Archive of Our Own

“Another drink, Captain?” a voice next to him says, and Price’s heart jumps in surprise at the notion of being caught.

Caught doing what? Well, if asked directly, he’d say nothing. He isn’t doing anything. 

However, his lies can’t eclipse the obvious nature of his actions.

“No thank you,” Price says with a wan smile, trying not to let his sour mood drip into his tone of voice. The workers at this bullshit event are just here to work – they have no part in Price’s torture at the hands of his own reservations. Price raises the glass in his hand to show the worker its content, the liquid in the glass nearly spilling over as he raises it. “Barely even touched my first.”

The attendant leaves him with a nod of understanding, and Price traces their movements for a short second before returning his gaze to his original target. 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick.

It’s impossible not to watch him. Adorned in a beautiful navy blue overcoat, with a few smaller golden decorations on his chest sparkling in the light from the chandelier, Gaz is a sight to behold.

And Price isn’t the only one who has noticed this.

He curses the stupidity of this event under his breath. He knew bringing Gaz along to this idiotic gala was a bad idea, but Ghost and Soap were out on solo missions of their own, and Laswell had insisted that Price attend this event. “It’s good publicity to show your face every once and a while, John,” she had told him over the phone when she dropped the news of his requested attendance. “Makes you seem like less of an untouchable monster.”

“I’d rather these assholes see me as a monster, Kate,” he mumbled, and Kate had surely rolled her eyes on the other side of the phone.

“Just go, John. Have a drink to loosen up. Bring Kyle with you, if that helps.”

Price had scoffed at that proposition at first, but before he could counter with another sarcastic remark, Kate had disconnected the call, leaving Price alone in the confines of his office. He sighed. There was no way in hell he was going to attend some gala where the only purpose was to suck the British army’s dick. He’d seen far too much to hold any sort of allegiance to the crown – he was only loyal to himself and his boys, whom he knew could get work done unlike the rest of these useless fucks showing off their military garb. 

But his mind drifted to how Kyle would look in his formal army dress. The fresh, navy blue blazer jacket combined with the beautiful slacks of the same color, complete with the regular formal army cap. As is customary, Kyle would remove the cap after entering the indoor venue, but he would look just as striking with it off than on. He’d look absolutely stunning – the way his brown eyes would sparkle in the limelight, combined with the deep, cool blue of his dress – he could kill with a simple stare.  

Okay, maybe bringing Kyle could act as an incentive. 

That’s how he found himself standing in the grand ballroom of a nearby venue, presenting in his best dress. Their designation as SAS soldiers meant they didn’t have a particular uniform or dress code, but Price figured it would be polite to dress in traditional British army clothing, simply to blend in and pay homage to the event they were invited to. It felt strange and superficial to be dressed with such elegance, but he sucked it up, dressing himself in similar clothing to Gaz – the standard white dress jacket with blue slacks. Gaz’s jacket was a gorgeous, deep, blue versus Price’s clean white, designating his role as a Sergeant versus Price’s as a captain. From what Price could see from his vantage point, there are a few colors of his particular dress jacket floating around the gala – reds of the lieutenants, the sleek black of the colonels, even a few regimental soldiers in their basic combat uniforms. Of course, there are those who aren’t part of the army who scored themselves invites too, and those folks are dressed in regular black-tie, cocktail dinner attire.

With everyone looking their best, Price felt sorely out of place.

Not only that, but the scent of expectedness floated through the air, intertwining with the regular scent of overwhelming perfume and cologne.

The gala provided more than just an opportunity for the British army to give itself one big pat on the back, and Price knew it. It also provided an opportunity to network – both professionally, socially, as well as ah, sexually. 

No one would ever admit that the galas served that purpose, but it was plainly obvious by the way that the alphas rolled up their sleeves to reveal their wrists, allowing them to pump out the maximum amount of pheromones possible, and the way omegas dressed to reveal the unmated glands on their neck. Price too had his omega mark on his neck revealed with his dress, but he didn’t care whether it was hidden or not. He never had been mated nor planned on mating, and he figured that he was too old to even try. His body had been more than sold to the service of his country, and he intended on it staying that way.

But that didn't mean that other omegas weren’t looking for the exact opposite of what Price was. Mating wasn’t a necessity or requirement while in the army – in fact, the army required all military personnel to take scent blockers when they were on-duty. Ever since he had joined the army at eighteen, he’d taken his prescribed scent blockers, and he knew that each of his boys did as well.

The purpose was to make sure that no military personnel was distracted by the potential of mating, especially while on the field. The last thing any leader wanted was an incapacitated omega due to the ferocity of a heat, or a feral alpha needing to be tranquilized due to the aggressive nature of a rut. Suppressants made life easier for all of those involved. It’s also the main reason why an individual’s secondary sex characteristics was not required information for any applications or personnel files – an individual’s designation shouldn’t be important if the temptation of scent is taken out of the picture.

However, this isn’t the case when it comes to social events such as regular life on base or extravagant galas. Here, some attendees choose to forgo their suppressants for just a night, seeing if they can attract a mate or have a fun night after the event. Of course, that kind of stuff isn’t forbidden normally, simply ‘strongly advised against’. The focus should be on training and missions, not on who could make the quickest or best fuck. 

But that didn’t stop a lot of personnel. The military life was a stressful one, and sex, whether casual, intimate, or medically ordered, was a helpful outlet. Price never subscribed to that idea, but if the men below him did, then he wouldn’t prevent them from their vices.

Out of sight, out of mind.

It never bothered him. 

It shouldn’t bother him. 

And it hasn't, until now. The harsh lights and beautifully laid out carpet did little to conceal the pheromones floating through the air, and many questions, littered with assumption, still weighed on the atmosphere.

Price fucking hates it, but he can’t put his finger on why.

He also can’t figure out why he can’t take his gaze off of Gaz, like an owner letting his puppy go free without a leash for the first time and fearing it would take off into oncoming traffic. Gaz is clearly in his element – surrounded by people, greeting fellow sergeants and higher ups alike with a smile and a firm handshake. He’s charming and polite – well, Price wouldn’t know that because he’s too far away to hear, but he can tell by the way that his conversation partners focus their eyes on him that he has their full, undivided attention. 

Price can feel his mood sour even more. His sergeant’s charming demeanor is pissing him off. He thinks it's something like a possession thing – he hates the idea of Gaz conversing with anyone outside of the 141, lest they try to steal him away for themselves.

But that’s exactly what has happened, and now that Price reflects on it more, that’s likely why he’s in such a bitter mood.

He tries not to scowl as he thinks back to their first few interactions at the gala.

Price and Gaz stand outside the reception hall side by side, both of them slightly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people gathered outside of the doors to the venue. Gaz looks like he’s keeping an eye on the crowd, calculating a path through towards the inside, but Price has to admit that he’s partially distracted by Gaz’s cologne. He wonders if it would be unbecoming of him to just take a little sniff, to lean over ever so slightly to get a full whiff of what the cologne has to offer. Admittedly, Price is more focused on Gaz so he doesn’t have to focus on the dreaded upcoming social interactions However, the sheer scent of Gaz’s cologne combined with the free, earthy, alpha scent isn’t helping his focus either.

Almost immediately, they’re approached by a man in a suit similar to Price’s – that signature white jacket with navy slacks, signaling his captain ranking. “Captain Price!” he greets warmly, extending a hand. “Pleased to see you here. You’re surely a sight for sore eyes.”

“Captain Willsborough,” Price replied, giving him a light smile and completing the handshake with his own hand. “It has been a while.” This sort of interaction isn’t out of the realm of possibility of what Price expects – seeing loads of old colleagues that he had long lost contact with. It isn’t unpleasant, but Price still doesn’t see the appeal of casually chatting over coffee or tea with old colleagues when there are more important talks to be had.

“Didn’t think I’d see you at such an event,” Willsborough says lightheartedly. From what Price remembers from his minimal captain training with the other man, Willsborough is a pleasant man a few inches shorter than him, with cropped blonde hair and light brown eyes. He remembers thinking the other man was far too soft, especially for an alpha. Not only were the features of his face soft, such as the curvature of his nose or the roundness of his chin, but so too were his words and his orders. No self-serving alpha would ever follow another alpha of such softness – that indicates lack of confidence and preparedness for what one might encounter in the field.

If Price’s say were final, Willsborough would have remained a lieutenant, but perhaps he’s too scrutinizing of the regular army’s promotion material.

The SAS and the regular army have different standards. Price would always hold his pride over members of the regular British army. Dressed in their fancy uniforms and holding their empty bayonets, those fucks are clearly for show, whereas Price is all about results. They didn’t have to show the same brutality that Price has to on a daily basis, allowing for much softer men like Willsborough to climb the ranks for his skill in showmanship. Willsborough is easy to present to the public, whereas someone as coarse as Price is not. 

As much as Price wants to let that pride boil over into his conversations, he has to stay polite. He isn’t here to receive an award or an accolade, he’s here as a guest to witness ‘the greatness of the British army’. 

Right.

“Ah, well, you know how the army is,” Price says with a shrug. “Always keeping me busy one way or another.”

Willsborough chuckles, shaking his head. “I am well aware.” He shifts his attention to the man next to Price, and his face breaks into a large smile. “And you must be Sergeant Garrick,” he beams, gleefully extending his arm to offer another handshake to Gaz. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

Gaz’s smile is blinding as he accepts the handshake. He had removed his cap at the beginning of the conversation with Captain Willsborough, deciding to respectfully hold it over the center of his chest. Such was customary when addressing an officer of a higher ranking, but seeing Gaz giving his respect to anyone besides him made him bite his lip to prevent making a face. “Quite the honor, sir,” Gaz says in response, and Price feels a chill run through his body, an indescribable feeling bubbling in his chest.

He does not like that at all. 

“No need for formalities, buddy,” Willsborough says, his grin still plastered on his face. “Just call me by my last name, and for the Queen’s sake, put your hat back on! No need for titles or anything like that.”

Price shifts on his feet, suddenly feeling hot under the collar. Oh, he really didn’t like that. Someone else trying to get close to his Sergeant? Hell no. Kyle is on his task force, and it will stay that way for as long as he has control over the 141.

Gaz laughs besides him, and that melodious sound brings him back to the conversation between the two of them and Willsborough. “Of course, of course,” Kyle smiles. He bows slightly, as if giving thanks to Willsborough. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Willsborough, sir.”

Price can’t help but notice that even though Willsborough allows Gaz to stand down from the formalities, he continues to keep his hat over his chest.

Even that makes Price feel angry, and his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the sight of Gaz’s hat reverently placed over his heart. It’s customary when speaking to an officer of a higher rank for the lower ranking officer to respectfully remove his hat for the duration of the conversation, but something about that feels wrong when it’s Gaz being considered the lower rank. Suddenly, Price’s hat feels too tight on his head, cutting off the circulation of blood flow to his brain.

He nearly opens his mouth to nudge Gaz towards putting his hat back on like Willsborough requested, but he thinks better of it. Although it angers Price to no end, it’s still “customary”. Fucking bullshit. Gaz has seen more action in his years in the army than Willsborough ever has. Gaz has had to be brutal and ruthless in his line of work, and he’s made more of a change than Willsborough’s useless ass could even fathom.

For Kyle to give Willsborough his respect as a ‘superior’... it bothers Price immensely.

Willsborough laughs at Gaz’s continued use of honorifics, shaking his head amusedly. “Taught him well, aye, Price?” he asks joviantly, and Price nods slowly, although he finds himself hesitant to agree that he taught Gaz any sense of respect towards authority. He grunts an affirmation, patting Kyle on the shoulder and giving him the biggest smile he could manage. He tries not to think that maybe placing a hand on Kyle will cement who he really belongs to, but he can’t find any other reason why he’d touch him so openly. “Kyle is one of my best,” he comments, and Willsborough nods thoughtfully.

“I’m surely aware of that,” Willsborough notes, and he strokes the beard on his chin. “If I remember correctly, you were the only member of your class to successfully evade capture in your resistance to interrogation training during your SAS application, correct?” Kyle’s smile increases tenfold in intensity, and he nods quickly. “That’s correct, sir.”

Price bites his lip. He’s known that since he first looked at Kyle “Gaz” Garrick’s file for the first time, but for another person to finally acknowledge Gaz’s accomplishments and skillsets… he doesn’t know if he should be pissed or proud.

Willsborough claps his hands together, pleased. “That’s very impressive, especially for someone as young as you.” He tilts his head to the side, studying Kyle more closely. “You could teach my boys a thing or two about the service. Perhaps you’d like to visit the regiment sometime in the future?”

It’s formatted as a question, but Price hears a demand. Considering the request is coming from a superior officer, Kyle has little room to refuse.

As if acting on its own accord, Price’s left hand clenches as it hangs at his side.

It doesn’t look like Kyle is even thinking of refusing. “It would be my pleasure,” he says pleasantly. “Although, you’d have to go through my captain first. He controls my social calendar,” he adds with a cheeky smile.

Willsborough wheezes, bending over at the knee as he laughs at Kyle’s words. “Experienced AND clever,” he says, wiping a small tear from his eye when he recovers from his laughter. “You’re a marvel, Sergeant Garrick. It’ll be an honor to have you to talk to my men.”

Price opens his mouth to interject, but another man is approaching their congregation, clapping Willsborough on the arm and giving him a loud and enthusiastic greeting. Willsborough immediately reciprocates, shifting his focus to the other man. “Cheers for the chat,” he says to Gaz and Price, giving them both a nod of appreciation. “Garrick, I hope I’ll be seeing you later. Hope you two enjoy the gala!”

They say their goodbyes in return, but the pleasantries fall on deaf ears as Willsborough is whisked off into the crowd by his comrade, once again leaving Price and Gaz alone at the entrance to the venue.

Price already feels exhausted. He seriously isn’t cut out for small talk and chit-chat. At least Kyle seems to be enjoying himself already, although it unfortunately happens to be at Price’s expense.

“I control your social calendar?” Price echoes Gaz’s previous statement to Willsborough, faux offense dripping in his tone.

Kyle tilts his head towards him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “The title of captain has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t think I’m aware of any dinner parties in your future,” Price comments, and Kyle laughs loudly at the retort. Price smiles smugly at the sound, feeling oddly proud of himself that he can still make Kyle laugh with his dry sense of humor.

He tries to shove down the dark vestiges of his soul telling him that he should be the only one making Kyle laugh.

When Kyle catches his breath, he places his cap back on his head, returning to surveying the crowd for the easiest pathway through. “Didn’t think anyone here would know me,” he says absentmindedly, and Price scoffs at his cluelessness.

“You’re infamous, Kyle,” he says quietly. “Chances are, loads of folks know you here.”

Kyle gives him an odd look. “Jealous I’m getting all of the attention?”

Price sputters at the accusation. “The last thing I want is attention from useless old men who think they know war because they wear bullshit medals and fancy suits.”

Kyle clicks his teeth together, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know, Cap,” he teases. “Sounds defensive to me. You sure you don’t want just a teeny bit of attention?”

Sometimes, Price wishes that Kyle’s intuition is less sharp, even if he is just teasing. The fact of the matter is that Price couldn’t tell if he’s jealous of Kyle receiving the attention, or if he’s jealous of the man showering Kyle in such attention.

Perhaps he’d shove that aside for now.

“Trust me, Kyle. You lose your luster to the army after the age of 35,” Price grumbles. “After that, you’re as good as dead.” He decides he's done with this particular conversation, stalking forward into the crowd. It’s about time they actually entered the venue.

Kyle raises his eyebrow. “Haven’t lost your luster to me, Cap.”

It’s uttered so quietly, Price thinks he hears the statement incorrectly over the bustle of the crowd.

He hopes he didn’t.

There’s no time to unpack the interaction. They’re swept into the crowd of people, forced to go with the movement of traffic. Luckily, they aren’t bombarded with any more overenthusiastic captains on their way into the venue. Two stalwart guards stand in front of the large double doors, staring straight forward until Price and Gaz approach. They’re dressed in royal guard attire, their backs perfectly straight as they guard the doors. Price can’t help but think they look ridiculous with their feather hats, but they’re required of the esteemed royal guard.

The doors open, and Price and Gaz walk forward into the main room of the gala. 

The ballroom is massive, as expected of any self-respecting gala. Circular tables outline the sides of the rooms, decorated with fresh flowers and clean, white tablecloths. The walls of the room are a scarlet red, with a golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling, brightly illuminating the room. Directly in the center of the room is a massive dance floor, although Price expects that there won’t be much dancing happening on this particular day. Against the back wall is an elevated portion that would likely serve as a podium, but Price expects the speaker to step down into the center of the supposed dance floor to demand the attention of the room.

The first order of business is to find their table, so they spend a minute or two wandering the room, eventually finding their table closer to the center. They remove their hats, as is customary now that they’ve stepped inside the main area, and lay them down in front of their respective name tags so they can find them later. The last thing they want is to make a fool of themselves by dropping their hats on the ground and desecrating their uniforms – someone here with a stick up their ass and far too much allegiance to the crown would surely take offense to it.

There’s already a large crowd congregating in the center of the room, decorated ladies and gentlemen of the service gathered in conversational circles. Event workers dressed in neat tuxedos to distinguish them from the guests roam the hall, some with trays of little appetizers and others with trays of drinks. A worker makes their way towards Gaz and Price, offering a tray of drinks towards the pair to which both of them gratefully accept a glass. Price sniffs the contents of the instrument in his hand, and he wrinkles his nose. “Alcohol,” he reports. “Champagne.” Give him a whiskey or a bourbon over cheap champagne any day.

Gaz hums next to him, and Price notes that he too chooses not to partake in his glass. Good. Although Price wouldn’t try to convince him one way or another, remaining sober would allow them to have good, quality conversations without the possibility of making fools of themselves. Besides, the pheromones hung thick in the air already, the scent already making a home in Price’s nostrils. It isn’t quite enough to elicit a reaction, but Price didn’t need his omega instincts to accidentally kick in due to him being under the influence.

His heat suppressants should hopefully be enough to keep him in check.

…did he even take those this morning?

He must have. He always did. Today would have been no different, despite the stress of the gala hanging over his head. 

So why did his head feel so spacey and his body feel so charged…?

His train of thought is cut off by a loud invitation from an old colleague that clearly already had too much to drink. Price and Gaz find themselves thrust into back to back conversations, never getting a break in between interactions. The combination of the alcohol as well as the imbued scent of pheromones creates an amazing social lubricator, and it’s clear many attendees found their social engines sufficiently greased. 

Kyle is the star of the night – at least that’s how Price would put it. Whilst nearly every person they talked to recognized Price from one place or another, a few recognized Gaz, but many found themselves pulled in by the allure of his charm. Price couldn’t blame them – Gaz is polite, charismatic, and witty, especially in conversation.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it did that Gaz was getting all of the attention.

This is clearly what Kyle wants. He’s in his element, presenting with all smiles and the keen ability to keep a conversation going. Price bites his tongue, standing silent and seething as Kyle receives praise from many of his superiors, most of them on the level of Price’s caliber if not higher, and awe from the few subordinates attending the gala. Price knows he should be proud of his soldier – he molded Gaz with his own two hands, turning him into the force of nature he was today.

But he can’t help but feel a stab of jealousy when another person’s eyes linger on Gaz for even a second too long.

It gets to the point that Price can feel himself grinding his teeth. His palms are sweaty from being clenched into fists for an extended period of time, and his lower back is humming with a dull ache from all the standing.

He isn’t young anymore. He isn’t presentable or comical – not like Gaz is. Far too many hours on the field had dulled him beyond salvation, pressing him into some sort of antisocial pancake.

