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On the day of their first meeting, Javier had already prepared his polite refusal.
He completed his purpose, his destiny as provisioned by fate itself—defeated the dark queen and usurped her, taking his place as acting regent of Magentano to usher in the new era of peace.
According to tradition as decreed by the great dragons, there was only one prize fitting of such a hero.
The heart of winter.
—And the hand of the blessed omega whom it resided within.
He planned to attend the celebrations—it would be the first time in two decades that commonfolk were permitted to enter those sacred mountains of the Pantara range—and as the new king of Magentano, he was expected to make an appearance… but he would not accept such a gift.
He was no lover, no husband.
He was a soldier, battered and scarred down to the bone, and would be for the rest of his life. Even as the war-time faded into a distant memory for others, he would never be able to return to peaceful life.
—And Lloyd Frontera, his would-be omega, looked so delicately, painfully soft.
He was dressed in pale white robes, modest drapery that billowed around him as he walked down the temple stairs towards where Javier kneeled, head bowed—and he remembers first glimpsing those bare feet, thinking the floor was far too cold, this whole mountain was too cold, really, for an omega to traipse around with no shoes or coat—-
Then Lloyd had acknowledged him, Iron-Blood Knight, he called, and Javier lifted his head—
That careful, diplomatic rejection dried up in his throat.
He remembers staring into Lloyd’s hazel eyes, taking in his brown hair, the pink of his lips, how that smile lit up the barren cold room as if the sun were shining down brightly on them. Such a warm disposition for an omega whom people reverently called The Winter Heart, so warm that it flooded Javier’s chest.
Delicately, he had pressed his lips to Lloyd’s knuckles in greeting—
—And nearly keeled over when he smelled that omega slick still coating Lloyd’s fingers.
Lloyd had smiled down at him, the perfect picture of innocence, his gaze gentle and voice soothing as he responded to Javier’s choked salutations.
He said something that Javier couldn’t recall—sweet words that made their audience coo, something along the lines of Your Royal majesty, Sir Asrahan, Iron-Blood Knight and hero of this world, it is an honour to finally meet you, how I have longed for you my whole life, my betrothed—
Javier hadn’t been paying attention, if he was honest with himself. He was too occupied with the thought of snatching Lloyd’s hand and cleaning off that obscene fluid with his tongue.
—And Lloyd knew it, Javier could see it in that mischievous glint of his eyes.
He knew that Javier was thinking those vulgar, filthy thoughts, that he was imagining how Lloyd must have spent his time earlier, indecently, fucking himself on his fingers right before coming out to meet his dear fiancé, so that he could taunt Javier, make his mouth water, make him drool as he imagined crawling under Lloyd’s robes so he could drink that scent straight from the source—
Javier had been so focused on controlling himself that he forgot he was supposed to decline the engagement.
He merely nodded, numb and mute, still kneeling at Lloyd’s feet for far longer than he was expected to, as the high priest formally announced their betrothal. He would rule over Magentano as the new alpha regent, and Lloyd Frontera would become his omega consort.
The purest omega, the omega born with the heart of winter, revered for his blessing from the gods above. One of the youngest archmages to ever exist, who has grown up in these cold mountains from birth, sheltered, meditating in quiet reverence to the divine for his entire life.
A demure, chaste omega who has been promised to Javier Asrahan, the greatest hero of this generation—
“Fuck yes—!” Lloyd whines, throwing his head back. “Fuck, Javier, harder—!”
Javier grunts, increasing the pace of his hand. It makes Lloyd squeal, squeeze tight around his curled fingers. Another gush of slick dribbles down Javier’s wrist.
“Ahn—! Touch my clit, come on, yes, yes, fuck yes—!”
All those pretty words, to put it bluntly, had been a right load of horse shit.
“Your chaperones will hear,” he warns.
It makes Lloyd laugh, breathless as he grinds his hips down against Javier’s hands. He was far too casual about the risk—it took two months of Javier’s perfect gentlemanly behaviour before his chaperones finally let their guards down enough to slack on their duties.
Surely, they must have thought. Surely, they cannot be expected to watch the fluttering of love birds day-in and day-out—and Javier indeed visited the temple daily, instead of the minimal monthly requirement—Surely, the chivalrous, honourable Iron-Blood Knight would never even consider defiling an omega in his care.
Disciplined as he lived his whole life, Javier was also quite sure of that himself—until Lloyd had taken the first opportunity they were left alone to bend over, reach back and spread himself for Javier’s eyes.
