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Dressed in his perfectly tailored suit with a mask to obscure his features like all the rest, Isaac looked like just another senior at Nevermore enjoying his last gala before graduating come spring. He wants to laugh at the thought. Thirty-two years ago, he had very much been that student and looking forward to what came after graduation. He had known which college he had wanted to go; he had known what he had wanted to study. Then that night in Iago Tower happened and everything was ruined. Ruined. Years of research, of developing a way to save Francoise…gone. His hand. His life's work. His plans. Even his very life. Gone in an instant and it was all because of Morticia fucking Frump.
Morticia Frump, who came to save her damoiseau in distress. If she hadn't been there…if she hadn't come to save Gomez and subsequently sabotaged his machine…then Francoise would no longer be a hyde and Gomez would be dead — and if he hadn't, if Gomez had managed to miraculously survive, then he'd likely be severely brain damage. A vegetable. But come Morticia had and with her, the axe that took Isaac's hand. He rubbed at the wrist of his right hand, feeling where wrist ended and the sand filling his glove started, almost idly. If you want to strip a DaVinci of his power, then the removal of his dominant hand is the way to do it; of course, you'd have to be particularly spiteful, hateful even to consider such a thing and he supposes he's given Morticia plenty of reasons to hate his guts over their years at Nevermore — but then she's never really like him either, even at the start.
She was cordial, yes, but then they both were and only for Gomez's sake. The future Addams patriarch didn't want his best friend and his darling Tish fighting; when Gomez wasn't around, it was only a matter of time before Isaac and Morticia were trading barbs. He had seen her as vapid, a silly little thing desperate for the approval and acknowledgement of a mother whose heart was as dead as the corpses she worked with. A mistake and he had paid dearly for it. He won't make that mistake again because he remembers, even now, the feeling of being thrown back by the explosion, of his head cracking open as he hit the ground from on high. The cold, all-consuming darkness that had swiftly descended upon him.
He remembers even more vividly the shock of feeling the axe coming down on his wrist and severing it completely, staring at it blankly in the minutes before the white-hot bloom of pain overtook him once his brain finally started registering what had happened.
Never again. Never again.
He regrets not finishing her off at Camp Jericho, but he'd still been regenerating his brain then and driven by the instinctual need to feed — so there had been no room for finesse, for planning, to make his revenge more deliberate and fulfilling. No. It would have been messy, but then did Morticia deserve any better than what he got? No. Not at all. In fact, he might say she deserved worse — but then it didn't matter, not one bit, because darling little Wednesday had been there to stop him, pinning him to the tree with a fencing blade through his skull. And so Morticia Frump had lived another day, her brain intact.
The thought of going into the gala proper, of luring her away, and killing her was tempting. So very tempting. No. Not yet. Tempting though it was, her death wasn't what he sought, not tonight at least. No. He's after a different prize tonight.
He watches as Pugsley converses with that swarmer boy, though he can't hear a word either are saying — not from where he stands on the balcony overlooking everything — but he could hazard a guess and say it has to do with either him or the way Pugsley's family always overlooks him. His hand clenches the railing tightly, the leather of his gloves protesting against the strain. Doubtlessly, the family has forgotten about Pugsley yet again, either entranced by the fruits of Morticia’s efforts or have set their full attention on Wednesday…as per usual.
The irony isn’t lost on him either. Morticia had oft complained of her mother’s cold, ruthless nature and how horrid of a mother Hester Frump was — and yet here she is. Treating her own son like an afterthought (a common occurrence in the Addams household from what he remembers Pugsley telling him during the days when he was the brainless 'Slurp') while spending her remaining time and her energy on her budding homicidal psychopath during the moments where she wasn't pulling together a fundraising gala. How sentimental. How so very Addams. Wednesday was her daughter, yes, but if the girl wanted so badly to make her own bed, then you might as well let her lie in it too while she's at it.
(Her unraveling is her own doing so there's no point in trying to prevent the consequences of her actions).
And Pugsley is lucky if he even gets a fraction of that same level of care and attention. How many schools, Isaac wonders, did it take before his parents finally pulled the young Spark out of the public school system and try their hands at Nevermore? How many times did Pugsley get bullied and his parents did nothing? How many times did Wednesday have to intervene because nobody else would? How many times did Wednesday have to get violent on his behalf and get subsequently expelled, before Gomez and Morticia finally did something?
