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filthforfriends · 1 year

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Chapter 7

Alpha!Damiano x Omega!Reader

Time for smut :)

You skip social niceties, kicking off your shoes and going down the hall to find Damiano. He’s sitting on his bed, slowly peeling off his clothes. His movement is abnormal, a side effect of the medication to manage this episode maybe. You’ve seen Dami get undressed. Usually he just wrenches everything off in under a minute, standing upright.

“Let me help.” Damiano stops moving and allows you to pull his jacket off. The fine motor skills to remove his arms from the sleeves don’t come easy, so you assist with that too. Tripping over his cleats, you notice that Damiano managed to get his shoes and socks off by himself. The laces are pulled taunt in knots. Really, you should both shower, but being the same kind of gross means you’re not bothered by the others' lack of cleanliness.

Getting the t-shirt off isn’t hard. Shorts however, involve Dami raising his hips or standing up. You take your time working them off, pulling down the waistband a tiny bit at a time.

“Sorry,” he slurs. “I took a benzo so things don’t…lorazepam or klonopazam.” Once the shorts were off, Dami lay back at a snail's pace. He was blinking slower than usual, brain fighting to be cognizant enough to direct his limbs. You strip down to your underwear and climb in bed next to him, arranging covers.

“No, ‘s too hot,” he groaned, so you push all of the bedding to the end of the mattress. Dami had managed to get 100% of his body in the bed which was sort of impressive. Unfortunately, figuring out how to scoot up to the pillow was visibly vexing. His brow was furrowed with focus, as you lay down next to him.

“It wears off quick, ‘m sorry.”

“Shh, come here baby.” Simplifying the situation, you grab Damiano under his arms and haul him on top of you. He turns into a very uncoordinated koala bear, making little grunts of frustration in the back of his throat while attempting to orient himself. Your cheek ends up resting on Dami’s forehead whose face is against your scent gland. Your arms are wrapped around his torso and Damiano is attempting to do the same while also focusing on intertwining your legs to his desired specifications. He progressively starts giggling without prompting.

“What are you –”

“Boobies,” he snickers. You may roll your eyes, but internally you far prefer silly Damiano to agonized Damiano.

“Will you just lay down already?” He gives up positioning himself and splays out. One of your legs is slotted between Damiano’s. His arm is flung over your chest, palm facing down, hand relaxed. For at least an hour the room is silent, besides the sound of breathing. You intentionally keep your breaths calm and regular, silently repeating positive affirmations and hoping that energy reaches him. Damiano cuddles against you, so you kiss his moderately disgusting hair, but then he lets out a forlorn whimper.

“Baby? Are you –”

“My head doesn’t hurt anymore.” You sort of know how he’s feeling right now. The release of oxytocin at the skin to skin contact regulates your body's most basic functions: temperature, oxygenation, breathing, heart rate, even digestion. But you’d never experienced the cortisol spike Daminao had today.

The come down was so intense that when you felt his tears on your skin it didn’t startle you. Damiano took these gasping breaths that made him shudder as he decompressed. He’d tense and shift around, riding the waves of anxiety and getting to the other side in the support of your embrace. Other moments his hands would reach for something to grip and ball up into fists. Dami would literally white knuckle it for a couple seconds until things leveled out. Based on how his reactions evolved, you could feel that Dami’s basic instincts were growing less contradictory to his medicated state. There wasn’t a war inside him anymore.

“Oh my god,” he sniffed. “You have no idea how…I don’t even want to imagine today, without you.” You tug Damiano tighter against you, trying to get another square inch of your skin to touch his. A huge part of compatibility between alphas and omegas was biological. If a mated pair spent enough time together, the bacteria on their skin could become so similar that it was almost indiscernible. It's why loneliness was felt so acutely by alphas and omegas. They'd been biologically engineered to crave and adapt to companionship.

“How crazy is it that the surface of our bodies are gonna have basically the same pH?” you whisper, tracing a heart shape between Damiano’s shoulders.

“It's wild, but I can feel it. Like we’ve become less separate.”

“Yeah?” He nods in confirmation. Wrapping your legs around Damiano, you roll on your sides, hugging, foreheads pressed together.

“A year ago I hated the idea of feeling like a science experiment,” you confessed.

“And now?”

“I don’t feel like a science experiment at all.” You can’t kiss, because Dami’s lip isn’t healed, but the urge is there.

“The only reason I’m not frothing at the mouth is the androgen blockers I took at the amphitheater, just to be clear. And they’re wearing off too.”

