," he rasped, "don't touch me."

John shrugged quite used to dealing with stubborn men, "alright then, you'll lose that foot though you know. Bone sickness will set in soon enough and the only way to save you then will be amputation. That is of course..." he pointedly meet the man's icy gaze, "your call." The man's glare narrowed and he made no motion to accept his aide.

John rolled his eyes and eased up from his crouch to move behind the man. He was quite strong despite his looks, so he easily stuck his hands beneath the omega's armpits and began to drag him to the pallet. The man immediately began to growl and squirm, he even managed to clamp his teeth down on John's forearm. John hissed but bore through it. Men delirious with fever had done near the same often enough. It was a hazard of his occupation.

Eventually, he was able to maneuver the omega onto the mat and prop him up against the blankets so that he was near sitting up. The man was still letting out a rumbling growl but had given up on the struggling, no doubt the pain of it was getting to him. John took the smoking bowl and set it in the man's lap. He gently wove his fingers into the man's hair where he was without injury and pressed him forward until he was leaning directly over the smoke, breathing it in.

"What is this?" he asked, closing his eyes as they began to water. "Medicine to ease the pain and calm the shock."

"I'm not in shock," the complaint was not as sharp as his protests had been. The smoke already working to relax him. John released his curls and damped a cloth in cool water. He shifted around to the other side which got him a weary look from the omega, but he didn't move away as John began to gently clean his face and neck of blood. As he revealed more of the perfect, pale skin it would taste a lie to say he didn't appreciate it. The omega was beautiful, having obviously lived a pampered life. He hadn't a scar or blemish to speak of. John rinsed out his hair and quietly treated the wound there with a paste. It had bleed badly but looked much worse than it was once cleaned up. After a time his arms began to tire a bit, so he sat back and took a breather.

The general stench of the camp, of blood, and of the herbal smoke concealed the better part of the omega's sent. But the smoke was beginning to dwindle by now, and there was just enough of that undertone of fresh dew and milk to make his mouth water.

The omega was clearly on the verge of a heat, 'ripe for the picking' as his soldier so delicately put it. And, his looks were already a bit ruffled from the handling of his men. The cloths he wore, traditional of the culture, was a sort of robe held closed by a colored sash about the waist. The thing was rucked open, nearly falling off one shoulder and exposing an indecent amount of skin. The loose trousers he had were his only other coverings, his ankles and feet bare but for the rope.

Back at home such blatant showing of the neck and ankles was unheard of, too provocative, taboo, though here it was common among the people. It was one of the many reasons his own country saw these foreigners as savages, but John knew that wasn't the case.

John took a breath, trying to collect himself. He removed the bowl, now just a vessel for ash, "if I untie your feet, will you kick me?"

"Yes."

John laughed, he just couldn't help it. This omega was quite different than those in his position before. The other man was giving him a confused look, as he carefully shook his head, trying to dry his hair a bit. His dark ringlets fell about his face. Those cheekbones...

John's mouth was still twitching with laughter as he forced himself to look away. "Well at least you're honest," he chuckled. John moved to his feet anyways and pulled a dagger from his holster. The omega froze. "It's alright," John promised, "I just have to see to your ankle." He waited to see if he would be given any sort of permission, but the other man's face remained unmoved.

Slowly, he set about slicing through the ropes, gently unwinding them from the bite. John shook his head as the damage became more obvious. Victor's hounds were large and vicious, the ankle had been very nearly crushed. The omega would no doubt be lame now no matter what he did. Again, he set to cleaning, surprised that he hadn't been struck as he was expecting. As he dipped the cloth in more water, he glanced up to find the man studying him.

"I didn't expect to be brought to a healer," he spoke unprovoked for the first time, "I imagined I would have been handed over to your leader."

John nodded as he continued his work, "yes, in many camps you likely would have. But our general doesn't... fraternize with your people."

"The implication here being that you do," John clenched his teeth for a moment before responding, "I've saved many of our men both on and off the battlefield. I help your people whenever I can when I'm out there. There's no reason for civilians to be caught up in this war. I only meant to find a more polite way to say my commander is racist."

His frustration at the omega helped him through the next bit which he always hated. As his fingers grasped onto the hems of the man's trousers John could see the omega begin to tremble. "No, don't..." but with his arms still immobilized the man could only turn his head away, pretending it wasn't happening as he was divested. John kept the cloth from touching the broken ankle as he removed the cloth. He wasn't doing this for any nefarious reasons, but he knew it seemed that way to the omega. He really needed the space to work in order to fix the break. The man's robe settled to cover his modesty once the pants were gone, and that seemed to calm him a bit. Though, he still made certain to press his knees tightly together.