(He doesn't know, maybe never will. Pugsley would never tell him).
With effort, he forces himself to let go of the balcony rail. It's not his business, he tells himself. It's not his business to question or to judge how other people raise their children. He's not here to condemn Morticia for her parenting skills that are equally as horrendous as her mother's — he's here because he needs to save his sister. Nothing more, nothing less. Pugsley is the key to that. Pugsley has what he needs. His goal, his goal of freeing Francoise of her hyde, comes first; it is the most important thing to him. The thing he has dedicated his life to doing. He cannot afford to get attached or sentimental now when he's so close to finally succeeding.
To save a life you have to be willing to sacrifice another, he told himself.
But did it have to be Pugsley? his traitorous heart whispered.
Yes, he stubbornly reminded himself as he finally left the balcony. Yes. The Addams family has to pay for their sins against him and his own family, and it's only fitting that Pugsley, so like his father in many ways, was sat upon where Gomez had once (willingly, of his own volition, his mind supplied. Pugsley would never agree), and be made to pay for those sins.
He lost his life. His sister lost her future. It's only fair to take something of equal value from the Addams in turn.
But Pugsley is innocent of that, his traitorous heart insisted. Why should he pay for his parents' sins?
Pugsley, who had brought him back and took care of him, even though he couldn't possibly understand the true needs of a zombie. Pugsley, who had only ever wanted a friend. Pugsley, who had let him go when he had asked.
He gritted his teeth and, in a bid to steel his heart, reminded himself that Pugsley wasn't so sweet. He had kept him chained, had treated him like a fucking pet. Fed him from a dog bowl and everything. Utterly humiliating. When his brain pointed out, logically, that that had not, necessarily, been Pugsley's intent and how the hell was the young spark supposed to know the difference between a friend and a pet when he had never had the latter, Isaac promptly told his brain to shut the hell up.
⪻☆⪼
"Hello, old friend," Isaac said as he made his presence known to the young spark, making his way around the shrouded, lantern-holding reaper.
A part of him, and he hates it vigorously, was giddy to find Pugsley alone — just like he had known he would be. That swarmer boy certainly wouldn't have ever given chase — four-eyes has long made clear his dislike of the younger Addams so the DaVinci has no idea why Pugsley is still…clinging to hope that they could be friends — and none of the other students or falculty would either, steering clear of the spark or too preoccupied with the gala (he hopes a chandelier falls on Morticia) — all serving as yet another reminder that, in a school full of outcasts, Pugsley was utterly alone.
Which had made him desperate enough to befriend a zombie he had unintentionally brought to life.
Isaac never quite understood Pugsley's desire for friends. Aside from Gomez and Francoise, he had been damn near completely friendless and that had honestly been fine by him (although, he had more or less been stuck with Gomez; nothing he did could ever send the boy packing). While teachers praised his intellect, his peers would first express their awe over his work and then give him a wide berth afterwards. He had been unbothered by it; in fact, he had even preferred it and he would rather they just skip to that than wear his patience thin with their vapid, insipid, irritating fawning. Really, it had almost been a relief when the incident with Orloff had turned him into a social pariah. Sure, that hadn’t been his intention when he had saved the Professor nor even had saving him been the intention either (he had done it simply to see he could), but being avoided like he had the plague had been such a welcomed bonus he had wondered why he hadn’t turn Orloff into a talking head in a jar sooner.
(Of course, he did kill the elderly man for the power source some weeks ago, thirty-two years later, rendering the whole thing moot, but that was neither here nor there).
Pugsley looked at him for a moment, his brow furrowed as if confused, and then his face breaks out into a grin as his eyes lit up in recognition. Hurriedly, the young Addams gets to his feet and practically throws himself into his arms, hugging him around the waist; Isaac nearly stumbled back in surprise, not at all expecting that, but after a moment's hesitation, he returned the embrace. After another moment, debating with himself whether or not he should before deciding fuck it, he buried his face into Pugsley's neck and his resolve starts to crumble as he breathes, truly breathes, in his scent for the first time. Sweet, smokey, and everything that just screamed Pugsley. It's different now that that he has fully regained his olfactory system, Isaac realized. A different experience. Yes, he could smell Pugsley before to a degree, but it was more…muted then, buried beneath the delicious scent of life's blood; now, he can smell everything and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the groan that threatens to leave him because oh, Pugsley smells so good, so…
…so omega.