“My confidence will survive you not lusting after me within an inch of your sanity, love.” By the time the “L” sound had slipped off your tongue, you were powerless to stop the rest of the word. Damiano didn’t falter. For the first time today, his smile reached his eyes. He didn’t have any smile lines. Damiano’s reputation of being mysterious and brooding contributed to his sex appeal. It was all just part of a carefully curated facade to keep anyone from getting too close, but you were his exception.

“Baby, I’m so sorry if I contributed.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” he shook his head emphatically. “Before you, all I knew was fear.” This proclamation has you reeling. What does a person say in response? Me too? Luckily, it didn’t seem like he was expecting a response. Damiano kissed just under your jaw and flipped over so you were on top, content with that information being received without rejection. Now you were left to process it, ear to his chest. You could hear his heart thundering away, as you had on Saturday morning.

“You deserve to know what happened today,” he sighs, burdened.

“So you were in headspace when you broke Julio’s nose?” Dami nods against you. “Do you just see red and lose it?”

“I wouldn’t say lose it.”

“Sorry,” you wince. He pats your shoulder, hushing you affectionately.

“No, no, it's okay love.” Love. That diminutive was not a part of Dami’s vernacular until you’d used it today. It would be cruel to mock you for the slip up and Damiano wasn’t cruel. Later in the evening, after he’d called you love at every opportunity, even in front of his parents, you’d be left with the conclusion that your stumble just gave him permission.

“If you touch something hot, you yank your hand away before you even feel the pain, right? So information goes from your hand,” Dami brings your palm to his face and kisses it, then traces up your back. “To your spinal cord, then up to your brain. With tissue damage, like a burn, your body reacts as soon as that information reaches your spinal cord and pulls your hand away” He strokes up your arm to your shoulder blade while narrating.

“Those are your reflexes, right?” Remembering a psychology lesson while being gently caressed by Damiano is nothing short of miraculous.

“Exactly, it's an automatic response built in to protect yourself from harm.” He sighs heavily. “In alpha headspace, self-preservation stuff that used to be a conscious choice using fine motor skills,” Damiano pats your head, then moves his hand to rest on your spine. “It almost becomes reflexive, not managed by our intellectual mind. Today I really did not want to hurt Julio, but he attacked me and I just reacted. It's called Alpha Dysregulation Type 2.” You are suddenly aware of how little you knew about alpha biology, growing up in a household without one.

“But…why didn’t Julio just turn too? Alphas are capable of switching into headspace outside of rut. You turn all the time when you’re with me.” Damiano clicks his tongue in thought and falls silent for a couple moments.

“Normal alphas reach headspace outside of rut a couple instances in their lifetime: marking, fighting, y’know. But it's a conscious choice. I’m just out of control.” You scoff in disbelief and sit up to meet Damiano’s eyes.

“Bullshit!” As an omega, you’d been surrounded by whispered tales of violent and careless alphas before you even reached puberty. Some of them were horror stories about omegan injury due to their mate’s recklessness. Sometimes it was just outright abuse or gaslighting about the implications of biology. You’d seen Dami in headspace a dozen times and he was so gentle each instance, so careful not to so much as pull your hair accidentally. Damiano knew the advantage his physicality gave him and displayed constant awareness in every tender touch.

“Look, I know that you’re probably in headspace more often than is normal. I’m not stupid, I just never looked into it.” Damiano’s brow furrows in surprise. Apparently he hadn’t taken into account that you spoke to your friends or that your friends had older siblings.

“Because it doesn’t matter to me! Nothing is wrong. I don’t need normal. You just shift according to whatever energy is in the room and you’ve never gotten stuck. You are not out of control!” When you finally take a breath after ranting, Damiano is smiling. The corners of his mouth are quivering like that smile could easily turn into tears.

“You’re right, I’m not. I’ve worked really hard to make my dysregulation invisible and to control it. Unfortunately, it's more complicated than going from zero to 100 when I should cap out at 15.” Damiano pulls you down to lay on his chest and feel you angst abate.

“Too much alpha hormones means you go Vampiriano way more often than you should and if you’re threatened during everything goes to shit?” He chuckles and this minutely moves your hand where it rests on his toned stomach.

“Stimuli perceived as threatening between Alpha Sapiens prompts irregular, excess production of adrenaline and testosterone. If the subject enters into an acute stress response a violent episode may subsequently occur.” He recites these words mechanically. “Geneticists really narrowed the margin of error with hormone production. The amygdala can’t take being drowned in alpha levels of stress hormones.”

“So you can’t regulate like in rut?”

“Mm mm,” he shakes his head. You readjust and Dami strokes your back. You kiss his sternum and taste salt, then leave a couple affectionate nips.

“If your body is forcing you into a state of hypervigilance, isn’t that a panic attack?”

“Yeah. It’s really similar, and the only way to calm down is to deescalate out of alpha headspace.”