“You said they left,” Lloyd teases.
“And they may return. I do not know how long they will be gone—”
“Then use that grandmaster hearing and keep watch like I said—”
He thrusts his fingers harder, punishingly, causing Lloyd to gasp.
“I am finding it difficult to concentrate,” he rasps. He stares at how Lloyd’s pink slit swallows up his hand, shiny with slick.
He wants to lick it up, bury himself up to the nose in it, but he knows that scent will cover his face plainly as he leaves, disclosing to anyone with a nose how Lloyd and him spend their courtly luncheons together.
“Then fucking hurry up and make me come—!”
“You are a menace,” Javier says, tiredly, but he does oblige and starts vigorously rubbing at Lloyd’s clit.
“Ahn—! Hey, not so rough—!”
“You said you liked it.”
“N-Not like that, it’s too much, fuck—-! Hahn—!”
“Then show me again, next time,” Javier growls. “How you like it.”
Inexperienced as he was when they started their courtship, Javier initially worried about his ability to satisfy Lloyd. He’d never touched an omega before, barely knew the relevant anatomy besides the blurry fantasies that would overtake him during his ruts.
It was easy to be a fast learner, however, when Lloyd sat back in his chair, asked him to kneel between his legs, and showed Javier exactly how he liked it.
He still remembers watching unblinking, mouth agape, Lloyd’s knees tucked over his shoulders, as Lloyd writhed and moaned on his own fingers, how he’d jack-hammered his own clit and brought himself to climax with a loud cry of Javier’s name.
—And in his afterglow, panting, thighs shuddering in Javier’s grip, he’d leaned down with a smirk and daintily pressed his wet fingers to Javier’s mouth, and Javier had opened his lips with a wrecked groan, sucking and licking them clean.
“Ahn, I-I’m—! I’m coming—!” Lloyd whimpers, but Javier could already tell, because his pelvis tightens up around Javier’s wrist as that slick starts gushing out of him, running down to Javier’s elbow and dripping to the floor.
Really, they should have been less concerned about him deflowering Lloyd, and more concerned about Lloyd corrupting him.
“Cover yourself,” Javier says, as he wipes his arm with his handkerchief. “Your chaperones are returning.”
Lloyd nods shakily, tugging and adjusting at his disarrayed robes. Javier hastily leans down and wipes the slick from the floor before it can be mopped up by that long flowing fabric.
He’ll have to stuff the little square under his chest plate when he leaves to prevent that scent from wafting out. The one blessing of this cold climate was that Javier could wear his sturdy armour and thick woolen cloak without suspicion.
It covered most pheromones from escaping, so long as Javier was careful not to get anything sullied. He rolls his undershirt’s sleeve back up and grabs his left arm’s gauntlet from the table, pulling the straps back onto his forearm.
By the time Lloyd’s chaperones re-enter the parlour, they’ve returned to their places as if they’d never left, sitting across from each other at the table and eating quietly.
“Winter heart,” they say, bowing with their hands over their hearts. “Are things still well?”
Lloyd smiles at them sweetly—the same smile that Javier would level nations for.
“Of course,” he answers. “Sir Asrahan is such a gentleman.”
The two-faced little devil, Javier thinks, but the thought is terribly fond.
They enjoy the rest of their supervised visit at that polite distance, filling the time with idle conversations.
Lloyd shares more about his upbringing, about the temple's long history with the great primordial dragon, Tyrannus, how he spent long days alone in prayer, waiting for his bonding ceremony—where he would finally relinquish the heart of winter back to the great dragons, having fulfilled his duties, and leave the mountain for the first time with his cherished alpha mate.
(When they were alone, once, Lloyd whispered to him fervently of how he hated those mountains, how he dreaded that still, perpetual sight as if frozen in time, his prison, how he feared that ice would freeze over his heart, and he would never escape these gloomy winds and empty halls.)
They don’t acknowledge that today. Instead, he tells Lloyd about how the mountains look in the sunrise, how freeing it feels to take flight across that horizon, how his heart rejoices when he clears the snow-capped summit and sees the temple in reach, knowing his beloved awaits him.
(When they are wed, Javier promised him, he will take Lloyd flying over those terrible mountains, and they will look more beautiful than Lloyd could ever think possible, so beautiful that he will watch them until they fade in the distance for the last time as Javier carries him away.)
—And he knew he was no lover, no husband, but god, Lloyd’s smile made him want to be.
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