John set the clothes aside and moved into the hardest bit. He worked as gently as possible, but as he began to set the bones the man cried out and tried to pull away. "Stop moving, you're only making it worse," John admonished. The omega shook his head violently, the herbs for pain only doing so much. "Try to take deep breaths for me, okay?" John paused for a moment while the man squeezed his eyes shut and, for once, did as he was told.

Once the ankle was as he liked it, he wrapped it in a starting layer of bandages before adding one the splints and wrapping them up as well. He then tried to elevate it, setting it propped up on his medical bag, but the man's legs would have to be parted a bit and they weren't budging. "Alright," John sighed letting it simply rest with the other. The man's breathing was labored and he had sweat beading his brow, so John got a fresh wet cloth and dabbed it at his face. He wanted to think it was all from the pain of setting the man's injury, but his nose told him otherwise.

He did his best to ignore it. Talking had always worked as a good distraction, "Why did you try to run? Where is your alpha?" The later question was niggling him the most. The man was clearly at an age where he should be mated off. Had the alpha been killed in the war? The omega had every reason to hate him if that was the case.

The man rolled his shoulders a bit, they were probably sore. "If I promise to drink some water, will you give me the use of my hands?" John wavered, it wasn't as though the man could really cause him much harm handicapped as he was, "will you answer my question?" The omega nodded, so John cut through the ropes on his wrists and fetched him a goblet of some of the cold water.

Once his hands were free, the omega set about fixing his clothes to cover himself as best he could, pulling the collar back to his throat and pulling down the bottom until it covered a bit down his upper thigh. He also retied the sash tighter about him. John wasn't sure how much that would help him keep away as the heat scent grew stronger by the minute.

The man took a few sips from the cup before speaking, "You keep saying 'your people'." His gaze fell to the floor, "I don't have a people, Captain. My father was a traveling scholar from another land, maybe even your land." He took another drink, "he didn't stick around. Once I was born, my birth father was killed by his true alpha in a fit of rage, and he was then executed as the law states."

John had heard many stories from his patients over the years, the military didn't attract the healthiest of individuals. But, this struck him harder somehow. Maybe he was just biased because this was an omega, and he felt they should be taken care of. John could see though, that this man lead a more difficult life than his demeanor let on.

"My older brother raised me as best he could. But, it was all out of obligation and it was grudging at the best of times since we were only half siblings and I the bastard." John had to restrain himself from reaching out to comfort the man. He knew it wouldn't be welcomed. "Once I was old enough I had to leave my brother's house, so I wandered the streets. The alphas from my city aren't interested in someone like me. I've never..." he sighed, "I've never even really been with an alpha before, let alone bond with one."

He finally looked up, meeting John's eyes, "I ran because I haven't a home to mark. I haven't an alpha to protect me."

It was heartbreaking. Unheard of back in his homeland, an omega on the streets. "What's your name?"

He smiled ironically, "they call me Sherlock. It's anybody's guess what either of my father's really intended to name me."

Sherlock.

Fair haired.

Practically an insult in this land, a connection to his transient father he never knew yet could never escape. A marker of his place in society, so that even though he has the same dark hair as everyone else they will never forget that he isn't one of them. "That's..." John trailed off, unsure of what could be said about such a thing.

Sherlock shrugged, "I'm used to it. I don't need your pity."

"It isn't pity," John walked over to the locked chest and pulled out a good bottle of mead. He poured himself a goblet and refilled Sherlock's own with it. He lay out a blanket beside the pallet and lay down on it, taking a drink. Sherlock looked at him, clearly confused again. "Well, my name is John Watson. It's nice to meet you." He toasted the air and took another drink. Sherlock tentatively followed his lead.

After a shared moment of silence, Sherlock turned to face him, "you surprise me, John. It's not any mystery to either or us why I was brought here." His face pinked a bit, "And yet..."

John knocked back the rest of his drink and lay back on the blanket, his hands behind his head. "Not all of us soldiers are the disreputable sort you know."

"I am getting that idea," Sherlock shifted a bit in obvious discomfort, "but this is also not the first time this has happened to you." John raised an eyebrow over at him, "oh come on, it wasn't that hard to figure out. You weren't shocked in the least when they tossed me in here."

John smiled as he closed his eyes. This omega had been concussed and half unconscious at the time, how on earth had he observed that? The man was clever, "mhmm."

"So is this... how it usually goes then?" His voice swam to him soft along with all the heady scent he put off. The darkness of his closed eyes and the alcohol helped, but John hadn't felt so tested in a long time. "No, usually they've sneaked off by now. I fall asleep you see," he said smiling, "and when I wake up they're just gone."