It’s part of why Price makes such an unsavory omega – not that he cared about that kind of shit. He isn’t one to care about having a mate. The idea of being tied down to another is unappetizing to him, despite what is customary for omegas. Besides, that kind of independence has shaped him into who he is today – the esteemed Captain John Price that commands respect every time he walks into a room. He’s strong, efficient, and deadly – he doesn’t need to fit the bill of a stereotypical omega because he offers so much more than just his body. He doesn’t have to be submissive and small like the usual omega, and that’s just the way he likes it.

But there’s a small and, quite frankly, obnoxious part of him that worries about compatibility, that his character traits combined with his secondary sex characteristic would result in his loneliness forever.

Normally he doesn’t care. But as he watches Gaz get all of the attention from all of the alphas and omegas in attendance, his mind starts to wonder about what kind of omega Gaz would enjoy.

Would they be small, small enough for their waist to fit in his hands? Would they have spirit to fight back with playfulness, or would they bend to his every command? Would they take him perfectly, mewling his name in that perfect, desperate tone that accompanies such an act of possession? Would they be muscular and bulky, or petite and slim? Would they be loud, feeding into Kyle’s every movement, or quiet, overwhelmed by the pleasure he so easily gave? 

Would they even be a man?

Price wouldn’t change for anyone, even Gaz, and that’s where the disconnect is.

He’s too obstinate to ever have Gaz to himself. Gaz is fluid like water, and Price is solid like rock – a juxtaposition of torturous implication.

And maybe, just maybe he realizes. Maybe he realizes that, standing next to Gaz as he breathes the same oxygen as him, that ultimately, it didn’t matter what kind of omega Gaz would prefer. 

It matters that Gaz would never want an omega like him.

And maybe that’s the breaking point. 

He stops Gaz’s conversation with a tap on the shoulder, grabbing his attention. “Carry on your conversation, but I’m stepping away for a moment,” he lies. He has no intention of returning to the pile of bodies. He’ll stick to the outskirts for the time being, enjoying the freedom of solitude, rather than like his breath was being stolen with every second of watching his sergeant bask in the glow of someone else’s attention.

Kyle narrows his eyes at him suspiciously, leaning down to speak softly in his ear. “You broken, John?”

Price’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. The subtle change in proximity increases the intensity of Gaz’s scent in Price’s nostrils, and his head spins. 

“I’m fine, Sergeant,” he growls.

Kyle doesn’t question, but his eyes are heavy with concern.

Price can’t bear to look at him. He’s too fucking gorgeous for his own good. Hell, he’s too gorgeous for Price’s good.

Before he can say something he regrets, Captain John Price leaves the dance floor and doesn’t look back.

Which brings him back to the present – brooding like a wallflower in the corner of the room, decidedly not stalking his sergeant as he continues conversing with his starstruck fans.

The drink in his hand is tempting, but he knows he needs to stay comprehensible to maintain appearances. Furthermore, he doesn’t have a good enough excuse to be drinking himself into a stupor. His sergeant is off prancing with the elite members of the army? Why did he care?

He shouldn’t.

He doesn’t.

He’s lying and he knows it.

But that’s what John Price does. He ignores it, shoves the emotional turbulence down to the deepest cavities of his chest, until it’s pertinent and it stabs him in the back.

He knows he’s angry that Kyle is getting attention from other people. He knows that he wants to be the only one who gives Kyle praise. He knows that all he wants is for Kyle to look at him with the same adoration and awe that he gives the other captains.

The dirty truth is that Price wants Kyle all to himself.

But there’s no conceivable way that’s possible. There’s too much red tape that separates the two of them – they couldn’t risk becoming compromised in any capacity. And even if they did pursue something romantic, the repercussions could be massive. Kyle would be forced to move squads completely, or worse, given a dishonorable discharge for daring to cross the line. His career, for which he’s sacrificed so much, could all go down the drain in mere seconds. 

And it would all be Price’s fault – Price’s fault for getting too close, for daring to draw the line where he wanted it instead of where he needed it. 

So all Price can do is sit and watch. Watch his sergeant dance into the night, just barely out of reach, like how a planet orbits the sun – only able to enjoy the warmth of the rays from afar, never able to touch.

To see Kyle so easily melt into the crowd, as if they all made way for him out of reverie and respect – it made it all too obvious that while Price desperately needed Gaz, Gaz would be just fine without Price. 

It makes him want to grind his teeth. It’s like watching maggots crawl over a delectable piece of fruit, each taking their own bite and savoring it deeply. Fuck, Price wants to scream. He wants to punch something. He wants to march over there and wrap an arm around Kyle’s shoulder, staking his claim over the sergeant and making it known to everyone in this damn room that Kyle is his. Kyle is on his taskforce, Kyle is on his team.

He’s sure he looks like a madman, staring at Kyle from across the room with a clenched jaw, but he refuses to let his sergeant out of his sight. 

For good reason, too. His eyes go wide when he notices the situation at hand.

The captains, dressed in their pearly white, had moved on from their conversation with Kyle. They had made their way across the room like a gaggle of geese, but the space around Kyle had immediately been filled by a sea of green and blue – fellow sergeants and other privates who were in attendance. They flocked to Kyle like moths to a flame, their eyes sparkling in adoration and appreciation. 

Price became all too aware of the omega marks on one of the private’s neck.

He growls instinctively at the sight, the emergence of a competitor putting him on edge. His eyes narrow and his teeth clench, and he feels like his sensations have been heightened. He’s a predator that’s on the hunt – he can smell every single molecule of the air, overloading his senses. The individual notes of Kyle’s cologne, as if trapped in his nostrils, mix together with the overbearing scent of pheromones that had previously faded into the background.

His chest heaves as his lungs inflate and deflate rapidly as he watches the scene unfold in front of him.

He watches as one of the privates – a bright eyed, bushy tailed greenie, tilting his head to the side to reveal the unmated omega gland on the side of his neck – slides up next to Kyle. Price can’t hear the words he’s saying due to the blood roaring in his ears, and frankly, he’s grateful he can’t. He watches, his vision slowly turning red, as the private’s fingers trail up, up, up Kyle’s arm, tracing the fabric of Kyle’s navy blue jacket and landing on his shoulder. He watches as those dainty omega fingers squeeze Kyle’s upper arm softly, and the private’s smile shifts from friendly to mischievous as Kyle turns his undivided attention towards him.

He can’t control himself. He’s starting to shake, thoughts racing through all of the possibilities. What sweet, poisoned words would this vixen omega dare utter to Kyle? What preposterous propositions would be laid on a silver platter in front of the sergeant? Would he accept? Decline? Would Price watch them walk out of the gala together, stumbling over each other as their attraction culminates into a physical reaction? Would their spirits intertwine as their bodies combine? Would the private gasp and beg for it, experiencing the divinity of Kyle’s body?

His vision swims, tinted with the red hue of anger. His hand is clenched around the glass in his hand to the point of his knuckles turning white. His breaths are coming out in rasps, growls emanating from deep in his chest. No one can hear his heavy breathing here on the outskirts. No one can feel his anger. No one will notice Captain John Price slowly losing his cool, his usual stoic composure melting off the surface.

He can’t bear to watch much more.

So he doesn’t.

The ballroom of the gala had more to offer than just its large gathering space. Scattered around the outskirts are a few exits that lead to balconies, overlooking the lush shrubbery that adorned the scenery surrounding the venue. Price knew he couldn’t disappear for long. Eventually, the gathering would be called to order, and the ceremony would start.

He just needs a distraction, a breath of fresh air. He just needs a way to rid himself of this burning anger in his chest, a way to destroy the unbridled rage created as a byproduct of jealousy.

As if on autopilot, Captain John Price walks to his table, snatches his hat, and exits the venue to one of the balconies.

No one notices his departure.

Their attention is all on Kyle anyways.

His fingernails dig into his hands as he clenches his fists at his sides.

The memory of the private’s fingers trailing up Kyle’s arm burns in his eyes.

Part of him wants to kill him, tear the private to shreds for daring to touch what is Price’s. Omegas are naturally territorial creatures – touch their bonded alpha and suffer the consequences – and the private is encroaching on Price’s precious territory.

But Gaz isn’t Price’s alpha, and Price isn’t Gaz’s omega. No matter how badly Price wants Gaz’s sharp, dangerous canines digging into the skin of the mating gland on his neck, no matter how much his skin yearns for Gaz’s touch, they aren’t bonded. Getting territorial over an alpha that isn’t his, that bore no claims from any omega… he would look crazy. Obsessed. Insane. Delusional. Perhaps he is those things, but he couldn’t betray his level headedness in front of his colleagues and superiors.

The balcony provides some much needed solace and isolation for Price. The sun had just set below the horizon, broadcasting yellows and pinks against the painted sky. It was a quaint scene, with gentle breezes blessing the atmosphere. Price takes in a gulp of oxygen, cutting off the aggressive, unconscious growls that rumbled from deep within his chest. The clean air, free of pheromones and temptation, feels heavenly to his lungs. It clears the fog in his head ever so slightly, and he walks to the edge of the balcony.

And yet, even though the tranquil atmosphere of the outside brings him some serenity, the slight buzzing from the gala makes him feel so removed and isolated. He isn’t cut out for this, he doesn’t even know why he tries.

His trembling hands grab the railing, his nails digging into the concrete bars instead of his calloused palms. What is wrong with him? 

Who is he kidding? He knows his affliction, and the cure is far out of reach.

He would never admit it. Not to himself, nor anyone else.

Price shakes his head. He almost wishes it were later in the night so he could leave.

At least if the stars were out, he’d have something to wish upon to make his desires a reality.

»»————-　★　————-««

Price’s quick disappearance from public eye has him on high alert. 

Kyle thought their evening was going fine – they’d made it into the gala with relative ease, and the other attendees seemed pleased with their presence.

But Price had been on edge ever since their first conversation with Willsborough, and Kyle silently curses Price and his inability to speak his mind. Price never spoke about his state of being, and it left Kyle in a position where he had to piece Price’s nonverbals together just to decipher his true feelings.

If his tense shoulders and clenched fists are any indication, Price is not having a good time. 

And yet, he continues to insist that he’s fine, that nothing is going on behind those stormy, clouded blue eyes. 

He tracks Price as he leave the group, and the hole in Kyle’s chest grows larger.

He wants to follow Price away from the group. He wants to run after him like a lover in those cheap, dirty romantic comedies and beg him to talk to him, but his feet feel rooted to the spot. He takes one more second, allowing himself to take in the stalwart sight of Price’s figure before turning his attention back to the captains gathered around him, giving them a polite smile in apology. As much as he worries for his own captain, he wants to make sure he isn’t slighting the other captains in any way by removing his attention.

The conversation resumes with some chatter that fades into the background of Kyle’s mind. It feels like he’s there in the moment, but his mind drifts to more important things. Namely, how fucking good Price looks in his clean white overcoat, and how the red sash along his torso hugs his hips just right, giving him that figure that would fit so perfectly into Kyle’s hands. The collar of the white overcoat just barely doesn’t cover Price’s unblemished mating gland, and Kyle finds it irresistible to look away from. He wonders what it would be like to sink his teeth into that vulnerable flesh, the tip of his tongue savoring the taste of the sweat on Price’s skin. As much as he wants to stare and fantasize, they have guests to entertain, so Kyle tries his best to prevent himself from thinking about Price for too long. Even beyond that, keeping Price out of that vision made Kyle fantasize less about what lay underneath the wonderfully tailored suit clinging to Price’s body.

Fucking hell. How inappropriate for Kyle to think of his captain in such a manner. Sure, he and Price toed the line when it came to friendly banter and proximity – there have been many times where Kyle had fallen asleep in a transport vehicle only to awake with his head on Price’s shoulder – but to imagine his captain in a sexual setting…? 

Even though he and Price had rewritten the lines of warfare, they had never dared to rewrite the lines of their relationship.

Maybe the pheromones in the air from the other omegas in attendance are getting to him. 

Kyle was never an aggressive alpha. Perhaps he got a tad aggressive during his ruts, but he never let his beastly instincts take over, always opting to take medically induced ruts. Only during the beginning of his career in the army did he ever indulge in the amenities that came with his secondary sex, taking an omega for the night and using them to his content. It was only to satisfy the beast inside of him, and he never considered taking something more long-term. He always made sure his omega partners got something out of it too – what was the point of him being the only one to get satisfaction out of their union?

But as he grew older and became more experienced within the army (and coincidentally, after he met Price that fateful day at Piccadilly Circus), medically induced ruts alongside pheromone suppressants became his norm. To his understanding, his suppressants didn’t make it so that he was unable to trigger a rut – rather it made it so that he couldn’t smell any pheromones that may in turn trigger a rut. It isn’t like an omega’s suppressants that inhibit the release of any omega pheromones. It prevents him from smelling them, period. Alphas already released less pheromones than omegas anyway, so suppressing their own creation of pheromones was negligible. Regardless, Kyle’s suppressants were very effective in preventing an untimely rut.

However, due to the thickness of pheromones in the air at the gala, even his suppressants aren’t  enough to completely negate the smell.

There’s something else floating around in the air too, a particular scent that heavily draws his attention. But there’s something about the scent… something he can’t  quite put his finger on…

“Garrick?” One of the captains says to him, and Kyle snaps to attention. Shit, he’d been drifting off, hadn’t he? “You with us, son?”

“Yes, sir,” he says, his face growing hotter with embarrassment. He didn’t mean to lose his focus. “Was thinking about Captain Price,” he admits. Perhaps he shouldn't be sucking up to the other captains this hard, but he knows that he needs to make a good impression if he’s going to seek out a promotion of his own one day.

One of the captains shakes his head. “I’ll never understand how Captain Price keeps such a valiant soldier such as yourself,” he says wistfully, and Gaz recognizes him from his earlier introduction as Captain Webb. “He’s intense. Scares the shit out of the recruits.” He takes a sip of his drink, then shrugs. “Hell, he scares me.”

Kyle huffs a laugh, crossing his arms and nodding. “That’s the captain I know,” he agrees, smiling to himself. That surely is the captain he knows and loves – commanding respect from privates and captains alike. Kyle held an extreme amount of respect for these captains, but none of them compared to Price. He did what had to be done with dangerous efficiency, and it was many of the things that Kyle admired about him. He got results, which is more than any of these other ostentatious captains. They were all for show – Price was as treacherous and beautiful as a freshly cleaned dagger.

The rest of these captains couldn’t compare to Price’s luster.

“Captain Price is certainly a force to be reckoned with,” a female voice says from across the group. She had introduced herself as Captain Hughes earlier in the conversation, and Kyle focuses his attention on her as she swirls the drink in her hand. “However, we’re more focused on his protégé, so to speak.”

Kyle raises an eyebrow. “Me?” he asks, although somehow, he already knows the answer. There was a reason he was the only navy blue coat in a sea of white. There was a reason all eyes were on him. There was a reason why he felt like people were watching his every move, trying to get a piece of him for himself. “Why would you be interested in me?” 

“So modest…” Captain Hughes hums, and Captain Webb laughs next to her. “Aye,” he says, and Gaz wonders if the red on the other man’s cheeks is from the heat of the room or his consumption of alcohol. “Humble, too.”

“A sergeant from the British police force recruited by an infamous captain,” Captain Hughes says, and her eyes narrow slightly as she crosses her arms. Kyle feels a shiver run down his spine, almost as if Hughes is staring deep into his soul. He feels exposed, like he’s pinned to an examination table ready to be dissected. “Extreme skill,” Hughes wonders aloud, “or extreme luck?”

Kyle swallows. “I’d like to think it’s skill, ma’am,” he says cautiously, unsure if he should take the praise with a grain of salt. “Captain Price wouldn’t choose me without a reason.”

Captain Hughes must sense his defensiveness, because she scoffs and shakes her head. “Relax, darling,” she chuckles, and Kyle suddenly feels like a pawn in a large game of chess. “We’ve all seen your file. Multiple times, actually. Loads of impressive work there.” She swirls the drink in her hand again, seemingly unamused by its presence in her grip. “No matter how many times your file crosses my desk for an op, I can never seem to get you. A certain captain likes to keep you to himself.” 

Amusement bubbles in Kyle’s chest. He’d assumed that Price was doing something behind the scenes to keep him close to his chest, but to hear that assumption become a fact made Gaz want to laugh. He had attained Price’s favor, he was Price’s first choice. Others had tried to borrow him from the 141, but Price wouldn’t let them.

Possessive bastard.

 “I can corroborate Hughes’ experience,” Captain Webb pipes up. “I once tried to recruit you for a simple intelligence mission in London a few years back, since your file mentioned that you were stationed there at the time. Instead, I was informed by a rather shrewd American woman that you were unavailable for the foreseeable future, due to the orders of a one Captain Price.” He tilts his head curiously. “Price has never been one to share his toys to begin with, but this takes it to a whole new level.”

Kyle shoves aside the spark of annoyance that comes from being called one of Price’s ‘toys’, instead choosing to focus on Webb’s words of praise. “Captain Price turned me into the soldier I am today,” he says, trying not to come off as defensive or partial to Price’s choices. “I owe him everything.”

“While that is true,” a third captain says, and Kyle recognizes her from the various introductions as Captain Corbyn, “that narrative is also false.” Her dark hair sparkles in the harsh lighting, and her gaze feels like it pierces through Gaz’s body. She looks angry and stern, but it doesn’t feel like her anger is directed at Kyle… but rather, something beyond him, lurking in the shadows. “Captain John Price may have given you the tools and instruction to thrive,” she continues, “but it is you who has transcended all expectations. That is why we want to work with you.”

Kyle opens and closes his mouth, slightly shocked at the Corbyn’s candidness. Usually, invitations such as these are shrouded in fluffy language. No one in Kyle’s experience has ever extended such an explicit invitation without strings attached. Even his invitation to Price’s team had been forged by a simple ‘you’re with me’ – nothing concrete, nothing promised. But as Kyle scans the faces of the captains before him, he notices that all of them share the same stern faces and serious eyes. They’re all serious with this invitation. They all want to work with him, and as such, they likely see Price as an obstacle to gaining Kyle’s prowess.

“It would be an honor to work beside all of you,” Kyle starts, speaking slowly and calculatedly. “But–”

“You don’t need to make a decision at this moment,” Captain Hughes interrupts. “Think it over, okay?” She walks towards him, patting him gently on the shoulder. “We all know you’d make a lovely captain, and we’d all love the opportunity to work with you before the inevitable promotion.” She smiles at him in an attempt to seem harmless, but all Kyle can see is a snake-like grin plastered on her face. “The offer is there should you want to take it. From all of us. There is something to gain from working with our squads.”

With a few more farewell remarks, the captains gather in a group, leaving Kyle to stand and contemplate what he had just been propositioned.

He breathes in, letting his lungs inflate, and breathes out. He just needs to think for a moment. Other captains want him for his squad. Okay. That he understood. His notoriety had spread faster than he’d expected – Price wasn’t kidding when he said Kyle was infamous. To be fair, he had gone from being stuck within the ranks of the London force to flying to Russia on a completely dark mission. None of the captains likely even knew about their visit to Russia, but they sang his praises regardless. Maybe word of his expertise had spread during his display in Chicago when they had worked alongside the Navy Seals, or maybe it was the mission in Urzikstan where he’d fallen out of the helicopter and completed the mission regardless. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint when he’d become a common topic of discussion amongst the other captains. 

That didn’t matter. What matters is that he’s a hot commodity on the market.

And maybe… just maybe… he thinks about it. Really thinks about it. As much as Kyle loves working with Price, it’s difficult, exhausting work. It’s not easy to travel the world to unknown battlefields, fighting nameless enemies for little to no tangible progress. Anti-terrorism has been his passion since he first passed the SAS selection exam, and his work under Price had been the closest thing he’d get to actually changing the world for the better with his own two hands.