The realization has him holding Pugsley just a little bit tighter. He really is a prize, isn't he? A little prize, a little treat just for him. All for the taking. Gomez and Morticia won't notice, won't care. They've haven't yet otherwise they wouldn't have left their only omegan child run around unsupervised, with no escort or chaperone. They aren't just stupid. They're the worst kind of stupid — incompetent. He can't help the laugh that leaves his throat, though nothing about this is funny. Such a wonderful little creature the Addams family was blessed with and he's just an afterthought to them. Even knowing that Wednesday is a formiddable opponent, Isaac has to wonder what the fuck is so brilliant about her that her mere existence makes her parents forget they have two children and not one.
(If it were Wednesday, he thinks, grimly, that were the omega, he has no doubt that they'd be more concerned, more involved. More protective).
"What's so funny?" Pugsley asked, confused.
With a smirk as he pulls away just enough to look Pugsley in the eyes, Isaac replies."The fact your parents are letting you run loose instead of keeping you under lock and key. Who knows what terrifying monsters lie in the cemetery, in the dead of night eagerly waiting for a sweet little lamb like you."
Pugsley freezes at that, his eyes going wide. He swallows, his previous glee at seeing him again, his relief at seeing him unharmed, swiftly evaporates and Isaac's smirk grows. Idly, he wonders what sort of sight he makes with his features obscured by the mask and just barely illuminated by the dim light of the reaper's lantern. Enigmatic? Dangerous? Something devilish, perhaps? But then, ah, it doesn't matter, does it? Addams are attracted to danger like moths to flame. It's why Wednesday keeps pursuing serial killers, why she keeps chasing Tyler, why she always needs a mystery to solve.
Why Pugsley kept him around even when the swarmer boy was all but screaming about how dangerous keeping a zombie was.
It takes a moment, but Pugsley manages to steel his nerves, to overcome whatever fear or anxiety Isaac's words had momentarily instilled in him and he snaps, to the DaVinci's delight, "I'm not a lamb. Lambs are helpless — I'm not. I have my spark; Lambs are sweet creatures — I'm not. I've done more than my fair share of nasty pranks. Ask my sister what I did to her mask once; Lambs are simple creatures and have no idea what they want beyond that."
Isaac leaned in close, more than aware that whatever happens next will change the plan completely and irreversibly (but he would be lying if he said he hasn't been considering it since he had first seen the young spark leave the courtyard). His eyes never break contact with Pugsley's as he whispered, "And what does my little lamb want?"
Isaac watched, with hooded eyes, as Pugsley froze, that little bit of Addams spitfire he'd shown just now threatening to sputter out. Perhaps he's just talk. Perhaps he doesn't really know what he wants after all despite the implication of his words. Or perhaps Pugsley's not used to someone taking his bait or even used to someone's genuine desire. But of course he wouldn't be: Pugsley is used to hurt, to cruelty. To being unwanted. To being alone. This…is likely foreign to him, something completely new.
He won't hurt him. He wants Pugsley to feel safe with him.
He won't force him. He wants Pugsley to want him, want what he's offering, of his own volition.
If Pugsley pulls away, he won't chase him. Yes, it ruins the plan and it ruins his carefully crafted revenge, but though he tries to deny it, to ignore the annoying yet traitorous whisperings of his own heart, he doesn't truly want to hurt Pugsley. The boy's been hurt enough already. By his peers, by the people meant to protect him. Could he truly live with adding himself to that list? Could he truly live knowing he'll be spending the rest of his days listening to Pugsley's agonized screams endlessly, on repeat in the shadows of his own mind?
But could he also live knowing Pugsley would simply return to his family, unchanged? The status quo the same? Drowning in his sister's shadow, never finding room to create his own?
No. No, he couldn't…not with any of that.
(And with that acknowledgment, the admitting of his own weakness, the last of his crumbling resolve fades away).
He wants Pugsley. He wants Pugsley for himself. He wants to keep him; to bring him back and find a different spark for his plan. Francoise would sigh, chastise him for being fickle, but she'd love Pugsley. He knows she would. Tyler would get royally pissed but who cares what he thinks? Ungrateful little prick that he was.
