Chapter Text
Omega, a denomination that nobody expected, not even Nie MingJue himself.
After all, his alpha status was not only assumed but highly coveted. It wasn’t too long ago that people were knocking on his father’s door to draft engagement for their omega offsprings; yet here he was, the impressive build and drive of the Nie clan, with a denomination that was supposed to contradict it.
“He’ll make strong children,” someone had commented witlessly. Sect Leader Nie had responded to this with a strike of his sabre, barely missing the man’s head. He was famously quoted for saying “My son is not a broodmare.”
And that was the end of that conversation. At least publically.
In private, Nie MingJue’s father told him, in that simple way he always spoke what he thought was true, “this isn’t weakness if you don’t let it be,” and clapped a hand on his shoulder with the same roughness as he always had.
When the former Sect Leader passed away, naming his omega son as his heir, that statement became the cornerstone of Nie MingJue's character.
Lan XiChen didn’t treat him any differently; for that, Nie MingJue was grateful. He hadn’t really expected him to, had quickly dismissed the nagging voice of fear, but it was still a relief to know for certain that, before his friend, Nie MingJue had nothing to prove. And his trust was repaid in kind, it didn’t take too long for Lan XiChen to offer his own quiet confession. Unlike other sects, Lans kept their secondary sex secret from the world, Nie MingJue knew this, and the silent sense of fairness, the shared vulnerability implicit in Lan XiChen’s confession of his own status as an alpha.
If it was Lan XiChen, Nie MingJue thought, looking at the smooth stone of his skin, hiding the unbiased conviction of steel, the hinted warmth of veins barely visible under it, he wouldn’t mind being marked by an alpha. However unfortunate it was that their condition as heirs to their respective clans meant they could not marry each other, when Nie MingJue's heats made themselves known, Lan XiChen helped curb the symptoms the way only an alpha could.
Meng Yao is an omega unlike any Nie MingJue has known; not that he’s too aware of how an omega is supposed to be, raised as he was. Perhaps it was due to a childhood without cultivation, at times the young man seem to carry more frailty than grace. Despite this, there’s an ascetic quality to Meng Yao. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t plead, and never seem to tire, always pushes forward with an insurmountable force. And in that, Nie MingJue sees an omega he can respect.
The problem with Meng Yao is that he doesn’t stand up for himself. He uses submission for defense, as if people’s assumptions about omegas would protect him, mask his true cunning, when the only way for a man to prove himself is to show strength.
So when he sees Meng Yao, a breathing contradiction, an ache in his chest; when he catches the faint scent of wildflowers around the camp, clinging to his clothes and his quarters, Nie MingJue thinks he understands what it’s like to be an alpha, the desire to protect, the inability to take his eyes away.
Nie MingJue was an omega. He was intimately familiar with desire, felt it burning a hole in his armor, heavy in alpha eyes. But for the first time, he understood what it meant to truly want.
Perhaps it was that unexplored impulse that made Nie MingJue fear the worst when he found Meng Yao missing from his station. Death was a constant, even outside of active combat; but here, for Meng Yao, his own brothers in arms were a danger neither of them liked to address. Their dislike for Meng Yao’s family status, his position in this war, for the denomination that made some of the men in this camp think themselves better because their cocks could swell at the base, was enough to justify Nie MingJue tearing into lodgings in the sort of single-minded rage of the battlefield.
His deputy turned out to be in their tent, had been for a while probably, huddled in a corner, flushed and barely conscious through his heat. The entire room smelled sweet, cloying, like overripe fruit.
“What happened to you?” Nie MingJue asked, couldn’t help the rise in his voice. He expected better of Meng Yao, of all people, Meng Yao should have known better.
The boy motioned to get up, but stumbled, knees buckling under the accidental stimulation of his own body shifting in the low light. He hit the ground palms outstretched, his scent rising and changing, reaching for Nie MingJue.
“I’m sorry,” Meng Yao said quietly, “this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ve already taken suppressant, but the timing’s off. It happened so suddenly.”
“When was the last time you slept?”
Nie MingJue's question didn’t mean to be unkind, he didn’t want it to be an accusation, but it was. It brought clarity to Meng Yao’s face, realization dawned, followed by shame.
“I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”
Nie MingJue should’ve known this was a possibility, stress could and did affect heat cycles, especially on those taking suppressants. And Meng Yao, so fond of clean up duty, was the most exposed to the things even Nie MingJue wasn’t entirely comfortable with. It was odd for something to happen so suddenly, must’ve taken a particular kind of cruelty, whether the act or the ruins of it to cause this strong a reaction, but if Meng Yao wasn’t ready to disclose his reason, it wasn’t his place to ask.