"Oh," Sherlock glanced at the dressings about his ankle, "but I can't get away."

The words struck a primal sort of cord in John and he had to roll over to hid his eminent erection from the omega. He wasn't an animal, honestly. And damn Sherlock anyways, for being so beautiful and unbonded and alone and virginal and wet...


Sherlock squirmed, and plucked unhappily at his clothes. He was soaking through already, ruining them. Usually by now he had slunk off to a dark alleyway or bridge somewhere he could strip and, well, deal with his heat. He couldn't seem to stop his eyes from gravitating to the alpha. He knew it was all pheromones but the soldier smelled wonderful. He knew that John was painfully aroused and his mind betrayed him with speculation about how big he might be.

Ridiculous.

He sighed and lay down on the bed, his robe clinging to him. Could he find sleep like this? Sherlock didn't often sleep on the best of night, but short of finding relief from his heat in the oblivion of dreams he had few other options. Rarely did he ever stoop to... pleasuring himself. His face heated further at the thought. Whenever he did he found that his senses failed him, pupils blown wide and unseeing, ears filled with the rush of blood. And as such, he was left completely vulnerable. He could never choose to do that next to an alpha primed to assault him.

His eyes were heavy, lazing to a half shut state as they looked over John's compact form once again. Maybe assault was a strong word. The doctor was clearly a man of honor and morals, a foreign concept in Sherlock's life experience. So he lay there awake and in agony, listening to John's breathing even out and the bustle of the camp die down until the only sound was the footsteps of the occasional night guard. Was escape even an option at this point?

Sherlock sat up a bit too quickly, his stomach cramping in rebellion. No, it was clearly far to late at this point. Even if he could manage a crawl his heat would hinder him to much and his smell was a veritable beckon. Well, if nothing else he could try to get comfortable enough to try for sleep.

Quietly as he could, slipped off his robe and sash. He didn't want to wake John, if indeed he was doing more than simply feigning sleep. He lay down again, wriggling his good ankle away from his bad to part his legs just a bit. Sherlock cursed in his mind when it only increased the smell of arousal in the air. The scent of alpha so close, nearly tangible, was something he had never had before and it was heightening his heat. His body was practically calling out to the alpha.

The aching emptiness inside him only worsened the more he resisted.

He lay there miserable for some time.

The stiff steps of the guard came by again, but this time they paused in front of the tent. Sherlock's breath seized. 'Just keep walking, nothing in here for you,' Sherlock thought desperately. It was futile, as the guard knelt down and pulled up the bottom of the tent opening just a few inches. The curtains were tied closed, but it certainly wasn't strong enough to actually keep out anyone determined to come in. He could hear the other alpha soldier sniffing the air on the other side.

In his panic Sherlock could only think of one way to protect himself. He rolled over and grabbed John's shoulder. John awoke and sat up a bit, blurry eyed and confused, so Sherlock had to practically haul the other man on top of him. The alpha cottoned on quickly, however, as the scent of the guard filtered through the tent.

John lay his weight entirely on Sherlock, pressing him down, and he released a terrible warning growl. The sound kicked Sherlock's already fluttering heartbeat into overdrive. It was darker than he had expected and reverberated powerfully through his own body. Sherlock scarcely noticed when the intruding soldier backed off from John's claim, letting the tent fall closed again. The territorial growl tapered off to a simmer as John nuzzled his way to Sherlock throat where he nipped him lightly.

Sherlock's whine at the feeling embarrassed him, but he was desperate after so many hours of his heat had gone by untended. He hadn't meant to initiate this. Hadn't he? But John, still sleep addled, began a slow grind against him and he was lost to it.

He whimpered, pulling up his uninjured leg to wrap around John's waist. He tilt his hips back just enough to feel the teasing press of John's alpha prick through the man's clothes. Goose flesh traveled over his skin at the introduction of a hot tongue laving along his neck. He writhed helplessly beneath him, "John..."

"Shh," the alpha continued to bathe Sherlock's neck, trailing up to curl his tongue behind his ear. Sherlock could feel it all the way to his core, heat coiling low in his belly. John disengaged for only the few seconds it took to pull off his tunic and toss it away. He returned to his work more aggressive than before, the natural anesthetics produced in his saliva were sinking into Sherlock's skin leaving it tingly but not totally numb. So, he could feel the gradual puncture of teeth as John sank his canines into his flesh.

Sherlock cried out, breathless, at the intrusion, a pale trial for what was to come.