But it wore on Kyle’s soul, the people he couldn’t save. The man in Piccadilly Circus, the one with the bomb strapped to his chest who Price had thrown over the railing. Was his family able to give him a proper resting place? Or the kid who they kidnapped as leverage against The Butcher in their search for Barkov. Did he have nightmares of the feeling of cold steel pressed against his temple? He’d seen and created too much blood in his career, and this was only the cold beginning.

His tutelage under Price forced him to dunk his hands in the blood, bathe in it, and forge himself anew.

Maybe it was time to take a step back.

After all, laboring under lower stakes couldn’t hurt for a little bit.

However, it’s just a thought. It isn’t set in stone, nor has Kyle accepted any binding propositions from the captains. He is still Price’s sergeant at the moment, and he will continue to follow his captain towards the ends of the Earth. His loyalty to Price would never waver – he owed everything he was to Price. Everything the captains admired about him had come from Price in some capacity.

Having fallbacks isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Speaking of the captain, he should probably go find him. Kyle never knew Price as a wildly social creature, but for him to storm out of the conversation in the fashion he did set off alarm bells in Kyle’s brain. The room had started feeling a little stuffy anyhow, and Kyle could feel himself tiring from all of the polite conversation. At least with Price, he didn’t have to abide by all of the conversational rules and customs.

He looks around the room, but before he can slink out of the crowd, he hears his name again.

Kyle turns to find the source and breathes a sigh of relief. Not more captains this time around. These soldiers share the same blue colored overcoat that he did – his fellow sergeants. A few of the other soldiers hanging around the group have their regular, green combat uniforms on, indicating their private rank, but they must be some distinguished privates if they’re attending  the gala. 

It’s nice to not have to worry about manners or colloquialism – Kyle can simply sit back and melt into the conversation with those who were on the same level as he was. There’s no expectation to impress these folks – they’re like a blue sea of calm in an aggressive storm of white.

Although if the captains are correct in their assessment of his notoriety, they would know who Kyle is. He inwardly sighs to himself, hoping that these people weren’t desperate to impress him like everyone else seemingly was.

The conversation starts off at the surface level, with the other sergeants greeting him by name (okay, so they DID know who he was), and him greeting them back with a tight smile. He recognizes a few of them from the base training – in fact, he might have worked with one or two when he was on the London task force – and so he feels relatively comfortable holding a conversation with them. 

He quickly scans the group, half listening to the conversation, when he feels a set of eyes settle on him.

He quickly locates the source – a private on the other side of their circular gathering, and his eyes are completely fixated on Kyle. His dark, brown eyes gleam in the light as they rove over Kyle’s figure. Kyle’s eyes narrow in on the very apparent omega gland on the side of his neck, and his nose twitches as the scent of the pheromones grows tenfold in his nostrils. For a moment, everything melts into the background as Kyle stares at him, and he stares at Kyle.

It’s not a normal stare, no. It’s not a stare of admiration, or jealousy, or respect.

No, it’s one of desire.

Kyle shifts uncomfortably on his feet, diverting his gaze from the private. He’s aware of the social conventions between alphas and omegas, and how social opportunities within the army presented a chance to find a mate. The omega is not unattractive by any means. His presence here also indicates that he’s likely among the best the army has to offer – those of lower rankings  don’t get invited to such events without demonstrating outstanding capabilities. He should know considering the only reason he was here was because Price implored him to go.

Price. His captain.

He silently wishes it was Price’s omega gland in his sights than this random private’s.

He frowns to himself, grinding his teeth in his mouth. What a strange thought – he shouldn’t be thinking of his captain in such a manner. Price is off limits, to him especially.

Why would he even dare to have such a thought?

Well, he bloody knows why.

Maybe he should just take this omega to forget the sparkle of Price’s eyes and the slope of his hips.

Oh, but they would fit so naturally in his hands, and Price would make the most beautiful noises – utterances and noises that only Kyle would get to hear because he is the one making Price make those noises, he is the one allowing Price to lose himself in the overwhelming pleasure. This is the vision of the captain that only he would get to see, a trusting bond developed far beyond the relationship of a sergeant and a captain. No, this is something that transcends professional boundaries, a bond instead forged in the animalistic urges that combines them into one body and one soul.

He blinks away the idealism, shaking his head as he inwardly curses at himself. Not possible, Garrick. Pull it together.

He’s lucky that the sergeant next to him gives him a light tap on the shoulder, alerting him that the conversation has been directed at him. He gracefully gives her a smile – she was always one of the more pleasant sergeants, and he enjoyed working with her when they were assigned to the same squad back in training – and focuses on the conversation.

Trying to shake off the stares from the private proves to be more difficult than he originally expects, as every single time Kyle looks over to him, he finds the omega’s eyes plastered to him. It’s gotten to the point where he feels he has to ignore that corner of the conversational circle, since the expectation written on the omega’s face is far too much to bear. All the while, Kyle finds himself overwhelmed at the sheer force of the scents he’s encountering – omega scents drenched in desperation and overexpectation, and alpha scents thick with presumptions of their own. It feels like all he can sense is the oversaturation of pheromones in the air, even over the smell of all of the cheap cologne and perfume that these respectable army professionals surely used to cover the stench of the blood and the battlefield.

But there’s something beyond that. He’s been smelling it since he first struck up the conversation with Willsborough. It’s faint, almost as if the source of the smell was trying to hide it out of embarrassment.

He can’t quite tell for certain, but he thinks it smells like a distressed omega.

If it is from a distressed omega, where are they, and what is causing them harm?

Kyle doesn’t have time to follow that train of thought before he’s dragged back into the conversation. One of the sergeants is asking his opinion on the best sparring methods, and he absentmindedly gives his response. He stutters mid answer as he breathes in to speak, a rush of adrenaline shooting through his veins, making his heart skip a beat in his chest. That scent . What is that? It’s so potent and strong, unlike anything Gaz has been smelling throughout the night. It didn’t exactly smell good, but it didn’t smell bad. 

Perhaps not consciously, but deep down, Kyle’s body knows that it's not the scent that he so desperately wants. 

It’s very easy to locate the source of the stench, as it seems to waddle up next to him, rubbing his arm right up against Gaz’s, and Gaz inwardly sighs as he turns his attention to the omega next to him. Never did he think that he of all people would be getting propositioned at such an event.

Although, maybe he should have come to expect it, as the individual standing next to him is the same omega who was making eyes at him earlier. Kyle swallows the temptation to roll his eyes and walk away. He doesn’t want to entertain this, but part of him wants to remain respectful to the gala and its guests. Furthermore, if this omega is here due to his skill, who’s to say he won’t be invited to their base, or perhaps even the task force? It’s smarter to just be polite.

The omega standing next to him is… respectable. He’s dressed in the standard military uniform, his socks tucked into the legs of his pants and his chest puffed out in his camouflage jacket. Stocky build, medium height, decent face, at least at first glance – he isn’t difficult on the eyes. A small, gold medal sits proudly over his chest, and it dawns on Gaz that that’s likely why he’s here – to be recognized for his work as a private. What he did to be deserving of such an award, Gaz didn’t know.

Clearly the omega could care less about the award, because if the pheromones roiling off of him in waves were anything to pass judgement on, he’s thinking of anything but his award. Rather, he’s thinking that he can get an alternate award from Gaz.

As much as Gaz admires his bravery, that’s not going to happen. It wouldn’t feel right, and even imagining the omega underneath his hands makes him slightly uncomfortable. It’s nothing against the private – Gaz is sure he was a lovely lad – but something about them being in a public scene, under the pressure of all of those higher on the food chain, made Gaz hesitant to think about slipping out of the gala with anyone.

He nervously glances around. He knows the ensuing conversation is going to be awkward, especially since it was likely going to happen in front of the other sergeants. But the esteemed private clearly didn’t care – he’s  looking for something, and thinks that Gaz can fulfill that role.

Gaz can’t. Gaz won’t.

He’s craning his neck to look around the gala, tugging at his collar. Where is Price? Price could get him out of this situation. Even Price’s presence made him feel calm, like a cold mist settling over his body. He needs that coldness to juxtapose the uncomfortable heat that suddenly spreads through his body. He needs that familiar scent of pine and sandalwood to relax him, to bring him familiarity in a sea devoid of comfort. 

The private nudges him, and it takes every ounce of self-control in his body to not immediately jump away from him. Instead, Gaz turns his head towards the other man, raising an eyebrow. “Hello, private,” he says warmly, giving him a small smile. He doesn’t want to be rude outright – this is a fellow soldier, a position that Gaz had once been in. He couldn’t remember a time where he had been this, ah, desperate, as a private, but everyone operated differently. 

The private’s eyes narrow, and a smug smile spreads across his face. “Hello, Sergeant Garrick,” he says in a low voice, and a shiver runs down Gaz’s spine. Something about hearing his name and title roll off the private’s tongue feels so wrong , especially with that sultry tone. “You look quite handsome tonight.” 

Gaz gives him a tight smile, flicking his head over his shoulder to hopefully catch a glimpse of his captain. Where had Price run off to? “I appreciate it, private,” Gaz says, trying to keep the conversation friendly. “How are you enjoying the gala so far?”

The private rolls his head from side to side. “It’s going well, but…” His smile changes from smug to predatory. “It’s going a lot better now that you’re here.”

Gaz feels his face twitch slightly, and he tries his best not to laugh in the private’s face. Everything about this situation is so absurd. Of course, It isn’t out of the realm of possibility to be approached by a desperate omega looking to spend their heat or rut with a partner rather than alone, he didn’t expect it to happen to him.

Gaz stoops his head downward, turning his head to the side so he can mask their conversation from the rest of the group. “What are your intentions, private?” Gaz asks in a low, dangerous tone. He doesn’t exactly want to scare the private off, merely make the private second guess his intentions. He’s incredibly brave, he’ll give him that, to approach a superior in such a manner.

The private grins, his eyes sparkling with hero worship. To be so close to Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, the infamous sergeant who handled the Piccadilly operations to near perfection, who traveled the globe alongside the illustrious Captain John Price, who was beauty and danger twisted into one gorgeous figure.

“Take me, alpha,” the private whispers, and the words hit Kyle’s ears like a shot of caffeine directly to the veins. 

He opens his mouth to respond when he’s hit with a wave of pheromones, strong to the point that it makes him dizzy. God, the saturation of the private’s pheromones in the air increases tenfold, and Gaz realizes that it’s because the omega is craning his neck, exposing the omega gland on the side of his neck to Gaz. He’s aiming his pheromones directly in Gaz’s direction, making sure that the alpha gets a full whiff of what the omega has to offer.

He’s presenting himself to Gaz. God, he’s unclaimed. Gaz feels his nose twitch. So delicious, so pliant. 

Fingers dance up his arm, the touch so gentle and soft, but the contact burning through the tough fabric of his overcoat. It trails up, up, up his arm, a tantalizing touch that sends shivers down Gaz’s spine. 

He feels his knees buckle slightly as the sickly sweet scent enters his nostrils, and fuck , he’d be lying if he said the offer isn’t enticing as hell. Gaz is lucky that he’s trained his self-control (thanks to Price), his ability to resist his alpha instincts, but these omega’s pheromones reeked of desperation and temptation mixed into one delicious scent. Gaz’s instincts are telling him to claim, to satiate the omega clearly presenting towards him right now. 

No. No, he shouldn’t. He can’t. He rips his gaze away from the tantalizing omega gland in his view, inhaling deeply to clear his pheromone-addled brain. “I appreciate the offer, private,” he growls through gritted teeth, “but I’m not interested.”

The harshness of his confession doesn’t even register in his brain as he shoves the private’s fingers off of his shoulders, turns on his heels, and stalks away from the dance floor. He hears his name being called by the other sergeants, but he ignores them. Gaz doesn’t need this. His fists clench at his side, and he slowly inhales, exhaling a long stream of air to get the omega’s scent out of his nostrils. Fuck, how had he been so influenced by the needy omega? His vision swims as the pheromones swirled inside of nostrils, seemingly trapped in the mucosa lining housed there. How had he’d been so quickly drawn in and bewitched?

Part of him feels guilty for nearly falling for the omega, but the reasoning behind that emotion is beyond his current abilities of perception.

Admittedly, it has been a while since Gaz had taken an omega. His line of work with Price doesn’t allow much time for such leisurely activities. Maybe the private’s straightforward approach had stirred something within Gaz, a deep, primal part of him that he had long suppressed.

He needs something to calm him down – fresh air, a different scent in his nose, rut suppressants – anything to get the lingering scent of the omega out of his head. He needs clarity, he needs familiarity – he needs the concentration and focus he has when he’s on the field. He needs something grounding.

He begins craning his neck and turning his body to do a full sweep of the gala, returning to his earlier search.

Maybe what he needs isn’t something, but someone.

He needs the one person who provides that grounding effect. He needs the one person he knows inside and out, the one person he can trust to bring him to his senses. His scent, his presence, maybe even his touch.

Captain John Price. 

Where are you, John?

I need you. 

»»————-　★　————-««

The sound of the curtain swishing to the side interrupts the cricket’s serenation, and John turns around with a solemn look on his face, a tongue lashing prepared for whoever dared to interrupt his sulking. 

He opens his mouth, and the words die on his tongue.

It’s Kyle. Even the sight of him in that dashing outfit has his mouth going completely dry. He turns around with a grunt of acknowledgement, returning his focus to the peaceful plains outside of the venue. His mind drifts back to the other omega, the one sidling up next to Gaz like a centipede crawling up his arm.

Price’s eyes narrow. If he smells the omega anywhere on Gaz, he might go ballistic.

Kyle sits down next to him, dropping his hat into his lap with an exasperated sigh. “Fucking hate large crowds,” he murmurs, and Price huffs in response. Who knew that the effervescent and widely popular Kyle “Gaz” Garrick would get sick of the attention from suitors and superiors alike. 

The balcony isn’t terribly large. It couldn’t be much larger than a few meters, five at the most. Price supposes these balconies aren’t  exactly made for sitting and brooding like he is, instead more suited for drinking and toasting the setting sun. As such, Kyle’s chair is placed far too close to Price’s chair – close enough to where Price can smell the faint scent of sweat and sweet vanilla emanating from Gaz’s body. He inhales deeply, and fuck, even a small taste of Gaz feels heavenly. 

He wants more. He craves more.

Price sits up in his seat, turning his neck to the side to work out a kink from staring at the scenery for too long. He can’t have more. 

The pair sits in silence, with Price secretly trying to take in as much of Gaz’s delicious scent as possible. For a moment, all is tranquil. Just him and Kyle, watching the sun sink below the horizon, existing in each other’s presence. Beyond half of the sun is gone, and the oranges and yellows that were once broadcasted across the sky have faded into darker hues.

It’s Price who breaks the silence this time. He can’t help it. The question has been forming on his tongue ever since Gaz had stepped through the curtain and out onto the balcony. He feels a strange feeling rise in his chest, one of gloating and pride. He doesn’t smell the omega, the one that was throwing himself at Gaz. All he smells are Gaz’s familiar pheromones, the ones that he would lap up with his tongue as if he were a man starved.

That means that he wins.

“Not taking home that omega then, aye?” Price asks, his voice slightly hoarse from disuse. Kyle snorts, and although Price’s focus remains on the setting sun, he can practically see the snarky eye roll that Gaz gives him in his mind's eye. “Not a chance, Cap,” he sighs. “A bit too desperate for my taste.”

“Good,” Price grunts before he can stop himself. “Can’t risk my men being compromised now.”

“Would it have been so terrible if I had taken him to bed?” Kyle hedges, and Price knows that he’s got that stupid smile plastered on his face, accompanied by the cheekiest of glimmers in his eyes. 

But that suggestion… even the mental image of Kyle taking another omega to bed… that omega experiencing the divinity of his body, the gentleness of his touch. Price feels his arms tense in response to such a notion, but he wills himself to relax. That doesn’t affect him. What Gaz does in his free time isn’t his responsibility. 

Besides, Gaz didn’t take the other omega to bed. That’s what matters. 

“You are free to do as you please, Sergeant,” Price says, although the words come out more strained than he would like. “Just don’t bring any cargo back to base with us, and you’re golden.”

“Ah, you wound me, sir,” Kyle jokes again, the chair squeaking as Kyle shifts his stance. “Plenty of fun to be had in there.”

Price raises an eyebrow, but keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the horizon. “Didn’t take you as a one night stand kind of person, Kyle.”

“For your information, I’m not.” A pause. “Not that that’s any of your business, John.”

Fuck. The way Kyle says his name makes the base of his spine tingle.

“What you do in your free time isn’t my worry, Sergeant,” Price grunts, crossing his arms and settling back against the chair. “My only concern is whether you’re at your best on the field.”

“Of course, sir,” Kyle says, leaning back in his chair. “When have I ever let you down?”

Now it was Price’s turn to pause. After a moment, he responds. “Never.” His tone is so quiet, he’s not sure if Kyle even hears his statement.

Judging from the silence, he’s pretty certain that Kyle gets the message.

“I talked to Captain Hughes,” Kyle blurts out randomly, and Price thanks his lucky stars that Kyle knows how to read the room. 

“Hughes?” Price questions. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. What did she want?”

Kyle falls silent, and Price feels a muscle in his neck twitch as he resists the urge to look at him. He’s afraid of what he might see, of what he might do when his gaze lands on Kyle. The temptation to say something, to do something, to demand details on what that insipid omega wanted from his sergeant is too strong. He’s trying to remain objective, trying to keep his temper at bay and shove down all of the conflicting emotions swirling in his chest.

“She offered me a temporary place on her squad,” Kyle says flatly. “Said she could teach me a few tricks, and I could teach her men a few things in return.” He shrugs, exhaling out through his nose. “She wasn’t the only one who offered that as an option, too.”

Price bites his lip. “Who else, then?” he prompts.

“Captain Webb. Captain Corbyn. The other captains didn’t offer their names, but they looked at me with that same gaze.” Kyle shakes his head. “You weren’t kidding when you said I was infamous.”

“With your track record, Kyle, it’d be a shame to pass up on an opportunity to work with you.” Price tilts his head, an indescribable feeling settling over his chest. Something akin to pride… his sergeant is the one being sought after by all the prestigious captains. Yet, at the same time, it feels like he wants to track down Captain Webb and Hughes and give them a few choice words about daring to touch his sergeant. 

Instead, he wills the rage to remain quiet, sequestering it into the violent vestiges of Captain John Price’s heart. 

“And yet, I still work for you, Cap,” Kyle muses, his tone something both wistful and confident.

Price raises an eyebrow, sitting up in his chair and glancing over at Kyle. He looks him up and down, taking in how the rays from the setting sun reflect off of his beautiful, smooth skin. How he sits exasperatedly in the chair, no doubt exhausted from all of the social networking that had taken place in such a short amount of time. His hat rests on his lap, and his fingers trail over the fabric of the rim, making sure that he doesn’t lose it. God, he’s so gorgeous. He’s so good . 

And yet, I still work for you, Cap.

“Any second thoughts about that, Kyle?” Price rasps, glancing up at Kyle and watching how the rays of the sun give his soft brown eyes a golden hue.

Their eyes meet, and Price feels a spark inside of him light, spreading warmth from his toes up through his chest.

It feels like… a reckoning.

Kyle is the first one to break eye contact, shaking his head and pursing his lips. “None, Captain,” he says quietly, and Price feels something dark conjure inside of him. It’s the uncertainty in Gaz’s tone. It’s the way his voice vacillates, indecisiveness dripping in his words. It’s different from his statement in the back of the police car, when Price revealed that Kyle would have to bathe in blood if he wanted any sort of results. 