He's drawn out of his thoughts by the feel of Pugsley's hands pulling his mask off, hears it as it drops to the ground with a soft thud. The boy swallows again. It's a quiet thing, but to his ears it sounds as loud a gunshot. He runs his hand up Pugsley's spine, slowly, gently, soothingly until he's cupping the back of his head, waiting for whatever Pugsley does next.
It feels as though the wait stretches on and on, but Isaac is unbothered. Patience is one of his better honed skills, after all. He's spent months as a child crafting his heart, spent his life creating plans and inventing to save Francoise. He can wait a little longer for Pugsley to make a decision (for the second time that night, he pointedly tells the logical part of his brain to shut up when it points out they'll notice the boy is gone eventually). No rushing. No pushing. He’ll simply let Pugsley decide at his own pace.
When Pugsley does, it’s a simple thing. No fanfare. No cannon fire. No angelic chorus. Just the boy reaching out and gently touching his cravat as he replies quietly, “And if I want you?”
“Then I’m yours for as long as you want me.”
Pugsley’s cheeks turned a beautiful shade of pink. “And if I want you f-for a long time then? L-like a really long time?" His eyes are hopeful, but cautiously so. Another remainder of a lifetime of hurt. Another remainder that Pugsley's heart is a fragile, little thing.
Isaac leaned in impossibly closer, now mere inches away from the spark's lips as his smirk shifts into something more genuine, "Then I hope you have no plans of changing your mind. Ever. You're mine now. Mine to hold. Mine to keep."
Then, before Pugsley can say anything else, Isaac closes what little distance remains between them, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. He feels Pugsley's hand tightening around the fabric of his cravat and the noise that escapes that pretty mouth is going straight to his groin. He shifts his hand to gently grip Pugsley's hair and wraps his bad arm around his waist to pull him closer.
(Fuck the plan. Fuck the plan).
He pulls away, breath puffing warm against Pugsley's lips. "Mine to hold. Mine to keep. Mine to kiss. Mine to make love to. Mine to fuck. Do you understand? Body and heart and soul. All of it is mine. From the moment I crawled out of my grave, you were mine."
He could feel Pugsley shiver at his words, but he’s not running away nor is he trying to take back his words so Isaac thinks it was a good shiver. There’s a slight tinge of arousal to the air and it makes his mouth water because it smells so sweet. Honeysuckle sweet and the urge to shove Pugsley to the ground and bury his face between those thighs just for a taste is strong, but he refrains from acting on it because he knows if he does, he won't be able to sto — which increases the risk of someone noticing the younger Addams has gone missing, which means someone will come looking which means then that—
Pugsley, using the grip he has on his cravat, tugs him back in for another kiss, silencing his thoughts and derailing his brain. Idly, Isaac wonders if his thoughts were that obvious but he doesn't get a chance to question it further because the moment he feels Pugsley gently, shyly suck on his lower lip, he damn near loses it. He surges forward, deepening the kiss in an instant. Unlike Pugsley, however, he's not shy about it at all. There's no hesitation as he slips his tongue into the other boy's mouth, tasting the omega. Sweet as if he'd just been eating candy and perhaps he was, Isaac thinks as he remembers briefly seeing what had looked to be a candy wrapper before the spark had shoved it into his pockets.
Pugsley moans into the kiss and Isaac takes the opportunity to slide his tongue in further (if one has an inhumanly long tongue, then one should take advantage of it every now and then). The way Pugsley's eyes shot open with shock at the feeling of a tongue quite literally down his throat was almost comical; if he were able to, Isaac thinks he might have laughed at the sight. Then amusement turns to surprise of his own as he feels uncertain yet bold fingers pull open the clasps of his trousers, first one and then another and before a third is undone, he pulls away, stopping his hands with whatever telekinetic power he could channel with his left, and looks at Pugsley.
"Are you sure?" he asked, gaze suddenly serious. He feels Pugsley’s fingers still at the question, sees how his cheeks go from pink and to vermillion. He isn’t opposed to it — in fact, the mere thought of claiming the omega is enough to quicken his blood, to stir his loins, to make him ache. But he has to know; he has to make sure if that is what Pugsley wants. If they aren't on the same page, if there's even a smidge of doubt, he'll stop them there and wait until Pugsley is certain. His mother hadn't been any better than his father, but the horrid woman had taught him at least one important thing: a person's body is a temple, a sanctuary, and one can neither possess it nor enter it without permission.