Now grounded by the bite, John freed his hands to shove desperately at his trousers managing to get them down just far enough to free his cock. Sherlock gasped as he felt the burn of it against his inner thigh. John reached around the omega's lean waist to pull him up off the ground. He let his other hand pet down Sherlock's spine.

The comforting measure made Sherlock's eyes flicker open where they had closed. Fear strongly flowed through his blood, but everything John did felt exquisite. The alpha clearly knew how to take care of him.

For whatever reason, he trusted this man.

He brought his trembling hands up to thread into John's hair. That little admission of consent made John purr. The alpha drew his hand down Sherlock's svelte skin to grab a firm hold of his hip. Sherlock swallowed anxiously as John's corded muscles aligned his cock with Sherlock's entrance.

In the dying lantern light, John pressed slowly into the luxurious heat. Sherlock's nerves sparked everywhere, overwrought with pleasure and pain as he was parted open for the first time. He groaned with increasing volume until John bottomed out inside him when he cried out. Arching his neck back, the feelings rolled through him: nauseating heat, foreign invasion, fulfillment, confusion. God John was sohard inside him, so deep...

John released his clenched jaw muscles. He cleaned the small wounds to distract himself from the bone deep need to move. Even in this hazy state, he aware enough to know that Sherlock was overwhelmed and needed a moment to adjust. He nuzzled gently into Sherlock's curls, murmuring nonsense to calm him, "perfect, you're perfect."

Sherlock breaths lengthened and even out. Given the time to think, he worried about his ankle for the first time. This was no doubt going to jar it awfully. But John kept mumbling about how fantastic and brilliant he was, so he let his concerns go.

He was balanced on the edge of a knife, his building arousal pressing him to move. Sherlock shifted just so and John couldn't keep his hips from stuttering forward, striking at the sensitive parts of Sherlock's opening. The omega cried out again, and John began to rut in earnest.

The whole of their sweat slicked bodies rubbing against one another. The obscene sounds of their sex filled the tent, making it seem as though they were the only beings in existence. They moved in tandem, John's engorged prick teasing across all the pleasure points of Sherlock's inner walls.

The pace was slower than Sherlock expected. It seemed John was ever the caretaker or perhaps he was just drawing it out for his own enjoyment. Either way, Sherlock's wounds were not an issue. The decadent, steady slide of John in and out, had Sherlock panting and whimpering. He could feel clearly that this climax was going to be much unlike any he had before. The heat prepared them for a quick and rough coupling, so this gentle grind towards completion felt somehow more intimate.

Then on the next downward stroke, he felt the further aching stretch of the top of John's knot.

Oh, god.

Sherlock's toes curled, "I'm... I..." The omega's nails scraped a path of fire down John's back to his hips where they dug in and pulled him close. John's knot forced it's way inside and John collapsed on top of him as he came. John's bit down on his claiming mark once more and that shattered the last of Sherlock's reserve.

Sherlock's back bowed. His passage contracted and, fuck.

Whiteness blotted his vision, the world went quiet, his body was so alive. His clear cum made a slick mess between them.


John circled his hips, still deeply seated inside the omega. He moaned, drunk with the feeling of being milked by Sherlock's body. It was so good. His groin muscles contracted again, filling the pale beauty with another wave of his spunk.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, cleaning them of every trace of Sherlock's sweet blood. A fond grin fought it way to his face as he looked into the omega's glittering eyes. The man's face was streaked with a crimson red flush. He's look was distant, clearly riding the tides of endorphins as their breathing calmed. John preened a bit on the inside with how satisfied Sherlock was.

A part of him was apprehensive though as Sherlock remained silent.

A little while later, John's knot released them and he carefully pulled out. He worked on fastening his pants back up, having never actually divested himself of them.

John looked back up at Sherlock who then moved to prop himself up on his elbows. The alpha cleared his throat awkwardly, "well... I didn't mean for that to happen."

Sherlock smiled, turning his face to the side as if trying to hide it. "It's alright."

"Is it?" John wasn't sure. Sherlock had been kidnapped by his men; it just didn't seem right. Nonetheless, the omega in question nodded, surprising John further still by shifted over a bit and pulling up a blanket. "Come on, Doctor," his soft smile bleeding into his voice, "you can have your moral conniption in the morning. I'm exhausted."

John laughed, his shoulders sagging with relief.

He crawled back up and lay with Sherlock in a tangle of limbs. The omega tucked his head underneath John's chin and let the blanket fall over them. John kissed the curls tickling his nose. He took a deep breath, savoring their combined scents and the lingering damp smell of sex.

Yes, he would figure out where to go from here tomorrow.

For tonight, they could rest.


End