It’s different because here, Kyle has a choice. He has alternate options waiting for him in the crowd of the gala. He didn’t have one in Russia.

Would he stay with Price if he was given a choice?

Price huffs, closing his eyes for a second before eventually swiveling in his chair, shifting his focus to Kyle. “Well, go on,” Price says, narrowing his eyes and pinning Kyle down with his gaze. He feels an intense amount of deja vu as he gestures for Kyle to continue. “I can see the words on the tip of your tongue.”

Kyle looks to the side, his lips thinning into a straight line as he opens his mouth to speak. “I think working with either Captain Webb or Captain Hughes would be a gratifying experience,” he says slowly. “Hell, maybe even Captain Willsborough – he would take me on. It’d be good for connections, for experience. For when I become a Captain one day.”

The rage that Price so carefully tucks away in his heart leaks out of the vestiges. It contaminates his blood, coursing through his arteries and sinking into his tissues. Like an oil spill, it toxifies his mind and body. The darkness seeps into his limbs, begging him to give in, to threaten Kyle, to hold him hostage and keep him as his, and only his. 

Gaz wants to get away from him.

Price doesn’t want that to happen.

And yet… as much as Price wants to lash out, to strike down this simple idea of Gaz betraying him for another, he has no claim over Gaz. Kyle holds the power in this relationship. As much as Price can tell Gaz what to do, Gaz can deny his orders. He can leave. He has prospects elsewhere, propositions from others, whereas Price has nothing. If Gaz leaves, Price is left to his own violent devices. Sure, Soap and Ghost were still loyal to the 141, but their loyalties were starting to grow towards each other rather than Price. His grip on the leash is slipping, and it would render him alone on this road to make his enemies fear the dark.

Price clears his throat, blinking the red out of his vision. He has to shove it down and remain objective. He can’t reveal how much possessiveness he feels towards Kyle, because that would result in a very uncomfortable conversation regarding what else he feels towards his sergeant. The inappropriate conduct from his captain could also push Kyle even further away, reinforcing his decision to join another captain’s squad. What if that temporary change results in Kyle wanting to break free of Price’s chains?

Even thinking about Kyle being away temporarily sends Price’s mind into a violent rage. He wants Kyle in his entirety – his body, his soul, his entire being – with no risk of it ever slipping through his fingers.

“You’re more than welcome to inquire for opportunities with the other captains, Kyle,” Price says, and to his credit, he keeps his voice relatively steady, not letting any of the poison in his heart drip into his voice. “I’d warn you though, there’s a possibility you won’t learn anything you don’t already know.”

Kyle tilts his head to the side. “Why’s that?” he inquires.

Oh, the words are on the tip of his tongue. All he wants to do is drip the sweet nectar of poison into Gaz’s ear to deter him from straying too far from Price’s influence. The truth is, Price thinks that Captain Webb and Captain Hughes are perfectly fine in their own rights. For one, they both made it to the rank of captain, which doesn’t just happen to anyone. While they may not be part of the SAS like Price and the 141, he knows they do perfectly fine work with their own battalions. They’re naturally born leaders, experts in their fields, and Kyle could stand to learn from them.

But did Price want Kyle to learn from them?

It’s uncomfortable to admit, but no. He doesn’t. John Price doesn’t like it when someone touches his things. 

“For one,” Price starts, wondering just how much he can stretch the truth to convince Kyle to reconsider his stance on leaving, “Hughes and Webb both work with intel – gathering, organizing, and disseminating information to other squads. They’re not engrossed in the anti-terrorist work that we do. Corbyn – she works in strategy. Moving around soldiers on foot, coordinating air attacks. She sees combat from the outside.”

Kyle nods slowly, chewing on his bottom lip. “They all do extremely important work behind the scenes,” he observes, and despite the ugly feeling blossoming in Price’s chest, he nods.

“There’s no denying they do important work, but they don’t fight on the ground like we do. They’re not the ones risking their necks out there,” he continues. “Likewise, while they may coordinate with those inside their respective departments, they don’t have the caliber of connections that I do.”

Is  it prideful to say such a thing, or is it hubris?

“Caliber?” Kyle echoes.

Price chuckles. “Webb, Corbyn, and Hughes are good, but they’re no Laswell. They don’t have the ability to go dark like we do. Not everyone has a man with a helicopter at their beck and call.”

Kyle snorts. “I think I can do without the helicopter. Sounds like a bonus.”

A chilling sensation spreads through Price’s body. Whether Kyle means it as a joke or not, Price doesn’t like it. He’s taking Price’s carefully crafted arguments and turning them against him, thinking about what life outside of the 141 would be like when Price wants to remind him of what he has. 

His grip on the leash truly is slipping.

Price grits his teeth, taking a deep breath to quell the anger bubbling inside of him. He feels hot, he feels cold, he feels angry, he feels desperate. How a man so repressed could feel so many conflicting sensations at one moment confuses him, but he needs to keep up appearances. “Your career, your decision,” he says coolly, keeping his tone steady. He knows it’s a half-assed answer, but his focus on the conversation is steadily slipping, and his head is starting to spin. Was it just him, or had the vanilla scent floating off of Gaz grown stronger?

That clearly isn’t the answer Kyle’s looking for, as he momentarily glares at Price, an all too familiar scowl presenting on his face. It takes Price back to that fateful day at Piccadilly Circus, to the moment where Kyle finally expressed his frustration at the helplessness he felt working with his hands tied. It was the same exact face, only this time, directed at Price.

Price’s fingers twitch as he resists the overwhelming urge to run his fingertips over the scar on Kyle’s cheek, smoothing out the wrinkled skin. 

“You don’t sound so sure,” Kyle observes, although it sounds more like an accusation to Price. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Price shakes his head. “No.” 

Kyle scoffs. “You’re such a shit liar, Captain.”

Price bristles, swallowing a gasp at the aggressive tone from his sergeant. He even tacks the honorific at the end of his accusation, and it feels like a slap in the face. “I beg your pardon, Sergeant?” Price asks, his tone low and dangerous. Despite his partiality for Kyle, he needs to remember his place within the chain of command.

And maybe, just maybe, Price’s defensiveness is a way to deflect that Kyle is correct in his accusation. 

“I’m not stupid, John, so don’t treat me like it.” Price swears he can see fire burning behind Kyle’s eyes as he speaks, ignited by the obvious hypocrisy from his captain.

He looks so beautiful when he’s angry. Suddenly, Price is back in the interrogation room with the Butcher, watching the anger dance behind Gaz’s eyes. He thinks maybe that’s the first instance of him being captivated by Gaz – he saw him and he hadn’t stopped seeing him since.

His mouth is incredibly dry as he opens his mouth to speak. “Explain how I’m lying, Kyle,” he says incredulously, although he knows that Kyle can likely find the hypocrisy between his words and his behaviors.

Kyle tilts his head, narrowing his eyes as he stares at Price. “I don’t know, John, maybe the fact that you say it’s my decision with what I do with my career, yet you try with every ounce of your power to smear every other captain I could work with. You compliment my skill and my work, tell me what good I’ll do in the world, and yet you assume that I’ll plant myself on your team for the rest of my days.” He throws his hands in the air. “Why are you holding me back?!”

“It takes time and it takes sacrifice to get where I am, Kyle,” Price snarls.

“Time and sacrifice that I have shown I will put in, John,” Kyle fires back, his mouth downturned in the most beautiful frown Price has ever seen. “I will work behind the scenes, I will do the grunt work. I’ve come too far to hesitate now. Why.”

Price swallows, unsure what to say in the face of such brazen aggression. Oh lord, he’s so breathtaking. “Your place is on the 141, Kyle.”

“Oh really, Price?” Kyle gestures towards the area beyond the curtain of the balcony, where the gala is starting to get into its full swing. “Any one of those captains would drool at the chance to work with me.”

Price’s heart lurches in his stomach. “Kyle…” he says, a subtle shiver wracking his body as Kyle’s name rolls off of his tongue. He’s starting to feel faint, especially as Kyle speaks to him with such order and ferocity. 

“What, John,” Gaz snaps, and Price feels something in his pants twitch. Kyle’s anger is forcing his pheromones all around the balcony, contaminating the air with his scent. It’s all Price can focus on – his delectable scent, his striking eyes, his bulging muscles tensing within the tight fabric of his suit. His righteousness, even when it’s directed at Price, serves to send Price deeper into the gutter for this man.

“Your place is on the 141, Kyle,” Price whispers. His head is too dizzy, his vision too blurry to think of uttering anything else.

Kyle shrugs his shoulders exasperatedly. “You are the most selfish man I’ve ever met, John Price,” he fumes. “You’d seriously put my career at risk just to keep me on your squad – just to keep my work to yourself? Just to make yourself look good?”

Oh. Price’s eyes widen as he stares at the bright sun that is Kyle “Gaz” Garrick. He thinks that Price wants him on the 141 for his skill. He thinks that Price figures only himself worthy of Kyle’s presence – not because of Kyle himself, but because of what he offers to the team as a soldier. 

He couldn’t be more wrong. Kyle is right – John Price is a selfish man, there’s no denying that. But he’s not selfish for the reasons that Kyle thinks.

He doesn’t want what Kyle has to offer, no – he wants Kyle.

Price averts his gaze from Kyle’s ire. “You’re not understanding my meaning,” he says sheepishly. He can barely focus on the words falling from his mouth – his tongue feels like it’s on the verge of becoming numb, overwhelmed by the sensations wracking his body. He feels entirely too hot, far too hot. Even the slight breeze drafting over the balcony isn’t enough to dampen the fire in his body.

“So spell it out for me, John,” Kyle says, standing to his feet and forcing Price to look up to get a glimpse of his displeased face. “Very clearly.” 

Fuck, Price’s head is spinning. He smells so good – so warm and inviting. 

“Make it impossible for me to misunderstand.”

He’s not sure what it is. Maybe it’s the way Kyle is staring at him, indignation clear in his eyes. Maybe it’s the way he smells, vanilla and lavender accompanied by a slight undertone of burning wood. Maybe it’s the way Kyle’s fists clench at his side and his teeth grind together in his mouth, and Price wants to do everything in his power to make his sergeant relax.

He stands on shaky legs to match Kyle’s height, leveling his gaze at his sergeant.

For a second, it’s quiet. Like a calm before the storm. The wind blows from behind him, and blood roars in his ears.

Price grabs Kyle by the collar and yanks him in, hard .

Their lips connect, and Price can swear the stars behind them align.

A sound of surprise from Kyle is swallowed by the kiss, and Price prays to the gods above that Kyle won’t pull away. 

His prayers are answered as seconds pass and Kyle’s lips remain connected to his own. Price wants to stay here forever – Kyle’s lips on his, his hand fisted in Kyle’s collar, holding him as close as humanly possible, a subtle beg for Kyle to stay.

But all good things must come to an end – they break apart, and Price’s chest burns from the lack of oxygen. But it’s nothing compared to how his body burns, the intensity of the moment sinking into his bones. For a few moments, Price stares at Gaz, and Gaz stares right back, confusion written all over his face as his chest heaves in time with Price’s. 

It’s Kyle who breaks the silence. “So my place is on the 141,” he starts slowly, “so you can kiss me like a horny teenager.”

Price glares at him, but there’s no anger behind the stare – only the heat of attraction. “Because every moment you’re out of my sight  is hell on earth, Kyle Garrick,” he breathes.

Fuck. Price is hungry. He’s never felt this kind of hunger before. It’s deep in his bones, embedded in his stomach. It’s the kind of hunger that can’t be satiated by normal means, but it’s enough to make Price utterly desperate. His knees shake and his body aches. Is he running a fever? What the hell is wrong with him?

He groans, which actually comes out as more of a sensual moan, and he grabs on to Kyle’s sturdy shoulders as his knees buckle. He’s forgotten how to stand. But fuck, even grasping Kyle’s shoulders through his clothes sends a tingling sensation up Price’s arm, lighting every nerve ending in his arms on fire.

“John?” Kyle asks, clearly very concerned. His hands come up under Price’s arms to support him and prevent him from falling completely. “John, what’s going on? You broken?”

Kyle is everywhere, Kyle is everything. His scent is embedded in the cells of Price’s nose, and Price suddenly gets the urge to shove his nose in the junction between Kyle’s neck and shoulder. It’s far too striking, and yet, it’s simultaneously not enough.

He craves more, more, more.

A desperate moan forces its way out of Price’s throat as Kyle places the back of his hand on Price’s forehead to feel his temperature, the contact so incredibly delicious. If Price had half a coherent thought at this point, he’d have grabbed Kyle’s wrist and held him there, keeping the skin-on-skin contact between Kyle’s hand and his forehead. “Shit, John, you’re burning up,” Kyle remarks, his eyebrows furrowing as he glances over his captain’s body, attempting to find a source of his affliction.

Kyle removes his hand from Price’s forehead, and he whimpers quietly at the loss of contact. Kyle gives him a strange look, and Price could see the cogs turning in his brain as he connects  the pieces. Price himself isn’t even sure what’s happened to him – he’s never felt this way  before. 

Unable to support Price’s weight for much longer, Kyle hooks one of Price’s arms around his shoulder, lowering him back into the chair he had sat in during their entire conversation. Pressed into Kyle’s side, Price feels like he can see the light of heaven, despite the fact that the sun had already set well below the horizon, casting darkness over the meadow beyond the venue. 

Being dumped into the chair makes Price realize just how fucked he is. He feels weak and lucid, like his body is in three different places at once, and in neither of those places does he feel the safety he did whilst tucked against Kyle’s side. He whines, a desperate sound so undignified for a captain of his merit, and flings his arm out to the side, searching for even an inch of Kyle’s body to grasp on to. He just wants to feel him in his hands, his rough edges and soft skin, press it against his own body and bathe in his radiant warmth.

But alas, Kyle is nowhere within arm’s reach, and Price can feel the anguish hollow out a portion of his stomach. Did Kyle leave him? No, Kyle couldn’t have left him. Kyle wouldn’t leave him. He didn’t want Kyle to leave.

“John? I’m right here,” a voice says from in front of Price. He opens his eyes that he didn’t even realize were closed, looking down through hazy vision to see Kyle kneeling in front of the chair. He reaches up and takes Price’s hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Shit, did Price say something out loud? Did he beg for Kyle to stay? He’s far too delirious to care about that right now – Kyle looks far too beautiful on his knees, his eyes furrowed in concern as he wracks his gorgeous brain to find a solution to the issue at hand.

The thumb rubbing over the skin of his hand should be soothing, but instead, it’s like holding a thousand matches to dry wood. The heat that Price feels spreading on the exterior of his body now turns inward, igniting all of his sensations. Even worse, he could feel that heat curling in his gut, spreading downwards towards his midsection until it physically manifests in his pants.

Price squirms, unable to hide his discomfort. He doesn’t care that his cock is peeking out from underneath the fabric of his pants – right in front of Gaz – he wants it out. He needs relief, he needs to be satisfied and satiated, he needs…

“Kyle,” Price gasps, although it comes out more like a rasped groan. Kyle immediately jumps to attention, snapping out of his stupor. “Yeah, John?” he asks, and his attentiveness only serves to amplify Price’s attraction. He can feel his fingers starting to twitch where they lay against the back of Gaz’s hands, desperation turning physical as he tries to externalize what he needs.

“Fuck… need…” he groans, shifting his hips to gain a little bit of friction for the erection in his pants. He bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood, trying to contain some semblance of composure even despite the raging heat spreading throughout his body.

It’s far too late for that. Price watches, completely mortified, as Kyle stares directly at his growing problem, his eyes widening in recognition. “Uh, John?” Kyle asks weakly, and Price shuts his eyes, praying that maybe he could just disappear. It strikes him as slightly humorous that the one emotion that could penetrate the hazy fervor is embarrassment, but it makes sense given the circumstances, and the fact that a captain is popping a boner over his sergeant. 

Kyle’s face betrays no emotions as he looks at his captain’s erection, eyes momentarily flicking up to his face and back to his erection. Price watches with bated breath as Kyle blinks, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “John…” he starts, and Price could moan at the breathy way he says his name. He wants to hear it more. 

“John, you’re going into heat,” Kyle says incredulously, and it all clicks. Even throughout the events of the night, Price knew something was off. His sudden jealousy, the unfamiliar heat overtaking his system, his contempt towards the other captains and guests of the gala that dare lay their eyes on Gaz – all of those changes could be explained by a heat and the exaggeration of emotion that accompanied it.

And well, Price can’t exactly deny it – it explains his over-responsiveness to Kyle’s delicious scent, his proximity, his face, his words, his… his everything. 

“Didn’t you take your heat suppressants? When was the last time you had a heat?” Kyle asks, fretting over the consequences a sudden heat had to Price’s health.

“D-don’t remember,” Price gasps. “A-and clearly, n-no.”

Kyle snorts despite the situation. “Fantastic. Fucking spectacular. Do you think they have a medic here? Get you some post-heat suppressants?” He stands from his position in front of Price, slipping his hand from Price’s (which feels like a death sentence), and begins pacing the small area of the balcony, rubbing his chin as he starts to think of a solution.

Deep down, Price knows there’s only one solution. He’s not stupid, and neither is his body – there’s a reason his brain is obsessed with the idea of feeling Gaz’s lips against his own. There’s a reason he’s gone into heat at this exact moment, his body responding to Kyle’s proximity.

There’s only one person Price wants to take care of him during his heat, and he’s currently pacing the balcony, his brain working overtime to figure out a way to prevent the heat from happening.

Price doesn’t know how to tell Gaz that there’s no way to prevent the heat now – he doesn’t think he physically can. He’s far too overwhelmed by all of the explosions of arousal in his body.  Their only choice is to ride it out.

This is where Price realizes that he and Kyle differ a great deal. Kyle is looking for the right solution, the moral solution. He’s so afraid of overstepping the boundaries that they’ve carefully set around their relationship as captain and sergeant, of ruining the career he’s committed his life to. In such a situation, he’s going to have to get his hands dirty. Price thought that the kiss would make how he felt about Gaz clear, about how he felt about the consequences of such a relationship – but it seems his sergeant was trying to keep the professionalism between them, accidentally or otherwise.

And yet, Kyle showed no resistance to the kiss. He stayed by Price’s side, even held Price’s hand when the heat threatened to consume him. And yes, it is incredibly dangerous for Price to go without a partner for a heat that he hasn’t had in years – he’s heard the lectures from the doctors from the infirmary many times. Price’s body is reacting to Kyle’s presence as if it had a mind of its own, and who was he to deprive himself of what his body craved?

The obvious solution is just beyond Kyle’s reach, and Price’s patience is wearing thin.

It only takes a few more moments of suffering like this, of his cock straining against his tight dress pants, of smelling Kyle’s delicious yet paranoid scent waft over the balcony and listening to him mutter under his breath.

Fuck this. John Price is not one to beat around the bush with what he wants. With one last surge of strength, he pushes himself to his feet, stopping Kyle’s pacing back and forth and incessant worrying. “Goddamn it, Kyle,” he growls, dragging his feet as he stomps towards the sergeant, a wave of nausea crashing over him. He takes Kyle’s collar in his fist again, mimicking their heated kiss from earlier, and pulls him close. God, feeling Kyle’s body against his own is near bliss, but he must remain objective. “You. I need you. I need you to do it.”

Kyle swallows, uneasiness present in those warm, brown eyes. “Me, sir?”

“Yes, you, Kyle,” Price says, and his own softness surprises him slightly, conflicting directly with his growing attraction and neediness. “It’s always been you.”