"Are you sure?" Isaac repeated, enunciating each word carefully, deliberately when there was no reply, untangling his hand from Pugsley's head, shifting his hand so he can rub his thumb against his jaw. "It's one thing to say that you want me, for me to say you're mine, but it's another thing entirely to act on it. So I need to know, Pugsley if this is what you actually want."
"I want this," the other boy whispers after a moment. "Please? I want this."
Isaac kissed him brief, kissed him sweet. "If at any point you want me to stop, tell me and I will."
"I will," Pugsley promised. With that, Isaac lets him resume, drawing back the weak tendrils of his ability (he needs his hand back, but he'll have time to make a proper plan for that later). As Pugsley undid the third and then the fourth, Isaac turned his attention to the spark's neck and decided it was too bare for his liking. He kissed and sucked marks into the skin. Not too hard, not too deep. He doesn't want to break skin and end up making Pugsley bleed even though, knowing the Addams as they are, Isaac suspects that he wouldn't mind much or even at all really. He minds though. If Pugsley were to ask for pain with his pleasure, that's one thing, but hurting him enough to bleed was a whole different matter and that's where Isaac drew his line.
(There's also the matter of his hunger and bloodlust and the very real fear that the sight and smell of blood might trigger it).
He shifted his head and his teeth gently grazed at the other's scent gland, causing Pugsley to let out a delicious whine that went straight to his cock. Fuck. He did it again, just for the pleasure of hearing that little sound, and wondered what other sounds would Pugsley make once he's buried himself balls deep inside the spark. His cock got harder at the thought.
When, however, Pugsley tried to muffle his noises by biting his fist, Isaac intervened and pulled it away, kissing the knuckles. "Don't you dare," he said. "I want to hear you."
"But what if somebody hears?"
Isaac raised an eyebrow. What a silly question. "At this hour, it's just us here."
Pugsley hesitated before nodding (though Isaac had a feeling Pugsley still wasn't going to be forthcoming with his sounds. That's fine. He has ways). With his free hand, he worked on pulling the fine silk shirt free while Isaac let go of his other hand to start shrugging off his jacket; Pugsley, sweet lamb that he was, paused in what he was doing to help him. The jacket, once off, was tossed as carelessly aside as the mask.
A pause as Pugsley took a fortifying breath and Isaac patiently waited to see if he would change his mind, to see if he wanted to stop, but…no. Pugsley, releasing his breath, simply moved on to undoing the cravat. As he carefully worked the knot open, he murmured, "So many damn layers. I don't think even my jester costume had this many."
Isaac couldn't resist tapping him on the nose, smirk once again back on his face. "That's the difference, my sweet little lamb, between a well-tailored three-layered suit and that adorable little jester outfit of yours."
Pugsley paused and gave him a leveled look. "You know…I could make you watch as I..helped…myself and then just leave you here with only your hand for company afterwards."
The threat had Isaac frowning. Would he actually do that? Could he actually do that? The DaVinci thought about it. He supposed Pugsley could; his electrokinesis was powerful even if the omega didn't have full mastery over it just yet and Isaac ddn't enjoy being shocked. The mere threat of getting shocked would have been enough to keep him away, forcing him to watch as those fingers parted those pretty folds, slipped inside, and—
"Don't torment me like that," he breathed even as the mental image made his cock throb. His remaining clothes were starting to feel far too restricting now and warm.
Pugsley gave him a smile, a sweet, almost angelic smile, as he finally undid the cravat and slid it away from his neck. "Like I said: lambs are sweet creatures and I am not."
"I disagree." Telekinesis with his left would never be as effortless or as strong as it was with his dominant hand, but he couldn't help smirking wider, taking delight in the act, as he managed to yank Pugsley down to the ground with mere thought alone. He knelt down between the legs of the spark's sprawled form and leaned forwards, his face mere inches from Pugsley's core. "Should I prove it to you?" he purred, his eyes glancing upwards at Pugsley's face.
The omega swallowed, eyes wide at the implication of what Isaac just said set in, lips working to form a response but no words were coming out due to his shock. Isaac chuckled as he worked on divesting Pugsley of his shorts and undergarments, and again his sweet little lamb (once he overcame his shock) helped him where he could, undoing the button and lifting his hips.