“Suppressants won’t work at this stage. I’ll find you an alpha,” Nie MingJue sighed, getting up.
“No!” Meng Yao grasped his sleeve with a surprising amount of force considering his weakened state. Nie MingJue stumbled, taken aback by the unmasked fear in Meng Yao's eyes.
He’d forgotten; never liked to think about the fact that Meng Yao grew up in a brothel.
“I won’t let him hurt you, or mark you,” he said gently, letting his scent envelop Meng Yao, hoping it would calm the young man.
Meng Yao took a deep breath, Nie MingJue did too, mirrored Meng Yao where he couldn’t guide him. It seemed to work, tension slacking between them.
“Sect Leader… Won’t you hold me?” it was barely louder than a whisper, Meng Yao’s steady voice contradicting the desire in his eyes.
It was something more than carnal. There was an aching there, one which Nie MingJue was painfully familiar with. The desire for more, to be more, to want more. To break out of the shell of this body that constricted him.
Nie MingJue knew that ache, felt it filtering into his bloodstream, burning in the pit of his stomach.
“I’m not an alpha,” he said.
“I don’t want an alpha, I want you,” the scent of overripe fruit only grew stronger, sweeter, ready to rot.
Perhaps it was because Nie MingJue wasn’t an alpha.
“I want you,” it was the first time Meng Yao, the omega who wanted nothing, asked him for anything.
There was a thin moment of disconcertment, silence for the split second before Nie MingJue’s arm twisted, palm up, to grip Meng Yao by the forearm. It wasn’t electric, the deep relief of Lan XiChen’s skin on his; it was simple, conscious pleasure to listen to Meng Yao’s gasp at the contact. The man laughed, the sound somewhat tinged with hysteria, a short chuckle that was more unwinding than humor and bent at the waist to lean his forehead against Nie MingJue’s chest.
It was a sort of comfort, he assumed, just to be touched. The position also gave Nie MingJue the perfect angle to brush the hair away from Meng Yao’s neck, dragging the stubborn strands caught under his collar until he could feel a shiver that his own body echoed.
“Lie down,” Nie MingJue himself was surprised at the soft intonation of his words; his fingertips dragged down from soft, yielding scalp to sharp collarbone, over clothes, “Undress.”
He counted the beats of his heart while Meng Yao left his arms and turned for the back of the tent; tried to find stability in the muted light, a hard enough task without the added distraction of stripping as efficiently as he could. He had never had an unexpected heat, but he knew well the extreme intensity of them, the tunnel vision and disregard for personal safety.
“Sect Leader?”
“Don’t...” Nie MingJue didn’t quite realize he’d closed his eyes till they shoot open at the call. Robes fell in an ungraceful pile, his feet crossed the familiar space and he didn’t know how to explain what he meant by that, except by standing there, a hair’s breadth away from Meng Yao.
“Nie MingJue” Meng Yao corrected his approach, reaching out to tap at the new expanse of visible flesh with shaking hands, “please”
Breath caught on both fronts at the way Meng Yao intertwined their fingers, pressed his feverish body against Nie MingJue, repressing the need to outright pant out his desperation.
“You’ll be missed, they’ll come looking for you and...”
“I won’t fail you here,”
Nie MingJue sighed, moved both their bodies back until they reached some semblance of being in bed. His face dipped naturally to nuzzle at Meng Yao’s throat as he allowed the man to guide their joined hands, curl them around himself for Nie MingJue to feel the slick, slippery over both their thighs by that point. There was an experimental thrust, neither could tell who started that first movement that became a steady grinding, Nie MingJue’s hand holding their erections together and his body covering Meng Yao completely as he slowly pushed a finger inside him.
It was a quiet affair, be it for the setting, the urgency or Meng Yao’s nature, even the second fingertip only brought whimpers, barely audible beyond the space where they pretty much shared their breath; by the third, they were both gasping, had found a rhythm, ruined the bedding.
“Please,” Meng Yao repeated, a whisper of consideration before he spilt over Nie MingJue’s hand and the moan he attempted to repress had his sect leader following his lead.
...
Nie MingJue’s efficiency wasn’t limited to undressing. He cleaned his skin and righted his clothes with the same ruthless practicality, spared a glance to Meng Yao’s smaller frame in what remained of his sheets.
“Take the rest of the day off, I’ll deal with whatever’s necessary.”
“Sect Leader...” Meng Yao tried, regrouped at the frown thrown his way, “Nie MingJue, for the heat, I will need... at some point...”
“Penetration, yes,” the acknowledgement was blunt and to the point but the tone was lower, almost apologetic, “I won’t be able to knot you, but we can try it, when there’s time for that.”
Nie MingJue left with nothing more than a final nod and that suggestion, hanging like a physical thing inside the tent, like a promise.