“John…” Kyle breathes, and Price can see the heistance in his sergeant’s eyes. He’s always been so good , so scared to break regulation, to redraw the line, to break the rules. But Price can see that his pupils are starting to dilate, the pheromones of the distressed omega flooding his senses, activating the alpha instincts that Kyle tries so hard to keep at bay.

“Gods, Kyle,” Price breathes. “Claim me. Mark me. Make me yours. ”

That breaks Kyle’s resolve. All of his carefully built barriers destroyed with the utterance of those three words. Price watches with glee as all of Kyle’s inhibitions drop off the face of the earth, leaving only a hungry alpha in its wake.

An alpha ready to claim . 

Gaz’s eyes flick to Price’s omega gland, his eyes glazing over with hunger. “You’re going to be mine, Captain?” Kyle breathes, his voice growing low and husky under the influence of Price’s pheromones. Price feels his heart stutter in his chest – Kyle really did want this. He wants Price just as much as Price wants him.

“None of those other captains will touch you if they know what’s good for them,” Price growls, but it’s a weak statement. He can feel the heat tickling his body once again, his strength fading as the urge to submit starts overtaking his brain. He wants whatever Kyle will give him, no matter what, and his dominance over the situation is quickly dwindling. How embarrassing would it be if anyone other than Kyle saw Price like this – desperate to submit and give himself to someone else. No one else demands Price’s loyalty like Kyle does, and to be fair, no one else deserves it.

Kyle snorts, a mischievous smirk spreading on his face. “Are you always this possessive over me, Captain?” he asks cheekily, taking Price’s chin in between his pointer finger and thumb. The contact makes Price gasp, as if the patch of skin between Kyle’s fingers had been lit on fire, singed by his deft fingertips. He feels his muscles relax, his body recognizing the safety of his alpha’s touch. His hand, which is currently grasping at Kyle’s collar, relaxes reflexively, and his hand slides down the frontside of Kyle’s overcoat. 

Gaz chuckles at Price’s reaction, finding the sudden laxness of Price’s body amusing. “Poor omega,” he tuts, not waiting for Price’s response. “All you need is an alpha to touch you and you’re a bloody mess.”

It takes everything in Price to not immediately crumble and go along with Kyle’s words. He doesn’t want just any alpha to touch him, no, just the one who’s captivated his heart since that fateful day at Piccadilly Circus. “Kyle, please,” he whispers. Desperation is about to take over, and if Kyle isn’t careful, he’d find a desperate omega Price riding him into the sunset here on the fucking balcony.

“Tell me what you need, John.” The words are so soft, yet so forceful – it makes Price’s head spin.

“I just need you,” Price whines. The fingers on his chin are a great start, but he craves more. He wants Kyle’s hands on his body, he craves his presence. He wants Kyle’s body to be pressed against his own without the fabric of his clothing blocking access. He wants to feel Kyle around him, on him, in him – he wants Kyle in every capacity.

“What do we say when we want something, John?”

Price is too desperate to be embarrassed. “Please, Kyle, please!”

A hand caresses the side of Price’s face, starting at his cheek and sloping down underneath his chin. He closes his eyes as a shiver wracks his body, overwhelmed at the pure chaos Kyle's touch was bringing him. He could melt into Kyle’s arms right now, almost completely undone by the sudden switch up of Kyle’s behavior. Lord only knows what Kyle is thinking – there’s darkness stirring in his eyes, a darkness that excites Price beyond his own comprehension. This is the darkness that he’s carefully crafted within his sergeant, except aimed right back at him. A dagger turned from its original path on its owner, and Price would gladly spread his arms and let it penetrate his human flesh. 

It’s an alpha’s nature to claim ownership over their omega. Through indirect ways, Price has claimed ownership over Kyle – of course, therein lies the flipped dynamic between him and his sergeant, but Price has never concerned himself with being a traditional omega. Watching from the shadows, using his influence and manipulation Kyle into staying with him in the 141 – his claim is all over the alpha. He could only hope that Kyle would return the favor, sink his teeth into the precious omega gland and claim him in equal proportion.

The fingers between his chin are gone for a moment, only instead to be replaced by a presence around his throat, a hand placed there, gently wrapping around the circumference of his neck. Price draws in a breath, tensing for impact, but the hand remains there. Two fingers press against his omega gland, oh so gently pushing down into the skin of his neck. The pressure is fantastically delicious, and a soft moan is drawn from Price’s throat as his eyes roll back into his head. Oh, how beauteous would it be to have Kyle’s teeth there instead of his fingers, but Price will take whatever he can get from the sergeant.

Rather, he will take whatever the sergeant gives him. He’s at his mercy, his body and soul growing controlled under Kyle's adept fingers. 

“Let’s get you sorted, captain,” Kyle says softly, and the hand around his throat disappears. Price holds back a whine of disappointment. Kyle has already promised to help him, he just has to be patient for just a bit longer. 

But as Kyle’s physical presence disappears from Price’s skin, he feels the faintness come back, the heat spreading through his veins and engulfing his entire being. His legs grow weak and his knees buckle before he can even take a step. He groans before he feels the world spin on its axis, throwing off his sense of gravity, and he doesn’t have the strength to hold himself up.

Before he can fall, Kyle’s arms are there – or rather, his shoulder is there, allowing Price to wrap an arm around the broad expanse of his back. As soon as it came, the overwhelming heat dissipates, almost as if Kyle’s touch is acting as a soothing balm, extinguishing the flame before it can grow too rampant. “Fuck, Kyle…” Price groans, and Kyle shifts his shoulder upwards, allowing Price to fall into his body. “I’ve got you, John.” His voice is silvery and smooth, like a gentle breeze across the oceanside. “I’ve got you.”

John trusts him with his entire heart.

A hand wraps around Price’s waist and his vision swims as Kyle half walks, half drags him through the balcony’s curtains into the opening of the gala. Luckily for them, the captain’s deteriorating condition doesn’t draw that much attention. The other attendees are far too engrossed in their conversation or drinks to pay attention to the oversaturated scent of desperate omega in the air or its source. Price hears Kyle whisper a quiet “thank fuck” to himself, no doubt relieved that the ceremony taking place at the gala hadn’t started. It would have been much harder to sneak through the main ballroom without garnering an audience if that was the case. 

Price is so lucky Kyle remains stalwart in his dedication to get Price situated. They stagger through the front doors, entering the lobby area where they originally arrived at the function. Price knows they must look a total mess – their hats are missing, which is a total uniform violation, and the scents swirling around their bodies must be pungent beyond belief. At least, that’s what Price thinks – all he can smell is the strong, soothing scent that Kyle is pumping out, trying to calm his distressed omega.

Through bleary vision, Price thinks he knows where they are. He raises his head, trying to get a sense of his surroundings, but he can’t seem to bring all the information together to form a clear idea. His neurons are far too focused on the junction of his and Kyle’s body, as well as the fingers possessively digging into his hip. As much as he wants to help Kyle find a place where he can ravish him, he’s far too disoriented to even point Kyle in the correct direction.

…So this is what happens when an omega doesn’t have a heat for years and years. 

A boisterous voice booms through the room, stealing Price’s attention. “Ah, if it isn’t my favorite sergeant and captain combination!” He hears Gaz groan under his breath as he directs what attention he can towards the voice.

Price stifles a groan of his own, partly because it would come out as a whorish moan. Fucking Willsborough, cockblock supreme. He doesn’t have the strength to hold his head up anymore, nor to engage in the surely ensuing long-winded conversation.

He’s lucky that Kyle has control over the situation. “Captain Willsborough, sir!” he says pleasantly, no doubt giving him that charming smile he gave him when they first arrived at the venue. “H-how can I help you?” Price can tell that he’s trying to save face for the two of them, but Price is at the point where he might rip off his own slacks and let Kyle bend him over in front of Willsborough if it meant satisfying the primal urge growing in his chest.

Willsborough laughs, slowly approaching the duo. “What did I say about the formalities, boy?” he teases slightly, and Price nearly snaps his teeth at him for calling Kyle ‘boy’. “Say, what’s wrong with the captain? Too much to drink?” Willsborough wiggles his eyebrows and it takes all of Price’s strength not to say something he’ll regret. 

Price feels a soft squeeze on his flank. Let me handle it. He lifts his head, burrowing his nose into the side of Kyle’s neck and closing his eyes. The angle is weird, but it’s enough to assuage Price’s annoyance – mostly due to Kyle’s pheromones, his deeply calming scent more saturated with the newfound closeness.

“Ah, Captain Price is… not feeling well,” Kyle attests, keeping his voice firm despite his uncertainty. “Sudden bout of something, not sure what.” His eyes flick to the side, looking for an escape. “Do you know if there’s a private room, preferably somewhere separate? Joh- the captain could really use a spot to lay down.”

Whatever Willsborough wants to say, he smartly keeps it to himself. With a tilt of his head, carefully studying the two men, he lifts his arm and points to the side of the parlor, gesturing towards a door. “Guest room’s over there. Should be private enough.” He raises a hand, gesturing towards Gaz. “Need a hand, son?”

Price’s eyes fly open. There’s no way in hell another alpha is going to touch him. He won’t let it happen.

And seemingly, neither will Kyle. 

“Appreciate the offer, but I got him,” Kyle says with a tight but firm smile. “Thanks for the guidance, Willsborough.” And with that, Kyle roughly tugs Price towards the aforementioned door, leaving Willsborough behind before he can volunteer himself to touch his precious omega.

The display leaves Price slightly disoriented from being pulled by Kyle, but the show of dominance and possessiveness leaves him reeling. “Bloody hell, Kyle,” Price groans under his breath. 

“Told you I’d get you sorted, John,” Kyle assures him, tugging on him more gently than before, urging him towards the door. “Me, and me alone. No one else is going to touch you.”

If it’s meant to be soothing, that’s not how it comes across. Kyle’s teeth are gritted, his grip bruising on Price’s hip. If anything, it’s possessive, but that excites Price more than worries him. God, he hopes that he can see Kyle’s fingertips on his hip after this – he’d run his own fingers over the bruises, reveling in the marks left by Kyle’s contact.

They stumble in through the door, with Kyle throwing it shut behind them. Neither of them care that it makes a loud noise as it slams closed, as Price is backing Kyle against the door the moment it shuts. He wishes he could say he’s more coordinated, but the truth is, he falls against Kyle’s body with little decorum. His lips slot against Kyle’s own, bringing him into a simmering kiss. A warm hand slides up to cup the back of his neck, and his moan is swallowed by Kyle’s mouth. Even the minimal contact feels like it burns Price’s skin, Gaz’s gentle fingers leaving rivulets of fire in their wake. His lips against Price’s own feel heavenly, like a feeling of existential awe – how could something feel so right when it was so foreign?

He’s unsure if he can even continue standing. Kyle’s tongue slides against his bottom lip, and he swears the muscles in his legs forget how to work. He grips Kyle’s shoulder, scrambling for purchase lest he go crashing down at even the slightest touch from the other man. His performance thus far reminds him of a fuckin’ greenie, of a lad about to burst in his boxers from even the slightest bit of stimulation, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too engrossed in the feeling of Kyle’s soft lips against his own to feel embarrassed about how weak in the knees making out with Kyle is making him. 

After a heated moment, Price pulls away, his chest burning from the need for oxygen. His chest heaves as he stares at Kyle, taking in his swollen lips and blushed cheeks. Kyle stares right back, his collar slightly crinkled at Price’s treatment of it. He’s staring through his eyelashes, a predatory glare enough to make Price flush even hotter than he already felt. Price feels his fingers twitch, and his arm is moving before he can even think. He wants to touch, to feel, to worship Gaz, feel the blood pulsing beneath his perfect skin, as if it would give some humanity to the celestial being he had before him.

Time feels languid and slow, like molten hot lava lazily sliding down the slope of a volcano, that Price can’t exactly react to when Gaz returns the favor, fisting Price’s collar in his hand and pulling him close. “I want these off of you,” he murmurs, his eyes glancing over Price’s cordial clothing. “Do you understand, John?”

Price shivers at the tone Kyle uses – it’s low, dangerous, and incredibly commanding. Every fiber in Price’s body is telling him to obey, to submit, to blindly follow Kyle wherever he’d take him.

How ironic it felt to be dressed in white like this, indicative of both Price’s purity and his ranking as a captain. Under Kyle’s paralyzing stare, Price already feels defiled, as if one single order from Kyle could strip him of his ranking entirely. 

Oh, but how freeing it feels to be sullied. Price is no stranger to getting his hands dirty, and it seems Kyle, his disciple, would follow in his footsteps quite nicely.

His tongue is heavy in his mouth, so all Price can do is nod, stepping away from Kyle for a second to unbutton his overcoat with shaky fingers. His fingers fumble along the fabric, heavy and useless in his delirium, but Price doesn’t care. He needs his clothes off now. Kyle commanded it, and so it must be so. 

The overcoat falls away, leaving only Price’s white undershirt, stained with sweat from the sticky atmosphere of such a crowded public space combined with his sudden heat. He peels the shirt off, gasping in relief as the air of the room hits his boiling skin, and turns his attention to his belt and pants. He fumbles about for a bit, grunting as he unclasps the belt and unbuttons his slacks, shoving them down to his ankles. His underwear follows, and his cock springs to attention, slapping against his abdomen and smearing a small amount of precum on his skin.

He’s pretty proud of his ability to undress so quickly given his haste, but he finds that runs into a bit of a predicament – his shoes are still on. He swears, leaning down to untie the laces before a wave of dizziness hits him, and he nearly falls over until a hand is gripping his wrist, preventing his fall. “Woah there, Captain,” Kyle’s amused voice says from above him. “Someone’s a tad overzealous, eh?” 

Price would laugh, but Kyle’s grasp on his wrist has stolen all of his attention. “Mmnnn,” he decides to groan instead, hoping that it’s a sufficient answer for Kyle.

He thinks Kyle gets the message, because he’s being led towards what he thinks is a bed, which is rather surprising. He was rather wrapped up in Kyle to be cognizant of what was in the guest room, but he supposes that Kyle is more put together than him at this exact moment in time.

Price sits on the bed, biting his tongue as he holds back the urge to grind his cock against his skivvies to relieve the friction in his pants, when Kyle bends down and reverently unties his shoes for him. He pulls them off gently, carefully placing them to the side of the bed for later retrieval. Price tries not to gawk. Even the simple act of service has Price feeling utterly winded, the flames threatening to once again consume his entire being. Could he be any more attracted to this man? Handsome, brave, and thoughtful – Kyle has surpassed all of his expectations. Hell, he even pulls off Price’s pants and underwear from where they were bunched at his ankle, folding them and placing them next to the shoes. This reverence, this care… Price couldn’t help but stare in wonder, his mouth slightly agape. 

The room is slightly drafty, a chill lingering in the air, but it’s a welcomed difference as it cools the feverish heat of Price’s skin. He’s far too aware that it’s now just him and Kyle alone in the room – a desperate omega going to heat and his alpha in pre-rut – and that among the pair of them, he’s the only one currently naked. His cock is hard and red against his abdomen, begging for attention. He feels so raw and exposed, but his worries are quickly pushed to the back of his head when Kyle returns to his standing height, now towering over Price as he sits on the bed, and starts to unbutton his own overcoat. 

Something stirs within Price. The memory of his first time seeing Kyle in his clean, pristine suit – how beautiful and professional he looked, how the dark blue brought out the brightness of his dark, intelligent eyes – his hand shoots out to grab Kyle’s wrist, preventing him from unbuttoning the first button on his overcoat. Kyle glances at him, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Price rasps. “Keep it on. You look… incredible.”

Kyle snorts, but a coy smile spreads across his face. “You like how I look all dressed up, huh? Never would have thought all it would take to get to you would be a suit and tie.” Despite his teasing and to Price’s delight, Kyle acquiesces to his request, keeping the overcoat on and moving his hands to remove his own layer of pants. He haphazardly throws them to the side, and turns to face Price in all of his glory.

They lock eyes for a second, and Price feels himself go breathless. Staring at Kyle like this – looking up and catching his smoldering gaze – he feels small and powerless. Maybe in another universe that’s a bad thing, but now, Price revels in it. The inherent need to submit is dragging him under, and the desire to fall into Kyle’s clutches and remain there for eternity is strong and demanding. 

Kyle’s fingers return to his chin, craning his head up this time, keeping his chin clasped in between his fingers. “Bloody hell, John,” he comments, and Price feels his cock twitch at the awed tone in Kyle's voice. “Pure beauty, you are.”

Price swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He’s got no comeback, no snarky deflection or facade to hide behind. Kyle is seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time. And it’s exhilarating, the way Kyle’s eyes over him like he could devour him in a few chomps. The alpha licks his lips ever so slightly, his hands opening and closing in fists at his sides, as if he’s holding back his desires just as much as Price is.

“Well then,” Price croaks. He can feel the tension in the air, palpable enough to cut it with a knife. Kyle looks like he’s standing on the balls of his feet, a predator ready to pounce. Price is expecting it, he’s hungry for it. He wants the onslaught Kyle is sure to give him.

“John.” Kyle’s voice is quiet, a direct juxtaposition to the heat in his gaze. “If we do this, there’s no going back.”

Price looks him dead in the eye. “Affirmative.”

“I won’t hold back.”

“I don’t want you to.”

A moment of silence, and a low, primal growl falls from Kyle’s mouth. “You’re fucking mine, John Price.”

And Kyle Garrick pounces. 

Immediately, Price finds himself knocked onto the bed, his back pressed against the sheets, Kyle’s lips attacking his own. It’s nothing compared to the one they had at the door – Kyle is trying to devour him whole, and Price can only hang on for dear life as he’s swept up in the riptide that is Kyle’s desire. Kyle’s tongue is his mouth, his teeth are biting his lips, his hands are gripping his hips. All Price can do is desperately hold on to Kyle’s hips, his hands sliding underneath the fabric of Kyle’s uniform and feeling the smooth skin hidden underneath. It’s aggressive and messy, and a war of spit and tongues, but Price loves it. He can’t get enough of it, like how Kyle can’t get enough of him. Price can feel his heart about to burst out of his chest from the pure adrenaline and excitement.

Kyle relents for a moment, heaving for breath. Price can tell he’s acting on pure instinct now, his pupils dilated and his smile slightly manic, his lips opened just enough to where Price can see his sharp canines jutting out from his top lip. He wonders how it would feel to have the sharp edges of those teeth sinking into his skin, what kinds of rings and marks they would leave – or how it would feel to have those teeth sink into the sensitive skin of his mating gland. 

It’s too much for Price to bear. The way Kyle is staring at him is making him squirm. Kyle had promised him more – promised to claim him, to satiate him in ways he’d never been satisfied before. He thought he was desperate out on the balcony – that was nothing compared to the desperation he feels right now. Kyle is so close to him, hovering over him with that predatory look in his eyes, which only serves to make Price want him even more.

“Fucking hell, Kyle,” Price grumbles, shifting his hips upwards in an attempt to find any bit of friction against his weeping cock, but to no avail. Kyle’s torso is too far from his own, so he ends up humping the air. Kyle notices his squirming, huffing a laugh at the cute attempts of his captain to relieve his problem. “Such a pretty omega,” he purrs. “Can’t believe no one’s claimed you thus far. How beautiful you’d look, crying on cock, begging for a knot.” He tilts his head, studying Price’s blushed face. “You want that, don’t you. You want to be claimed, isn’t that right, John? It’s okay, you can admit it.” 

Price’s face burns with embarrassment. “Kyle…” he whispers, digging his nails gently into the skin of Kyle’s lower back where his hands rest. He doesn’t want to admit there’s truth in Kyle’s words, even though there’s no consequence to it. There’s nothing wrong with giving in to his omega nature. Hell, not even an hour ago, Price didn’t know if he was capable of giving into it. Kyle had thrown everything he thought he knew into question, but that’s just what he did. Even after their first encounter at Piccadilly Circus, Kyle continued pushing Price’s beliefs to their limits. Kyle had forced Price to redraw his lines so many times, and this was only one instance of such an occurrence.