He groaned at the smell of arousal and slick that greeted his nose will force once the offending garments were out of the way. The urge to bury his face there, to drink all that Pugsley had to offer was strong and this time, he gave in with no hesitation. The first taste of slick on his tongue had him moaning, the second had his eyes rolling back into his skull, the third onwards saw him eagerly fucking Pugsley with his tongue in a bid to get more of that slick into his mouth — alternating between that and sucking on the omega's clit in a bid to get more slick.
He's only aware of the moment that he's pushed Pugsley over the edge when he feels his fingers tangle in his curls, digging into his scalp, and feels how his body shakes and convulses, and Isaac eagerly swallows the deluge of slick as it floods his mouth.
He gently pats Pugsley’s hip, a silent signal to let him go. It takes a few seconds for Pugsley to process it, mind still coming down from the highs of his orgasm (and it occurs to Isaac then that that must have been his first. The thought of being Pugsley's first everything is a stroke to his ego and fills him with a possessive delight), before he finally untangles his fingers from the DaVinci's hair. Isaac pulls away then, the taste of the omega lingering on his tongue, his mouth still wet with release. He licked his lips and wanted more. But there'll be time for that later.
He kisses Pugsley, who wrinkles his nose at the wetness of it and at the taste. Ah. That's right. While most alphas enjoy the taste of slick, some even getting practically addicted to it, most omegas don't care for it and Pugsley seems to be among that number. What an interesting combination: a typical omega (in some aspects), but an atypical Addams. And he's his. After tonight, Pugsley is his.
(They don't deserve him).
He breaks the kiss, opens his mouth to say something, but it's cut off when Pugsley flips them over. Isaac looks up at him, surprised but not minding because he enjoys the view. The flush to the spark's cheeks, the way his lips are red and kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling rapidly, his hair a little mussed from Isaac's fingers, his eyes still a little glazed from the release he had found at Isaac's mouth. He couldn't help the grin that grew on his face, finding satisfaction in his work and but still wanting more. He was determined to have Pugsley in his entirety before the night's end.
Isaac watched as Pugsley's hands undid the fifth and last clasp on his trousers before moving onto the buttons of his shirt. He licked his lips as slowly but surely Pugsley undid each one and revealed to himself the skin underneath. He places a hand back onto Pugsley's hip, a steadying presence, as the other boy pushed open the fabric, parting the two halves, and then froze.
Hesitantly, Pugsley placed a hand on his chest. Trailed his fingers around the outline of the hole where his heart sits, open for the world to see. Runs his hands down his sides, where his ribs display quite obviously. His face becames uncertain, troubled even with an undercurrent of concern. "Didn't they feed you there?" he asked, biting his lip.
"Oh, they tried," Isaac replied, amusement dancing along the edge of his voice, "but much like you and that swarmer boy, they found out it was the wrong kind the hard way."
Pugsley's face went a little green at the reminder, obviously remembering the stench of it. "That's not funny."
"You didn't see their faces." That made him greener and before Isaac could say anything else about it, Pugsley kissed him. Their tongues danced for a moment before Pugsley pulled away.
His hands touched the waist of his trousers, the fabric sitting loosely on him now even as his arousal tented it obscenely still, and Pugsley looked at him again. "Can I…is it okay if I…?"
Isaac nodded, rubbing his thumb against the other boy's hip in soothing, encouraging motions. "Yes. Of course."
With a shaky breath and rising on his knees just a little to make it easier, Pugsley pulled the red fabric down just enough to release the DaVinci's hard, leaking cock. He took hold of the shaft and Isaac couldn't help but throw his head back, a moan ripping from his throat at the contact. Fuck. Oh fuck it isn't much — just a touch — but oh it feels so good against his aching cock. His hips buck upwards, a silent encouragement and in need of more.
Pugsley pumps his cock a few times, but it's awkward and and clumsy it serves only as further proof that this is Pugsley's first time. So Isaac shows him how to grip correctly, guides his fist up and down, how to twist his wrist just right, and oh, Pugsley is a fast learner. Eager too.
And bold is his next thought when Pugsley re-positions himself so he can wrap his lips around his—
Isaac's brain damn near short circuits at the feeling of the omega's mouth on him. Feels him laving at the tip, cheeks hollowing as he tries to apply some suction. Though his inexperience is obvious, Isaac thinks he might blow his load just from him trying.
