Chapter Text
Crickets buzzed, children screeched, all while his caravan’s portable fan worked overtime to combat the insufferable heat. Gregory House lay defeated, swallowed by the cacophony that surrounded his trailer. He glanced at the empty bottle of Vicodin, pondering how he’d wound up here. His mind flitted through the shattered pieces, trying to pinpoint the precise moment his chaos-ridden life led to this. He supposed it began with his cursed secondary gender.
Looking back, presenting as an omega had sown the seeds of many of House’s troubles. Being the only omega born into a distinguished English family was bound to stir trouble. Gregory House née Holmes was the third son of the prestigious Holmes lineage. His life started simply enough — silver spoon in mouth, two older brothers overshadowing him. Not that he cared, of course. Gregory much preferred solitude, slipping away from the public eye. He could ignore the latest fashion trends, social graces, and expectations. This became cemented when the family’s only daughter was born. Gregory’s quirks were brushed aside as the heir and princess soaked up the spotlight. He could be as surly and unsociable as he wished, curling up in the estate library surrounded by medical textbooks. No one batted an eye. Those blissful days shattered when, at the unforgiving age of fifteen, he presented as an omega.
The Holmes family hadn’t produced an omega in generations. Both of his elder brothers followed this tradition, and Gregory was expected to as well — until fate decided to toy with him and marked him as the exception. The first omega in a millennium. A male omega no less. Suddenly, every flaw magnified: too mean, too quiet, too glum. But his breaking point came when he was barred from becoming a doctor, pushed instead, to marry and reproduce. He flipped two middle fingers to tradition and secretly applied to Johns Hopkins University under an alias. Once accepted, he booked a flight to Maryland and never looked back.
House’s family tried to bring him back of course. Between Mycroft practically becoming the entire English government and Sherlock's deductive ability, Gregory was found within a year of med school. His entire family very demurely barged into Johns Hopkins University kicking up a storm. His parents tried to physically drag Gregory out of his dorm room. He fought back just as hard.
In the end he was given the ultimatum of returning home and marrying the nice alpha they had chosen, or face disownment. Gregory had proceeded to tear the portrait of the forty something year old alpha his parents had brought. Gregory's parents had looked at him with disdain and stated that no omega of theirs would move to the states to play make believe as a doctor. Within the month Gregory had to scramble and move to a shabby apartment and work two part time jobs while balancing the last three years of med school. He hasn't talked to any of them since that fateful day.
His secondary gender, of course, bit him in the ass again, though this time it took years before he truly realized he was screwed. When Gregory House was twenty-eight he saw him. In some random hole in the wall bar in New Orleans was James Wilson. An alpha. An alpha that smelled divine.
An alpha that Gregory had bailed out of jail for getting into a bar fight. It went downhill from there really. James attached himself to Gregory like glue. James was going through a nasty divorce and bond separation and Gregory was there to help him keep his head above water. Before he knew it Gregory was in love. Which was rather unfortunate as James immediately married and mated another omegan woman. This of course led Gregory to spiral and instead of going to therapy as many recommended, he dabbled in medical malpractice and may or may not have driven his car into his employer's house. All that to say Dr. Gregory House née Holmes went to prison at the bright young age of forty-one.
Then proceeded to break out of jail and fake his death when he learned the love of his life was dying of cancer. He may have overreacted a bit, but sue him he would spend the last few days with the only man he had ever loved. House grumbled, cradling his round abdomen. In hindsight, sleeping with Wilson after faking his death and escaping prison was a terrible plan. But he’d blame at least ninety-five percent of it on his raging hormones.
An alarm blared, dragging House from his spiraling thoughts. He checked his phone: June twenty-seventh—the last day Wilson had to live. He rubbed his belly with one hand while staring at the Vicodin with the other, then swallowed the pills in one swift motion. Sitting back, he watched the caravan’s roof, waiting for death. Then, a sudden kick jolted him; his eyes snapped open. His pup kicked him for the very first time. He scrambled to sit up, his palm resting on the spot he had felt his child kick.
Tears welled up as he felt an answering kick, whispering, “What have I done?”
Staggering to his feet, limping to the door, he frantically rubbed his belly, murmuring apologies.
“I’ll fix this. It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay, baby.” His vision blurred; nausea rose. Time was running out. In a final burst of energy, he flung open the door, screamed for help across the trailer park — the world went black before he could hear an answer.
Once darkness claimed him, his subconscious took him to the only heat he had ever welcomed. His hands fisted into silk sheets, face buried, begging,
“C’mon, please.” Shame was gone; desperation ruled as he arched his hips. A chuckle, a hand pressed his neck down, scent glands captured. House whined softly, body melting under Wilson’s touch.
“If I’d known this was all it took to get you to shut up, I’d have done it years ago,” Wilson murmured in his ear, thumb rubbing slow circles.
Wilson’s lips kissed his back; a squeeze, nails scratching along his spine. House growled, hips bucking, hungry.
“Hush, pretty one. I’ll take care of you. Just be patient, alright?” Wilson’s tone was soft but firm. House clenched the sheets, about to protest—but then Wilson’s cock nudged his entrance. House spread his legs, pressing back eagerly, welcoming the divine intrusion. A sharp sting interrupted his motions—a warning. “Don’t fucking rush me, Gregory. Try that again and I’ll spank you until you learn to listen. Understand, Omega?”
House bore back, canines bared. “You’re too slow. Hurry up and fuck me before I find an alpha who will.” Wilson’s eyes darkened, pupils slitting maroon—danger flared. House swallowed nervously, regretting the jab.
“Come on, Wilson. Don’t get your knot in a twist.” Wilson snorted, grabbed House’s waist, slammed in. House yelped, arching, grabbing silk sheets desperately.
“Mine. My Omega.” Wilson snarled.
Wilson’s pace surged, relentless, giving him no time to adjust. “Yours. Only yours. Just... slow down?” House begged, breaking. Wilson growled, teeth grazing scent glands.
“Mine to keep. Mine to breed.” At the thought, House clenched; Wilson growled approvingly. “My Omega wants my pups. You’ll be so pretty full of my seed.”
House whimpered as Wilson fist-stroked his cock, crushing his G-spot. “Come, Omega.” A scream escaped House as he spilled, eyes rolling back, teeth sinking into his scent gland. “My mate.”