“C’mon, John,” Kyle hedges, his tone so playful yet also slightly menacing. It reminds Price of a venus fly trap, posing as a beautiful flower to lure its prey into a false sense of security, until it wanders too close to it, and it's too late. “You know you want it.”

He does. He does want it. “I-I… I want it,” he whispers, but that’s not enough for Kyle.

“Louder, sweetheart,” he teases, and the pet name makes Price moan softly. “What do you want?” 

“Please, Kyle, just… fuck, I want it,” he whines. He moves his hips forward again, his back arching against the bed as more pre-cum spills out of the tip of his cock. Kyle is messing with him, playing with his food. 

He doesn’t quite understand why he’s so embarrassed about it. A few minutes ago, he was grabbing Kyle by the collar and demanding that he fucks him. Even now, naked with a half-clothed alpha on top of him, Price still wants that. He wants Kyle to claim him inside and out – he wants to walk out of this dingy guest room and have everyone at that damn gala recognize Kyle’s scent on him. So why was it so hard just to say it?

His hesitance only spurs Kyle on further. Kyle dips his head down, maintaining eye contact with Price as he moves, placing his lips on the side of Price’s neck and gently nipping at the skin. Price’s breath hitches in his throat as Kyle’s soft lips move up neck, tickling the skin with his soft breaths. A wet kiss is placed just below Price’s earlobe when Gaz speaks next. 

“You want to be good… don’t you, John?” he whispers in Price’s ear, and Price can’t stop the shudder that wrecks his entire body. 

“Y-yes,” Price gasps, already feeling breathless from Kyle’s relentless treatment. “Want to be good… for you…” 

With a satisfied hum, Kyle leaves one last kiss on the side of Price’s neck, pulling his head back up to hover over Price once again, His eyes rake over Price’s naked body, taking in the full picture of his captain laid out underneath him. “Fuck, John,” he breathes, and Price loves the way Kyle utters his name with such reverence and danger. “Can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me. You’re gorgeous.” He dips his head down again to place a gentle kiss in between Price’s pectorals, dragging his lips across Price’s skin. He moves his head down, placing another kiss to Price’s sternum, then lower, on his stomach. He keeps going lower, igniting the nerves beneath Price’s skin with every press of his lips against Price’s body. Every kiss is accompanied with a stuttered gasp from Price, as if every contact of Kyle’s lips against his skin  is sending shockwaves through his body. Kyle’s lips press on Price’s happy trail, finally pressing the skin at the top of his pelvis, right above the tip of Price’s hardened cock.

Price’s tongue is clenched between his teeth, hard enough for him to potentially draw blood. Kyle’s lips are so soft and warm, and every press of his lips against his skin makes him want to arch his back off of the bed, searching for friction against his cock. He has to hold his hips still as Kyle levels his gaze at Price’s thick member, tilting his head as if studying how angry and impatient it was being. “Poor thing,” Kyle tuts, infuriatingly keeping his hands as far from Price’s cock as possible. “Need a hand, don’t you?”

A whimper climbs up his throat, but thankfully he holds it in. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so Price just nods his head, fists clenching the sheets as he watches Kyle study his cock. He needs relief – he needs a mouth on his cock, he needs Kyle’s cock in his mouth – quite frankly, he doesn’t care what he’s given. He just needs Kyle. 

“Words, sweetheart,” Kyle coaxes softly. He slides fully off the bed, obscuring his body as he props himself up on his knees, putting himself in a position where his mouth is hovering over Price’s weeping prick. He brings his hand up, gently brushing his fingertips against the shaft as he stares up at Price with a taunting look in eyes, waiting for a response. 

Price's eyes roll back in his head at the first contact of Kyle’s fingers against his cock. “God, Kyle, please!” He doesn’t know what he’s begging for – he doesn’t even know what he wants from Kyle specifically. He’s completely at Kyle’s mercy, and he needs relief in whatever shape or form Kyle decides to give him.

Kyle chuckles. “You’re so pretty when you beg, Captain,” he remarks, and in one smooth motion, he swallows Price’s cock.

Price can’t help but gasp as the warmth of Kyle’s mouth encompasses the head of his cock. Kyle immediately wraps his tongue around the tip, covering it in saliva before sliding his mouth down slowly, testing Price’s length in his mouth. Price knows he is by no means small, but there is determination in Kyle’s eyes – Kyle is never one to half-ass an assignment, and it's clear that his treatment of Price’s cock would be no different. 

The heat bubbling beneath his skin feels like it’s exploded, rivers of magma flowing through Price’s veins. He can feel his cock pulsating in Kyle’s mouth, as if the shaft itself is celebrating the blessing of stimulation and pleasure. He can’t tell whether his gasps are from enjoyment or relief – all he knows is that the heat wrapped around his cock is absolutely heavenly. It’s enough to placate his need for pleasure, but not quite enough to satisfy him completely.

But he’s good. He’s a good boy. He’ll take whatever Kyle gives him. Kyle knows what he needs, and he trusts Kyle wholeheartedly. 

And yet, his omega instincts aren’t quite satiated…

“Oh my god, Kyle,” Price moans as Kyle starts bobbing his head, sliding his tongue down the shaft of Price’s cock as it enters his throat. Kyle’s predatory eyes study him closely, watching every reaction from the captain. Price knows he must look wrecked – his eyes teary, mouth slightly agape with every gasp, his toes curled from the heat overtaking his body. He figures Kyle is enjoying the view, because his eyes darken even further as he watches Price gasp and twitch under his stipulation.

Kyle starts moving his head in earnest, slurping noises echoing around the room as he starts taking Price’s cock even further. He widens his throat, accommodating the latter inches of Price’s shaft, and Price groans at how good it feels when Kyle’s lips brush against his pelvis. It takes all of his effort to still his hips, to prevent himself from thrusting into Kyle’s mouth, chasing that delicious heat. Kyle must sense this, or he must notice the small stutters of Price’s hips, as he reaches his hands up and grips Price’s hips like he did previously, holding Price to the bed and stifling his movements. 

Price could cry at how good it feels, at how sharp the sensations are. Kyle’s fingers grip his hips, his mouth sliding up and down his cock, his tongue gliding over his shaft. Price props himself up on his elbows, giving himself a better angle to watch Kyle take his cock through lidded eyes. Shaky hands reach out, and Price lays his hands over where Kyle’s grasp his hips. “Shit, fuck Kyle…” he gasps, the heat within his body cooled at Kyle’s touch. He wants to press Kyle’s hands deeper into his skin in the hopes that his fingerprints will imprint on the upper layers of Price’s skin, as if he’s silently begging Kyle: keep me in your grasp and never let me go.

However, the stuttering of Price’s hips don’t subside – instead, they switch directions. They’re miniscule movements, almost like twitches, but not enough to deter Kyle from his mission. Instead of thrusting forward, Price moves his hips up and down on the bed, craving for friction not against his cock, but his backside. He whimpers as Kyle swallows his cock down his throat once again, the whole thing disappearing down Kyle’s throat. It’s heavenly, it’s ethereal, and yet, it’s still not enough for Price. He knows he’s dripping like a faucet, turned on to the highest degree at Kyle's touch and presence, but he itches for something else. His omega instincts need it, crave it, beg him for it.

He needs more.

“God, Kyle, p-please,” Price whimpers, staring at the ceiling as his head lolls backwards. His hips don’t stop stuttering, and he feels like a dog dragging its ass across the carpet. “Need more, need you , please, fuck…”

With one last slurp, Kyle pops off of Price’s cock, admiring his handiwork for a moment before returning his gaze to the blushed omega on the bed. Price’s chest heaves for air, feeling as if he just ran a marathon. His face feels heated, and he’s sure his cheeks are flushed to high heaven. He’s the complete picture of desperation, and the slight stuttering of Price’s hips still hasn’t stopped. He can’t stop it – the muscles in the region are working subconsciously and instinctively. Hell, his gut feels warm, as if the internal activity in the area has increased tenfold. It’s not feverish or desperate like how it feels with the rest of his body – it’s subtle and nurturing, like how a small cut in the skin bubbles with warmth during the healing process. It reminds Price of the sauna back at base, the gentle heat loosening the muscles of the area and creating a slightly wet sensation.

Price has never felt this way before, or rather, he’s forgotten this feeling.

After a moment, Kyle laughs at Price’s insistence. His eyes look incredibly soft, so much admiration behind those eyes, until his gaze turns steely. He straightens to his full height, rising from his knees as he climbs on to the bed, crowding Price against the bed in a position that mirrored their original orientations. His lips are slick with saliva, and his stare pins Price to the mattress. “You think you’re in any position to demand things from me, John?” he asks in a quiet voice, and the venom in his voice steals the breath from John’s lungs.

“N-no, I-I,” he stutters, but Kyle shushes him by placing a finger over his mouth. “I’ll answer that question for you. You’re not. You don’t get to make the decisions this time.”

“W- wh-” is all Price can mutter when faced with Kyle’s aggression. God, it makes him feel dizzy – the authoritative tone Kyle is adopting, the glare in his eyes as he looks down at Price with such aggression – it scares and invigorates him at the same time. He wants to get on his knees and kiss the ground that Kyle walks on, clasp his hands together and pray for forgiveness for the perceived slight against his alpha. He wants to beg for the opportunity to prove himself worthy to his Kyle.

A finger presses at his lips, and Price graciously accepts the finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the long digit. A second finger joins the first, and Price takes it with earnest. He hallows his cheeks, sucking on the fingers as if that would appease his crimes. Kyle is looking down on him as he sits on his pelvis, a triumphant look in his eyes as he watches Price suck on his fingers without question or abandon. “Something got your tongue, Captain?” he taunts. Price tries to speak, but all he can manage to do is make an undignified gawking noise.

“You look better like this, Captain,” Kyle muses, tilting his head to study the fervor at which Price is sucking on his fingers. “So obedient, with nowhere to hide from me… no way to hide what you so desperately need.”

Price’s head spins at Gaz’s honied words. His mind is pleasantly numb, only focused on movement of Gaz’s lips and the fingers in his mouth. The way he keeps tauntingly calling Price ‘captain’ makes Price shiver, a constant reminder of the power imbalance that had been flipped on its head. Kyle would never acknowledge it out loud, but this is how it was off the field – Kyle wielded all the power, and Price followed him like a dog on a leash, bending to his every whim. Whether it be Price bringing Kyle food in the mess hall, or giving him the best group of recruits to train, Price would always shift the scale in Kyle’s favor. Of course, Kyle was too oblivious to notice just how gone Price was for him – or perhaps, Price’s advances were too stealthed, fearing for the consequences of what would happen if their hypothetical relationship were to be discovered. 

But as the look in Kyle’s eyes darkens as he takes in Price’s naked form laid out on the bed, his alpha instincts taking over due to the high concentration of Price’s omega pheromones in the air, Price finds himself caring about the consequences less and less.

Kyle pulls his fingers out of Price’s mouth with a pop, and Price gasps for breath. Kyle’s fingers hadn’t even gone down his throat, nor had Kyle really pushed him far beyond his limits, but he still found himself breathless at the sight of his sergeant above him and the control he so easily wielded. Kyle hums non committedly, noting Price’s handiwork. “See how easy it is to get what you want, John? Just imagine if you had approached me instead of sulking in the shadows.” He shakes his head with a tut. “Could have given you a proper heat.”

The promise of that steals the breath from Price’s lungs. “Don’t care…” he rasps. He doesn’t care about having a proper heat in a proper nest – he’s never cared for that before, never afforded himself the pleasure of having those luxuries. All he cares about is the here and now, and the prospect of having Kyle after denying himself for so long. “Just… need you now…”

“And have me you will,” Kyle lightly chastises, lightly dragging a finger down the outline of Price’s hip bone. “You’ve got to give me a little patience for all the stress you've caused me by refusing to ask for what you want.”

“Fucking hell, Kyle,” Price groans, although it comes out as more of a whine than he would have preferred. His hips shift upwards, desperate for pressure or stimulation against his cock, but to no avail. He’s trying to be patient, he is, but the promise of Kyle is too much to bear to remain strong for an extended period of time. His cock is hard and flushed against his stomach, and it feels like a sin to stare at it too long. The knot is blushed and swollen at the base, pulsating ever so slightly, betraying how turned on Gaz was despite his calm and controlled appearance. Price has never been one to shy away from a challenge, and Kyle’s cock is definitely no different, but his size… In his youth, John had experimented with a few knotted toys to satisfy his omega urges, but nothing compared to the size of what Gaz was hiding in his dress slacks. 

But maybe, just maybe – and oh god, there’s the exhilarating fear that goes along with this kind of thought – maybe if he asks, begs, pleads with Gaz, he can get what he wants. If he gives up control completely, hands it over to Gaz willingly, maybe the intense, confusing, and contradictory sensations of the heat will be gone, replaced with a kind of euphoric satisfaction that Price has never felt before.

He’s done with the teasing.

“Kyle,” he mutters, and Kyle snaps to attention. “I need… I need you to fuck me .” The two words at the end of the sentence come out quieter than he expects, but the fact that he says it makes his heart skip a beat in excitement.

Gaz raises an eyebrow, his lips pulling into a mischievous grin. “What was that, John?” he asks snarkily. “I didn't quite hear you.” He most definitely heard Price despite how quietly the two words were uttered – the smile gives it away, as well as the heightened sensory abilities of an alpha in heat – but he wants Price to squirm.

“God damn it, Kyle, I need you to… fuck me .” This time, the words come out slightly louder, but there’s a hesitancy in Price’s voice that makes his volume taper off at the end. God, why can’t he just say it?

He’s too focused on looking at Kyle and focusing on the simple prospect of speaking when a wet finger circles his entrance. He gasps at the foreign feeling, his eyes widening and toes curling. God, yes, that is what he wants, that is what he needs. “K-kyle,” he gasps, and Kyle smirks, pleased with his reaction. 

“One more time, John,” he purrs. “Let me hear it.”

The floodgates open, and Price throws caution to the wind.

“God, Kyle, I need you to fuck me !” he screams, uncaring that someone could likely hear him through the thin walls of the guest room.

Kyle hums happily. “There it is. I’d be happy to, love.”

The finger pushes in, and Price moans at the sudden intrusion, instinctively spreading his legs and shifting his hips to give Kyle better access to his hole. Kyle’s eyebrows furrow in concentration, twisting his body as he sits atop of Price, putting all of his focus on Price’s lower half. He pushes in slowly, tortuously slow, and his full pointer finger disappears inside of Price with little resistance. “Holy shit, John, you’re so fucking wet,” he breathes, noting the ease at which Price accepted the intrusion.

Price feels like he’s in heaven. Some primal need inside of him is yelling at him, drowning out  any other coherent thought in his brain. He needs to be filled, filled and stuffed to the brim with Kyle’s knot. He can feel something liquid running down his ass, evidenced by the squelching noises that accompany Kyle’s finger as he pushes in and out of Price’s needy hole. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes that’s him – that’s his omega slick, acting as a lubricant and making the process ten times easier. It’s him that’s allowing Gaz to press another finger in alongside the first, two fingers moving in tandem to stretch Price open. He’s certain he’s never been this wet before, and a miniscule part of him worries about whether or not he ruined his dress slacks with his slick.

However, that part of him quickly falls silent as a third finger presses in alongside the other two. “K-kyle,” Price moans, pleasure licking up his spine. Kyle’s fingers move without obstacle, smoothly pressing into Price. “God, love, just like that,” Kyle mutters under his breath, seemingly hypnotized by the view of his fingers just disappearing inside of Price. “Taking me so well, so wet for me…”

It’s still not enough. Part of Price wants to be cheeky, to demand that Kyle fuck him ‘proper’ like he promised, but he knows he won’t get what he wants that way. He doesn’t care that Kyle has only slightly prepared him for what’s to come – if it hurts, it hurts. What is a little bit of pain in comparison to the blinding pleasure that would surely follow? 

He needs it right this instant.

“Kyle,” Price rasps, the ceiling spinning in his vision as he lays on the bed. “I need you to fuck me right now or I might die.” That is truly how it feels – it’s something akin to anxiety, terrifying and intrusive. While Price could likely recognize how asinine his statement is if he weren’t in a heightened state of arousal, he can’t right now. If Kyle doesn’t get inside of him within the next few minutes, he may actually pass away. 

Kyle laughs at Price’s desperation, pulling his fingers out of Price’s ass. “Needy omega,” he berates softly, although there is no real anger behind his voice. “You really need it that badly, huh?”

Price nods, feeling sorely empty without Kyle's fingers inside of him. “Please, Kyle.” That's all he can say. He doesn’t know how else to convey his burning desire to be filled.

Kyle tuts, returning to his original position of sitting on Price’s pelvis. His hands are placed besides Price’s head, elevating him so he can look down on his teary-eyed omega. He levels his gaze, and every second of silence feels like agony to Price. Kyle gently wipes the hair off of Price’s forehead, humming in understanding as he feels the sweat forming on his captain’s brow. “Tell you what, love,” he says softly, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes that spells danger. “Why don’t you show me how bad you need it?”

“Sh-show you?” Price stutters. He can feel the heat consuming him once again. He’d do anything to have Kyle inside of him, to feel the wicked bliss of being filled and claimed by his alpha.

Kyle smiles, but it’s sadistic and twisted. Price shivers. Beauty and peril in one, twisted into the irresistible form of his sergeant. Kyle runs a thumb over Price’s bottom lip, his touch so soft, juxtaposing his wicked smile. He feels like prey, caught in the hunter’s trap. “Show me how badly you want it, John. Do what you wouldn’t at the gala and take some initiative.” He raises his eyebrow again, and it takes everything in Price’s power to not sit up and kiss the crease of his temples. “Why should I have to do all the work?”

He’s so mesmerizing. Price could stare into his striking, brown eyes for an eternity. Perhaps he should feel more offense at his subordinate insinuating his inability to take matters into his own hands, but Gaz’s words ring true. Where Price shines in taking initiative on the field, his actions throughout the gala reflect the exact opposite. Hesitance and uncertainty – that’s all he’s broadcasted to Gaz.

Somewhere beyond the haze in Price’s brain, he figures Kyle is testing him. Kyle’s loyalty undoubtedly lies with Price, but where do Price’s loyalties lie?

Kyle wants him to prove it to him. He wants Price to willingly hand himself over, body and soul.

Is Price prepared for that?

If we do this, there’s no going back. 

Price doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to go back to the hesitation, to the jealousy, to the words of admiration for Kyle always being on the tip of his tongue.

All he needs to do is prove it to Kyle.

A surge of strength courses through his limbs, and he grips Kyle’s shoulders, yanking him to the side and pulling him down towards the bed. Kyle goes willingly with a laugh, as if he had expected Price to be this handsy when filled with desperation, and Price clambers a top of Kyle, switching their positions. He grinds his ass down on Kyle’s pelvis, groaning as he feels Kyle’s cock rub against his asscheeks. This is what his body has been subconsciously craving – this is what his hips have been wanting to do for ages. 

It feels so fucking right.

“Finally getting what you want has you so excited,” Kyle notes, and Price looks down as Kyle gently flicks his cock, taking some of Price’s precum on to his finger and smearing it into the thick hairs of his happy trails. Price’s cock twitches in anticipation, and his hips stutter in eagerness.  He leans forward, grasping Kyle’s shoulders for purchase and leveling his heated gaze, staring through his eyelashes at the smug sergeant. 