And that will never do. He doesn't want this to end too soon.
He tugs on Pugsley's hair, yanking him away, and then flips them over. He pulls off his glove with his teeth, drops it to the side, before taking hold of his cock and guiding it to Pugsley's slick folds. He teasingly slides the tip against the omega's cunt, moving it up and down, but doesn't enter until a whining series of "Pleasepleasepleaseplease!" fills his ears.
He pushes in slowly, resisting the urge to just slam himself in because holy fuck is the spark tight. For the second time that night, his eyes rolled into the back of his skull, this time because of how tight and wet and perfect and good Pugsley feels around him — but he doesn't want to hurt Pugsley (he promised himself he wouldn't) and so he slides into him inch by inch until he's fully inside.
He grips his hip, slips his bad arm beneath the other leg to draw it close, and waits. He waits for Pugsley to adjust, to let him know when he can move because fuckfuckfuck he needs to move, he wants to move, but won't until Pugsley tells him to. It's a test of his patience, a trial of resolve as he waits. Puglsey's hands are gripping the ground, fingers clenching tightly around leaves and dirt and grass, his eyes screwed tight, jaw clenched.
"Big," he hissed and the DaVinci cocked his head curiously. Was he that big? He didn't think he was — long, yes, but thick? he's not sure — but then perhaps he was misjudging his own size. It's possible. But then again, it might just be that he merely feels that way to someone who's never had a sexual encounter before (up until tonight, at least).
"Just breathe," Isaac encouraged, his voice soothing. "Breathe in and out. Relax with each breath out."
Pugsley did, following the DaVinci's instructions and slowly the tension seeped out of him. It felt like an eternity but the wait was worth it when he finally nodded and said, "You can…you can move now."
And eagerly does Isaac comply. He thrusts slowly and shallowly at first so as to not overwhelm the other boy, keeping his eyes on his face so that he knows what Pugsley is feeling — if he's uncomfortable, if he's hurting or not, if he wants him to stop but also so that he knows if Pugsley is feeling good.
The sounds leaving the spark's throat are soft little moans, tiny whines of pleasure going straight his cock and he struggles with maintaining his current pace. It gets worse when, not intentionally, he tilts his head back, neck bare and Isaac has to viciously clamp down on the urge to mark his scent gland; claim him, bond him, even if it's only a temporary one due to Pugsley not being in heat. It's tempting but no. This is definitely not the place or time for that and maybe he's old-fashioned but he'd like to give the omega proper date before seriously contemplating something like that.
(Later, later, later).
Pugsley clenches around him, tight, too tight, and Isaac's hip jerk as a moan of his own leaves his lips. He hadn't been expected that but fuck it had felt good though a touch painful and he needs more.
"Do that again," he breathed and Pugsley's eyes open to look at him curiously. "What you just did."
"T-this?" His slick walks clamp down on him tightly again and Isaac can't help but toss his own head back, moaning his pleasure.
"L-like that. Oh, Pugsley." He fucks him a little harder and faster then in response but still keeps his pace steady. He can fuck Pugsley with full abandon later. Right now, he wants to take his time, be gentle so Pugsley can remember his first time as a good time.
He uses his power to stimulate Pugsley's clit (and once again finds himself wishing he still had two hands. Fuck you, Morticia) as he steadily worked them both to release, hips never stopping once. The wave rises slowly but it rises all the same. It's a tension in his loins and an ache in his balls and he picks up his pace just a little bit more and the only sound left in the cemetery are their shared moans of pleasure.
He presses in hard and deep and his knot swells and locks them together as finally the tension breaks and he has to bite his lower lip so he doesn't scream from the bliss and the relief of it; Pugsley takes a little bit longer, but he follows behind, sobbing from the pleasure of it all.
Isaac almost, almost collapses on top of Pugsley, manages not to. His chest rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath, finds himself glad he did not give into the urge to fuck the omega like a beast because he'd doubtlessly be too exhausted and out of breath to move. As it was, the exhaustion was there but it was mild compared to the alternative. When he regains enough of his breath, he leans forward and nuzzles Pugsley's temples, murmuring, "Just so you know: I did mean it when I said you were mine to keep. Your family doesn't deserve you."
Pugsley, mind not even fully there after two orgasms in one night and barely comprehending his words, can only respond with a sleepy, slurred, "That's nice, Isaac."