“Bloody hell, Kyle, I need you so bad,” he growls. Kyle looks gorgeous like this, pinned underneath his grip. Even though Kyle is now beholden to his ministrations, it’s clear who is really in control of the situation.

Kyle’s smile remains triumphant. “So take me, John Price. I’m all yours.”

Price feels some of his bravado return. “Is that an order, Sergeant?”

“Does it need to be, Captain?” is Kyle’s response.

That’s all the confirmation Price needs.

His heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest as he twists his body, glancing down at Kyle’s groin area and taking in the sight of everything he desires. He takes one hand off of Kyle’s shoulder, reaching behind him with a shaky hand and grabbing Kyle’s cock at the base, giving it a few good tugs. “That’s it, John,” he hears Kyle groan, clearly pleased with Price’s actions thus far. He gathers the saliva in his mouth, spitting onto his hand to coat Kyle’s cock in a layer of his spit. He can feel his hole clench around nothing as Kyle's member twitches in his hands, and a few loose droplets of slick drip down the back of his thighs. 

This is really about to happen. The suspense is almost unbearable.

He shifts his hips upwards, raising himself up and giving Kyle one last glance before returning his focus to his backside, angling the head of Kyle’s cock towards his hole. The first feeling of Kyle against his hole is addicting and exciting, and Price’s heart rate accelerates.

This man would be his undoing.

With a deep breath, Price lowers himself onto Kyle’s cock, letting Kyle’s thick member enter his body.

The first inch enters, and it's surreal. Price’s mouth drops open and his eyes roll back into his head. It’s not even fully inside of him, but the stretch is enough to make him go fucking insane.

“Fu- hu- fuck, hah,” he pants as he slowly sinks down, staring at the ceiling as if praying to the gods above. It’s slow progress, but that’s exactly how Price wants it. He keeps going down, his thighs starting to shake as he reaches the lower inches of Kyle’s cock. One of his hands keeps the base of Kyle’s cock steady, while the other releases Kyle’s shoulder to fist the sheets of the bed beside Kyle’s body. A warm hand sneaks underneath his, tangling their fingers together, a gentle presence amidst the perfect storm. Kyle. 

“Fuck. Kyle,” Price whines. All he can think about is the stretch of Kyle’s cock inside of him and the burning fire within him. He’s lost all of his eloquence and grace – all he can think is Kyle, Kyle, Kyle.

The last few inches disappear inside of Price, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he sits, Kyle’s cock fully sheathed inside of him. He feels Kyle shift underneath him, changing the angle of his cock inside of Price, and that forces an even more desperate moan from Price’s mouth. He feels so full, so satisfied, so overwhelmed at the presence of his alpha’s cock inside of him. 

“Fucking look at you, love,” a voice says, and Price looks down through hazy vision to see that Kyle has sat up, one of his hands grasping at Price’s hips while the other cups his blushed cheeks. Price’s eyes flutter closed at the gentle touch, his head lolling into Kyle’s palm. “Right gorgeous, John,” Kyle breathes. “Such a good omega for his alpha.”

The gentle encouragement as well as the new proximity to his alpha brings Price some clarity. He sits for a few moments, reveling in the feeling of Kyle’s touch, allowing himself to acclimate to the stretch. When he deems himself properly prepared, he absentmindedly lifts his hands, bracing himself on Kyle’s shoulders before lifting himself off of Kyle’s cock and promptly dropping himself back down.

He swears the breath gets punched out of him as Kyle’s cock fills him once more, but it’s so fucking good , the pleasure is so sharp and overwhelming that he moans, again lifting himself and dropping back down on Kyle’s dick. God, it’s addicting, it’s blinding, it’s everything under the sun and exactly what Price has craved for so long.

The previous haziness has cleared up, leaving Price in a state of ecstasy. The feeling of euphoria is so sharp, Price has to still his quaking legs while he catches his breath, sheathing Kyle’s cock fully inside of him as he sits down on Kyle’s lap. He swears Kyle’s cock is like a caffeine shot to his veins, activating and overloading his senses all at once. It’s a feeling of elation like no other – he could live here, sat on Kyle’s lap whilst his cock fills him just right, his cock twitching as it barely brushes against the front of Kyle’s uniform with every rise and fall of Price’s hips. He just needs to catch his breath. It’s too much right off the bat, tremblingly so, but it’s everything he’s ever wanted. 

The ceiling comes back into focus as he focuses on his breaths, drawing in as much oxygen as he can with every inhalation. Blood is rushing in his ears, his heart working overtime in his heightened state of arousal. It’s a moment of reprieve for Price to recuperate, because he has no intention of taking his time with Kyle. He’s waited, yearned, and dreamed of this day for far too long.

“Good, love?” Kyle’s soft yet commanding voice brings Price back to his body. He nods slowly, licking his lips and tearing his eyes off of the ceiling. Kyle is still buried inside of him, and his hands are rubbing comforting circles into his hips. With a deep breath, Price cranes his neck downard, shifting his view to look at the alpha responsible for bringing him pleasure he’s never felt before.

Kyle is a picture of beauty beneath him, and it makes Price's mouth go dry at the sight of him. His cheeks are flushed dark, his eyes sparkle with mirth and arousal. His lips are slick with spit, both from Price’s own lips and his own saliva. He’s staring up at Price with a slight smile on his face, a countenance that screams victory. And of course, the concentration of Kyle’s warm, comforting vanilla scent has filled the room, evidence of the alpha’s rut coming in to match his omega’s sudden heat. Every breath that Price takes fills his nose with more of the other man’s scent, and it’s only emboldening Price more.

“Kyle…” Price whines. His eyelids flutter as Kyle shifts his hips ever so slightly, his cock moving inside of Price. Kyle is all he can see – he’s all he can smell, all he can feel, all he can taste – his name falls from his mouth like the utterance of a holy prayer. 

“I need words, John,” Kyle commands, his voice taking a serious tone. “Are you good to continue?”

Price could die. Kyle’s voice has always been a vice for Price, but in this context, in this commanding tone… he would do anything to have Kyle speak to him like this for the rest of his life. “Good… good,” he pants, locking eyes with the alpha in front of him. “Good always, need you Kyle, fuck, let me…”

Price digs his fingers into Kyle’s shoulders, resuming his previous movements. Just like before, he lifts his hips, letting Kyle’s cock slide out of him before slamming back down, moaning as Kyle’s cock brushes against his prostate, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. “Gods, Kyle!” he grunts, quickening his pace of rising and falling on Kyle’s lap. Now that he’s found his spot, he makes sure to angle his body in that direction, making Kyle’s cock hit it over and over. 

All the while, Kyle is gasping and growling underneath him, firmly encouraging Price to continue with the same fervor. Where Price’s grip will likely leave wrinkles in the shoulderpads of Kyle’s overcoat, Kyle’s grip will most definitely leave fingernail marks on Price’s hips. In the back of Price’s mind, he almost wishes Kyle could grip him harder, make the marks permanent tattoos of his skin. He knows he will wear them with pride, trace over the divots in the shower and replay the memories in his mind. 

“See what you were missing, John?” Gaz gasps, and through his moans and gasps, Price manages to nod. Kyle huffs a laugh, giving Price’s ass a light tap before sliding his hand up the skin of his back, his touch leaving fire in its wake. “Good fuckin’ boy, John,” he growls. “Take what you need, my sweet omega. So fuckin’ wet and loose for me, that’s it John, take it all.”

Price does in fact see what he was missing. In all his cowardice and fear, he had prevented himself from experiencing the nirvana that was Kyle’s body, his saccharine tongue, and his cock. How could ever go back to normal methods of taking care of himself when Kyle was by his side? How could he ever consider skipping another heat when Kyle has proven he will be by his side for all present and future heats? Kyle is altering his brain chemistry, injecting him with the addiction that is his scent and his presence. To be dependent on another scares Price, but in his current position, he realizes he could care less. He would be the most devoted omega if it means he could continue bouncing on Kyle’s cock without a care in the world.

Another pass of Kyle’s cock over his prostate has Price letting out yet another whorish moan, and he crumples forward from the pleasure, wrapping his arms around Kyle’s neck and shoving his nose into the side of Kyle’s neck. “Fuck… Kyle, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers tearfully into Kyle’s neck, gently sinking his teeth into the skin of Kyle’s clavicle. He just needs something to bite to stifle his moans, something to hold on to lest he float away from this feeling of weightlessness. It’s too good, it’s too much, but it’s perfect.

Kyle cups the back of Price’s head, pulling him further into his body. “That’s a good boy, John, that’s it,” he growls softly, his breath fluttering against the shell of Price’s ear. Price whines Kyle’s name again at the praise, moving his hips with even more ferocity. The angle is a little strange now that his torso isn’t fully straight, but he still continues shifting his hips up and down, back and forth. He needs to fill every inch of himself with Kyle’s cock regardless of what position he’s in. 

The heat is stirring within his stomach, building with each stroke, but the change in position makes it harder for Price to reach his prostate. He whines in frustration, nuzzling into Kyle’s neck while he tries to find that perfect spot once again. He can’t find it, it’s just out of his reach. It’s not enough, he’s grown too used to the stretch of Kyle’s cock inside of him. His cock is red and leaking against Kyle’s torso, no doubt splashing pre-cum all over Kyle’s spotless uniform, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s grown desperate enough to crave release, all of the stimulation culminating into a fiery explosion pooling in his gut. It’s just barely not enough – as much as he bounces, as much as he shifts his hips back and forth, he can’t get the damn angle right. “Oh gods, Kyle,” he moans, tears springing to his eyes as the frustration builds in his chest. He just wants to cum, he’s been so good and patient. He just wants to release, it’s sharp and it’s painful and he needs it badly.

“Talk to me, John.” Kyle’s soothing voice enters his ear and slightly calms his frustrations. 

“N-need t-to cum, K-kyle,” Price stutters, his voice cracking mid-sentence. He stills his hips, letting Kyle’s whole cock fill him once again. It’s a start, but he needs more. “G-god, p-please let me cum!”

The begging must have some effect on Kyle, because Price feels him inhale deeply, his muscles twitching as he tries to keep himself in check? “You need to cum?” he snarls, and Price shivers at the darkness in his voice.

“Mhm,” he whines into Kyle’s neck, and he feels the nails dig into his hip again.

“Alright, baby,” Kyle growls, and a light double tap to his side signals him to get up. “You need to cum? You’ll cum, I’ve got you.”

Price weakly lifts his hips at Kyle’s request, his face still buried in his neck when Kyle suddenly lifts him clean off of his cock, grunting as the strain of lifting the massive man takes its toll. Price’s eyes go wide in surprise as Kyle manhandles him with ease, gripping him underneath the shoulders and twisting his body, throwing Price onto the bed beside him. Price lands facedown on the bed with a grunt, his hole sadly clenching around nothing. He doesn’t have to wait long though, because Kyle is arranging him to his liking, pulling him to the center of the bed and yanking his hips backwards. Price’s head spins, his moan muffled by the sheets as he spreads his legs, his back arching into a slope due to Kyle’s ministrations. He feels so much more exposed in this position, the cold of the air ghosting over the skin of his back, but he doesn't care, because Kyle is running a finger down his back, causing a shiver to run down his spine.

“Fucking beautiful, John,” Kyle growls, awe present in his voice. “Just right gorgeous, following your orders so well. You deserve a reward, hm?”

“Yes,” Price moans, turning his head to the side so he can look back at Kyle climbing behind him, slicking up his cock with his hand. The bed dips down as Kyle kneels behind Price, leveling his cockhead with Price’s needy hole. “God, yes, please Kyle…”

Those soft hands that he loves so much press gently against the lower portion of his back, smoothing out his skin and grasping his hips. Price holds his breath, anticipation causing his heart to speed up in his chest. 

Gaz growls behind him, a feral, wild, animalistic growl. “ Present for me, omega ,” he snarls, and he shoves his cock deep into Price’s slick hole in one fell swoop.

Price barely has time to register the blinding pleasure entering his system before Kyle is setting a blistering pace, fucking him like a complete animal. The only thing Price can do is hang on for dear life, fisting the bedsheets in his hands. “K-kyle!” he cries, the pace catching him completely off guard. This is  nothing compared to how Price was riding him. This is messy and desperate, fueled by adrenaline and their pheromones mixing in the air. This is Kyle letting the beast consume him, giving in to his alpha instincts to ruin the omega that was begging for him so sweetly. 

And oh god, does it feel good. Price has considered himself stone cold, someone who can easily control his emotions and remain stoic, even in the face of the most difficult of situations. But this – the way Kyle was fucking him like he was nothing more than a cheap whore, driving his cock directly into his prostate with every stroke – Price couldn’t keep it together. All he can do is gasp and moan into the bedsheets, saliva leaking out of his mouth as he groans Kyle’s name over and over: “Kyle, fuck – ha, fuck, alpha , hng, please!” It’s mindless, he can’t help it. Kyle is fucking him so well, moving his hips back and forth so quickly, his brain can barely keep up.

The sound of skin slapping skin echoes through the room, loud enough that Price is sure someone will be able to hear them through the door. He doesn’t care though – there’s pleasure thrumming through his system, vibrations reverberating in his bones from Kyle’s rough treatment. And yet, through all of it, Kyle remains steadfast and objective, showing his composure and commitment to making Price cum harder than he ever has in his life. “Good fucking omega,” Kyle spits, and Price can practically hear the wild, unconstrained grin on his face in his words. “Can’t believe no alpha has tried to claim you before. How lucky am I to be the one to lay claim to the notorious Captain John Price.”

Oh lord, to hell with his captain rank. His captainship didn’t matter here – in between the moans and the gasps, there was no room to pull rank. Here, they weren’t Captain John Price and Sergeant Garrick – they were Kyle and John, alpha and omega. An even playing field, where both competitors start on level ground. But the fact that Kyle pulls rank… it makes Price’s heart stutter in his chest. It feels so good to be thirsted over, to be hunted and caught beneath the consequences of his own decisions. To be reduced to nothing more than something to be claimed, a hole to be fucked – it makes his head feel fuzzy, a dopey smile spreading across his face. “Y-your c-captain,” he manages to stutter, his words barely audible over the slapping of Kyle’s hips against his ass. 

“Yes,” Kyle hisses, and Price feels his pace falter as Kyle leans forward, giving him the ability to look directly at Price’s fucked out and teary-eyed face. “ My captain, my omega, my John. Thank the lord I get to claim you before anyone else.”

Claim. Claim you. Claim you before anyone else. 

Oh fuck, Price feels like he’s about to explode. Kyle renews his blistering pace, gripping Price’s hips with more fervor this time around as he pounds Price into the mattress. But something in the back of Price’s mind is growing, a concern he’s never had before. It’s creeping up from the heat curling in his gut, white hot and urgent. The stimulation from Gaz’s newest efforts has him teetering over the edge – he can feel it stirring in his stomach, his cock twitching where it hangs between his legs, pre-cum spilling all over the mattress beneath him. His body is begging for release, but there’s something that’s not in place yet, a missing piece of the puzzle that’s preventing him from tipping over the edge into that divine climax.

Claim .

The heat crawls up his neck, prickling his skin and grabbing his attention. It settles along the side of his neck, begging and pleading for relief. It’s not quite painful, but it’s a pressing matter, one that needs to be addressed soon lest Price lose his fucking mind. In between the blinding pleasure and the delicious growls of the alpha behind him, it’s hard to discern exactly what he needs.

It hits him square in the face when Kyle growls from behind him, raising his leg and planting his foot on the bed to enhance his ability to fuck Price into oblivion. “Holy fuck, John, so beautiful, so claimable, so irresistible,” Kyle growls, his words lighting a fire inside of Price. “All fucking mine .”

It’s those few bits of praise that Kyle really emphasizes that cements it for Price.

Claimable. Mine.

Oh god, he needs it. 

And if he needs it, he needs to ask for it. That’s what Kyle would want, right?

He’s a good boy, he’s a good boy for Kyle.

Fuck, he’s right on the edge. Please, god, just…

“Kyle!” he screams. “Fuck! Claim me, please!”

Kyle’s pace stutters as the request catches him off guard. “What was that, love?” he asks, the previous growl gone from his voice. In fact, he sounds delighted, boastful, almost as if he’d calculated this victory. Price can almost imagine the cheeky smile painted on his face. 

With shaky arms, Price lifts his head from the bed, gasping for breath. “C-claim me, a-alpha, p-please,” he begs. He’s hot all over, he’s so fucking close, he just needs Kyle’s jaws to close around him like a forbidden delicacy, needs his teeth to mark his skin and secure their bond for eternity. 

Kyle’s hips continue to move, slower than his previous pace, but enough to keep Price gasping for air. He reaches forward, grasping the hair on Price’s head in his grip, and yanks backwards.

Price flies backwards with a yelp, his back going parallel with Kyle’s chest. He can feel the rough material of Kyle’s dress shirt against his back – he craves the real thing, the feeling of his skin against Price’s own, but he’s too distracted by Kyle’s ability to manhandle him to care about the lack of skin-to-skin contact. Kyle resumes the pace, fucking Price from a brand new angle that has him arching his back, his head falling into the junction between Kyle’s shoulder and neck. Kyle’s arm reaches around his torso, effectively holding him against Kyle’s chest. 

“Say it again, John,” he growls in a low voice.

Price cranes his neck upwards, meeting Kyle’s smoldering gaze. He looks like a god like this, ethereal and heaven-sent.

“Claim me, Kyle,” Price pleads softly.

The predator narrows his eyes, a bloodlusted grin spreading across his lips. 

For a split second, Price remembers the few words they had exchanged before Kyle had pounced on him.

I won’t hold back.

I don’t want you to.

Gaz snarls, and Price swears he can see his canines sparkle in the dim light of the guest room.

“You’re fucking mine , John Price.”

He lurches forward, and Price screams, his vision whiting out as Kyle’s pretty, white jaws clamp down right on his mating gland.

Price cums, hard . 

He’s not sure where he goes after Kyle bites him in the neck, partly due to the fact he’s sure he enters another plane of consciousness. All he can feel is the fire in his gut turning into an explosion and his cock pulsating as he shoots his load all over the sheets below him. He’s not sure he’s ever cum that much in his entire lifetime – even after he’s sure the shockwaves have stopped, they keep coming, slowly decreasing in an intensity as Kyle works him through his orgasm. He feels utterly boneless, his mouth open in an eternal, silent moan as Kyle keeps fucking him through his orgasm, continuing to nail him in the prostate. Price’s cock can’t help but continue to drip with cum even after the original event, Kyle’s thrusts overstimulating him far beyond what he thought he could take.

He doesn’t have the strength to hold himself up anymore. He flops forward with a groan, face planting into the sheets while Kyle continues using him for his own pleasure. He doesn’t care that he goes directly into the puddle of drool that had spilled from his mouth earlier, his face smashing into the wetness of the sheets. He feels weightless, as if he could float off this plane of existence and never return. It’s a feeling of satiety and relaxation that he’s never felt before – not even a hit from one of his beloved cigarettes could bring him this level of tranquility.

The ringing in his ears is all he can hear when the shockwaves echoing through his body stop, the constant pressure on his hips disappearing as Kyle moves his hands, gently sliding his palms up the skin of Price’s back. Price thinks he hears Kyle say something, but he can’t be sure – he’s too spaced out to focus on anything audible or tangible. However, what he can feel is the loss of feeling at his backside as Kyle slips his cock out of Price’s hole, his muscles in the area clenching around nothing as if trying to prevent Kyle from removing his member from him. 

“John?” Oh, it’s Kyle, his voice gently speaking into Price’s ear. When did he move? Price whines wordlessly, a needy whine that Price hopes conveys his wishes to Kyle. 

“You broken?” Kyle asks, smoothing his fingers through the hair on Price’s back. Price tries to shake his head no, but his head is planted firmly into the bed, which doesn’t allow him extensive movement of his neck. Not that he really cares, his tongue is too numb, not quite regaining motor control over his body after the mind-numbing orgasm he just had.

Kyle laughs at Price’s wordlessness, continuing to rub Price’s back to help bring him back to his body. “Did such a good job, John,” he soothes softly, his voice so gentle and patient. “Such a beautiful, brave, and obedient omega for his alpha.”

Price preens under the praise. He might not be able to see or feel much – in fact, the tips of his fingers have started tingling with numbness from the overwhelming pleasure – but being able to hear Kyle tell him what a good job he did brought him so much joy. He’d do anything to continue hearing Kyle telling him how good he did.

With time and with plenty of gentle words from Kyle, the ringing in his ears slowly fades away, and he regains his ability to hear. The silence of the room becomes deafening, overlaying even his own breaths and Kyle’s words. He groans softly to signal to Kyle that he’s back to being somewhat coherent, and he’s lucky that Kyle understands because he laughs. “Back with me, love?” he asks, and Price nods to the best of his ability. 

It’s at this point that Kyle takes it upon himself to roll Price over to his side, making sure that Price doesn’t fall directly into the lines of cum staining the bedsheets. They’re lucky the guest bed is decently sized, as Price’s burly body is able to stay on the bed without rolling off like a massive log. He continues rolling Price’s body so that he’s on his back, staring up at the blurry ceiling as he lets himself be moved by Kyle’s trustworthy hands.

But having Kyle’s hands on him has that heat returning to his gut, and he can feel the blood rushing south again, filling out his cock. He groans softly at the sensation, his hips stuttering upwards as he tries to get any sort of friction against his cock. Lord, how could he already be raring to go for another round? He’s certainly not young anymore, nor as virile, and yet he’s already dripping from his tip and leaking slick from his hole. He throws his arm over his eyes in embarrassment, moaning as the desperate heat overtakes his body again, the sensation similar to when he had originally been confronted by Kyle on the balcony all those minutes ago.

“Ah, ah, ah,” a voice chides, and Price’s arm is removed from his face, revealing Kyle’s smiling face. “None of that,” he chastises, his eyes flickering between the renewed blush on Price’s face and the hardened cock between his legs. “I’m not quite done with you,” he growls, and Price looks down in awe to where Kyle’s cock hangs angrily between his legs. He’s stil fucking hard. “I want to see you while I fuck you.”

Price shivers with anticipation. “God, p-please,” he stutters, looking up into the eyes of his alpha. He couldn’t be more physically exhausted, but something in his brain is telling him that he needs it, he needs more, he needs to be filled and satisfied by Kyle far more times than just the once. His body has kicked into overdrive, everything operating at an accelerated pace. It’s an unquenchable thirst, as if he’d been living in the desert for eons and Kyle had been the one to bring him an infinite amount of water. 

“Your wish is my command,” Kyle says, and Price watches with wide eyes as Kyle changes again, morphing from a nurturing, caring persona into a beast ready to devour his delicious meal. He licks his lips, his eyes narrowing once again into the eyes of a predator that Price has come to love and respect. Kyle’s rut must have abated slightly with Price’s orgasm, the alpha sensing his omega needing comfort and responding to his needs as such. But now that Price’s cock is weeping, his hole once again dripping with slick, the alpha prepares to take his omega for a second round.

And take him he did. Gentle yet eager hands spread Price’s legs, Kyle’s cock delicately guided into Price’s willing hole. They moan together, not dropping eye contact for even a second as Kyle begins to move his hips again, the new position delivering Kyle’s thrusts at a whole new angle. All Price can do is watch as Kyle delivers him the most delicious pleasure again, each thrust bringing Kyle’s hips flush with Price’s ass.

Kyle looks so magnificent like this – his gaze is focused solely on Price, breaths ragged as he focuses his efforts  into fucking Price into the mattress. Kyle notes every small twitch or gasp he draws from Price, using each tell to shift his hips until he’s again nailing directly into Price’s prostate with every thrust. It’s like poetry, how Kyle makes Price cry out in pleasure, how he makes his back arch off the bed and his toes intensely curl. Price’s moment of linguistic ability disappears once again, as the only sounds falling from Price’s tongue are screams and cries of Kyle’s name.

“I’m the luckiest damn alpha in the world,” Kyle grunts through gritted teeth, snapping his hips forward on a particularly rough thrust, making Price’s eyes roll back into his head. “Ha- hng, Kyle,” Price groans, the pleasure already gathering that all too familiar heat at the base of his cock. He never knew that he could be so responsive after finishing once already, but Kyle seemed to have that effect on him, one that awakened his most primal and deep-seeded desires.

Kyle growls wildly, his fingernails digging into Price’s hip where they grasp him. He hooks his free arm under one of Price’s legs, leaning forward to wrap his other arm around Price’s waist. With a grunt, he pulls Price onto his cock, simultaneously pulling the other man’s body closer to his own. Price screams in pleasure as Kyle’s entire cock impales him, his body tensing at the chilling sensations that wrack his whole body. His arm flails out and finds purchase on the back of Kyle’s head, pulling the other man into him as well. With the new position, Kyle leans forward, his fingers grasping at Price’s leg and waist – Price wouldn’t be surprised if he found bruises in the size of fingerprints on his legs as well – continuing to fuck Price into the mattress with reckless abandon.

The combination of the new position and Kyle’s strength has Price seeing stars. Every micromovement of Kyle’s face is absolute beauty in his eyes – the way his nostrils flare with every thrust, the way his eyes narrow when Price moans, the way his lips twitch whenever his cock drives directly into Price’s prostate – Price feels blessed that he get to lay eyes on this rare moment.

“Kyle, f-fuck, c-close,” Price whispers, his impending orgasm sneaking up on him. He whines as Kyle takes note of his words, increasing his pace and his deadly accuracy. “Go on then,” Kyle snarls, his wild eyes meeting Price’s desperate and hazy ones. “Cum for me.”

Price gasps desperately, his orgasm upon him. He leans forward oh so slightly, connecting their foreheads together. “Kyle…” he whispers weakly, his cock twitching as his climax crawls through the lower half of his body.

He swears he can see Kyle’s eyes twinkle with excitement. “Let me see you, John,” he whispers, impossibly soft for the rough treatment he’s delivering to Price’s body. “Let me see it.”

With a strangled shout, Price cums for the second time, his cock twitching as he cums in between their bodies. The sensations border on painful, his cock aching as it is forced to propel yet another orgasm, but he doesn’t care. Kyle feels too fucking good inside of him, fucking him through the orgasm and drawing even more cum out of Price’s dick. Kyle is too beautiful, watching him fall apart with dilated pupils and sharp teeth, the alpha emerging triumphant in making his omega completely boneless in his arms.

When the shockwaves of the orgasm dissipate, Price becomes putty in Kyle’s arms. He’s floating again, the world going fuzzy and that tingling feeling returning, only this time, it’s widespread throughout his entire body.

But just like Kyle said, he isn’t done with Price. He continues fucking Price even as his cock falls still, his eyes growing larger and larger as he reaches his climax. “Fuck, John,” he growls, and Price can tell that he’s so close, teetering over the edge, waiting for the signal to release all of the pent-up emotions that had been plaguing him since the gala’s beginning. 

Kyle needs it. He wants it, he’s so close, and he’s been so good for Price.

Maybe he just needs a little encouragement.

With the last ounce of strength Price has, he places his forehead against Kyle’s forehead. “Go on, alpha,” he whispers, pleading with Kyle. “Go on and take me.”

He wraps his legs around Kyle’s waist, a silent promise to never let go.

Kyle’s eyes go wide, and his thrusts become animalistic and sloppy. With a gargled scream, he squeezes his eyes shut and with one final thrust, he lets his orgasm overtake him.

Price gasps in surprise as he feels his hole stretch far beyond what he’s already taken, Kyle’s knot popping and spilling his cum inside of Price, filling him to the absolute brim with his seed.

It takes a few, long seconds for Kyle to finish climaxing, every pulse of his cock accompanying a groan or a grunt from the alpha. Price feels deliciously paralyzed, trapped in Kyle’s grip and his knot – his head spins, his body shakes, his vision blurs from the added pressure of the knot inside of him. He can’t escape, and he doesn't want to. He wants to be trapped in Kyle’s clutches forever. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, and he doesn’t care. Calloused fingers gently caress the back of Kyle’s head, watching with misty yet soft eyes as Kyle gasps for breath, lungs begging for oxygen after the performance he had just delivered. Price watches with wonder as the rough edges of Kyle Garrick melt away, reengaging the softer parts of him – the edges of his canines become less pronounced, his pupils return to normal size, and his pants of effort become less animalistic and more humanlike. After the adrenaline and the pheromones fade away, all that’s left is two simple men, clinging to each other for comfort and warmth in the midst of the ever changing landscape that is their relationship.

Of course, it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Despite the calmness that washes over Price following Kyle’s climax, something still simmers in the depths of his soul. It speaks to him quietly yet firmly, commanding him to yearn, to want, to crave more and more tastes of the golden nectar that is the sweet sergeant wrapped around his body.

“John,” Kyle whispers, his voice wispy and small.

Price snaps to attention as if he hadn’t been watching his sergeant’s every move for the last minute of recovery. “Kyle?” he rumbles in a hoarse, quiet tone. He wants to provide Kyle the same comfort that he had provided him early in his heat. 

Kyle’s body shakes slightly as he laughs, the vibrant smile that Price loves so much returning to his lips. “Can you, ah, let me go? Please?”

With a soft “oh”, Price relaxes his legs, allowing Kyle to shift his hips backwards, removing his cock from Price’s hole. Price groans at the unfamiliar feeling of being empty, finding that he really misses the sensation and closeness that came with Kyle’s cock being inside of him. But alas, his alpha deserves a break. He needs a moment to recover from the effort and the strain, a moment of reprieve to collect himself and clear his red-tinged vision.

Boneless, floating, exhausted – any of those words could have described Price at the moment. Kyle slips off the bed with a soft groan, saying something about holding still. He hums an acknowledgment – even if he wanted to move, he physically couldn’t. His limbs feel like jelly, and his head is in the clouds. 

He falls back against the mattress with a satisfied groan. Taking advantage of the moment of silence, he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and categorizing the aches and pains reverberating around his body. He feels sore – a testament to his fleeting youth – but the feeling of contentment is something beyond anything Price has ever felt before. It feels like watching the final puzzle piece fall into place, like he’s finally found his place in the world.

Soft footsteps against the floor indicate Kyle’s return, and the bed dips down again as he climbs next to Price. Price’s eyelids are too heavy to think about opening them, reveling in the soft darkness. Something warm brushes against his chest, and he gasps softly, his eyes snapping open to reveal Kyle gently washing him with a warm washcloth. Price opens his mouth to speak, but his tongue goes numb as he watches Kyle gently wash off the sweat and grime that had covered Price’s body during their activities. He looks so soft like this, so gentle and caring, and something warm bubbles in Price’s chest at the sight. 

Kyle must notice his speechlessness, as he snickers softly and continues moving the washcloth across Price’s body. “There’s a washroom attached to the room,” he says softly. “Just relax, John. Let me take care of you.”

Price bites his lip. What did he do to deserve this treatment? He’s never felt more attended to, like Kyle actually cares about his pleasure or his comfort or his well-being.

He’s afraid that if he speaks, he may cry. And so he remains silent, allowing Kyle to clean his body with the washcloth. In his silence, he allows himself to stare at Kyle. He relishes in the afterglow, in the gentle contact between himself and Kyle through the washcloth.

Throughout his life, Price has learned to savor these soft, gentle moments. They’re few and far in between, and the people that share these moments can disappear in an instant. He commits to dragging his gaze up and down Kyle’s face, hoping and praying that maybe his brain will paint this image into his memory forever.

Kyle deems his handiwork satisfactory, and he hums softly before unceremoniously depositing the washcloth onto the floor. “We’ll pick it up later,” he says to Price with a shrug, before standing from the bed and smoothing out his navy blue overcoat that had somehow remained on during the entirety of their copulation. “But now,” Kyle starts, his sharp eyes giving the room a quick once over before returning his gaze to Price. “We should probably get out of here.”

As much as Price’s body detests the idea of movement, his mind agrees with Kyle’s assessment. Now that the fervor and desperation had been assuaged, it’s time to worry about other things – namely, how they were going to escape the gala without risking being seen. If they were seen slipping out of the gala together, their mixed scent wafting through the air and a fresh bite mark on Price’s mating gland, it wouldn’t be difficult to put the pieces together. However, if they can slip out of the venue without drawing attention to themselves, they can figure out their aftermath without the risk of wandering eyes or ears. 

Kyle reaches a hand down to Price, who takes it graciously. He assists the captain as he stands from the bed, his knees nearly buckling under his own weight. But Kyle is there to catch him when he stumbles, as he always is. “Thanks,” Price grumbles, standing to his full height with Kyle’s help. Kyle nods, his eyes are of concern. “You broken, John?” he asks, and Price’s heart clenches painfully at the use of their shared phrase.

The reality of what they’ve done comes crashing down on him. Captain and Sergeant; omega and alpha. Their secondary sexes won’t excuse the relationship between the rankings, especially not with Price being a captain. He should know better; he should do better. But he can’t help it when it comes to Kyle – Kyle is his vice, his utmost weakness.

Besides, Kyle bit him. That was a binding vow – even with sex-addled brains and heightened states of arousal, there’sno way in hell either man would make that decision lightly. If Kyle didn’t want to bond with Price, he could have just continued without acquiescing to Price’s request.

It was so spur of the moment, Price didn’t even think to ask for Kyle’s wishes.

“What have I done?” Price whispers to himself.

“John, hey,” Kyle says firmly. He must smell Price’s fear, as he gathers the other man in his arms, attempting to fill the air with pheromones to calm his omega. “Talk to me.”

Price shivers, the fear overtaking his senses. God, his heat must also exacerbate his negative emotions as well. “Don’t leave, Kyle,” he croaks. He knows it’s not a full explanation of his fears, but underlying all of the fear and anxiety is the fervent wish for Kyle not to leave. 

Kyle wraps his arms arounds his midsection, drawing him into his body. “I won’t, John.”

“But I-”

“No buts, John. I’m not leaving.”

Price feels like he’s going to throw up. “I never asked if you wanted to…” his voice trails off, but Kyle must know he’s talking about the bite. “I never asked what you wanted.”

“I want you, John.” Kyle’s voice is as soft as autumn leaves falling through the air.

Price swallows, his tongue heavy in his mouth. The close proximity of Kyle’s body to his own is glorious, and lord, his warm vanilla scent is delicious and comforting. 

But… it’s not enough.

It’s not enough to keep Price’s doubts at bay. He’s broken, he’s bloodied, he’s so very damaged. John Price is not a good man, and yet, he wants nothing more than to be good for Kyle. Those two things cannot happen. It’s not possible for a bad man to have good things.  

He tries again. “If you don’t want this, we can-”

“Bloody fucking hell, John,” Kyle growls, interrupting Price’s self-sacrificing monologue, and before Price can react, deft fingers are dripping his neck and he’s being pulled into a searing kiss. Kyle’s tongue dips into his mouth, licking into the area as if he’s trying to devour Price whole. It’s just as fervent and charged as their first kiss in this room, against the door, with hormones and adrenaline running as hot as the blood boiling in their veins. 

When Kyle pulls back, releasing Price’s mouth from the kiss, Price can’t help but stare.

Kyle smirks. “Anything else you’d like to say?”

The cheek on this man was going to be the death of him. “There was no going back,” he says quietly, recalling the words they had said to each other at the beginning of their engagement.

Kyle snarks a laugh and rolls his eyes, making Price’s heart jump in his chest. God, he’s so fucking pretty. “I’m well aware, John,” he says plainly. “I want this.”

“You do?” The words are falling from his mouth before he can stop himself.

Kyle raises his eyebrow at the other man. “Thought I made myself clear with the bite.”

Price feels his face grow hotter in embarrassment. What was it about Kyle that made him unable to hide from him? “Dunno,” he mutters. “You could’ve just been caught up in the moment.”

Kyle’s patience must have finally run thin, as the sigh that falls from his mouth sounds unbelievably done with Price. “Bloody hell, Jonathan Price.”

It’s Price’s turn to laugh. He’ll admit, wrapped in Kyle’s arms and his scent, his brain does a complete 180. It seems utterly foolish to even think that either of them are having second thoughts at this development in their relationship. Both of them knew what they were getting into. They both made the conscientous decision to engage in this relationship. 

Kyle wants it. He wants it. There’s nothing to worry about.

He shoves his prior insecurities down – both himself and Kyle are confident and capable men. They will figure it out.

With renewed confidence, Price looks at his alpha, taking in the gorgeous view that he’ll cherish for the rest of his life.

Heat stirs within his gut, and his cock twitches where it rests against his thigh. His vision blurs for a second, and he moans involuntarily. “Kyle…”

“Again, hm?” Kyle asks with a twinkle in his eye, and all Price can do is nod his head. 

Kyle laughs, the sound of which only makes the heat inside of Price burn hotter. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” With one final smile, Kyle leans into Price, drowning the other man in his scent and taking his earlobe between his teeth. He bites down softly, nipping at the skin and making Price go weak in the knees. “I promise to take good care of you,” he growls.

That’s enough of a promise to get Price moving. They quickly change into their now wrinkled uniforms and duck out of the room. The sounds of the gala echo from behind the doors to the main ballroom, and a quick sweep of the area reports the lobby as beautifully empty. It seems they had been gone for long enough to miss the main events, to which neither of them seem too pressed about.

They rush out of the venue, smiling and giggling at one another like two teenagers sneaking out of their houses at night.

The only things they’re leaving behind are soiled sheets and unwhispered words. 

Let the others find the evidence, and let them wonder what had transpired within the walls of that guest room.

»»————-　★　————-««

In the privacy of his room, Price stands in front of the mirror, staring at the dark bruises forming on his neck. He gently presses his fingers into the wounds, appreciating the memories that accompany the slight pain that blossoms from the wounds. The hair on his chest is slightly wet with condensation from his shower, and a towel hangs loosely around his hips.

They weren’t done when they got back to Price’s private room. Price was in the midst of his heat, showing no signs of flagging so long as Kyle was anywhere in the vicinity. 

And who was Kyle to deny his sweet omega exactly what he wants?

The cries of Kyle’s name echoed throughout the night.

But now, a day later and with a clearer mind, Price smiles as he looks at himself in the mirror. His mating gland had healed over nicely, the skin regenerating from Kyle’s previous bite. He can’t help himself from running his fingers over the new patches of skin, closing his eyes and reminiscing about that very first bite – the one that had sealed their fate in promising themselves to one another. His back hurt with a dull ache from being folded over every damn surface in the room, and his back was littered with angry, red scratch marks from a certain sergeant who seemingly couldn’t keep his hands and nails to himself. Though, John can’t exactly say he didn’t return the favor – there were an equal amount of scratches from Price’s own nails on Kyle’s back and shoulders, reminders of the passionate and lust-filled night they had shared together. 

He opens his eyes and sighs. He’s happy, happier than he's ever been. He has Kyle, and Kyle has him.

“John?” a voice says from behind him, pulling Price out of his haze. He tears his gaze from the mirror, turning to face his alpha.

Kyle pats the space on the bed next to him, giving Price a wink and a smile. “Here, love.”

Price raises an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me into my own nest, Sergeant?” he asks, faux incredulity in his voice.

Kyle laughs. “Think you mean our nest, John.”

Price’s lips pull into a smile. “That I do.”

»»————-　★　————-««