“But how are you supposed to do that with no distress tolerance?”

“Oh, it's basically impossible,” he chuckles without humor. Every slightly hysterical syllable drips with bitterness.

“Hence, all the medications that force my nervous system to chill out.” Trying to find the right words, you kiss Dami’s chest. The pink spots from nipping him look like petals. They’re so beautiful that you leave a couple more marks a few inches up. It feels good to work his skin between your teeth.

“That is unless something shows up, manually replenishes my oxytocin, and jumpstarts my dopamine production.” You wrack your brain for what Dami could be referencing to, but after a couple seconds you still come up blank.

“Like what?”

“Like you, silly!” Damiano flips both of you over, so he’s pushing you into the mattress with his bodyweight.

“Oh!” He nuzzles your head and playfully snaps his teeth in your ear.

“Yeah, ‘oh’!” Also feeling mischievous, you bite Dami’s arm while it's placed near your mouth. He makes a noise that borders on a growl, which is really just asking you to provoke him further. So you do. This time he drops all his body weight on you, pinning you to the mattress. There's absolutely no threat behind his snarl and you wonder what it would sound like if you actually frustrated him a little bit. Arms against your sides, you flip over onto your back. Damiano allows you because he was expecting it. What he didn’t expect was for you to use all your strength to catapult him off the bed and onto the floor.

Immediately, Damiano’s head snaps up, eyes questioning. Because surely you didn’t mean to shove him off the bed, right? To make it very clear this was no accident you smirked, and looked down on him, cocking your head to the side. For a moment you just stare at each other, egging the other on. I fucking dare you to do something. There was a new electricity in your bond that made your hair stand on end.

Damiano attempts to clamber up onto the bed from the floor and you shove him again. Crouched on the mattress, you let out the sound that was raring at the back of your throat: a snarl of territorialism. This is mine. Of course it wasn’t. This is his bed, in his room, in his territory and you both knew it. The absolute disbelief in Dami’s face is very promising, especially when it turns to determination.

This time, when he tries to get up on the bed you don’t stop him. It’d be futile because now Damiano is prepared for your resistance, which is nothing compared to alpha strength. Not yet satisfied with the tension created, you climb off the otherside. After a moment of hesitation checking for dustiness, you crawl under the bed frame. Out of sheer luck, you manage to do so before Dami has clambered across the mattress, ready to leap onto the floor after you. He looks over the edge and you can hear him pause in confusion. The bed creaks as he checks the other sides. Another pause. When Damiano gets up you quiet your breathing, even though the excitement is unbearable. The floor creaks when he walks around the bed, perplexed.

“I know you’re in here, y/n,” he taunts. “I can smell you.” Trying to recede farthing into the shadow, you curl into a ball, breasts pressed to your legs. Damiano’s feet pad over to his closet and he checks both sides, then behind his desk. He’s out of hiding places except the one he hasn’t thought of yet.

“You’re a very clever kitten.” Of course this prompts the realization, because where do nervous kittens hide? Under the bed. Damiano drops to the floor, and his face lights up when he sees you. He shifts right before your eyes, canines coming to rest on his lip. It's absolutely thrilling. A pang of fear turns your blood to ice cold, instincts telling you to fucking run. Instead, you let out an angry hiss when Dami grabs you, which is made difficult by being curled in a ball. Still, Dami gets a grip on your forearm and hauls you out from under the bed, face twisted in determination. You bite him properly, but he doesn’t let go.

You know Dami wants to put you on your back in an act of discipline. So you let him, looking up at him with the sweetest, most submissive eyes. He immediately softens. You whine pathetically then avoid his gaze, pretending you’re overwhelmed with remorse for misbehaving. You don’t move a muscle, staying exactly the way you landed. Damiano yields, sitting back instead of holding himself over you. Meanwhile you make a mental note that you can get away with whatever you want.

The urge to kiss your alpha is so overwhelming that you settle on this to tic him off. Dami is surely not expecting you to lunge towards him, climb on his lap, and kitten lick his lips, living up to you diminutive. First he embraces you back the way he always does, then releases because he realizes you were faking subservience a second ago, then gets an even tighter grip to control the interaction. Damiano forces his tongue into your mouth, displaying dominance, and you taste iron. It’s easily recognizable as blood, but the flavor doesn’t disgust you. The warm, soft muscle of his tongue gesticulates against yours like an impassioned caress, and everything else is forgotten. That is, until the memories of the day catch up with you.

“Mm, your lip!” you yelp into the kiss. He ignores the protest, instead cradling your face in his hand, pulling you closer. Damiano puts his whole being into the kiss, letting out a hum of contentment. His fingers are curled around the back of your neck, index in your hair, thumb caressing your jaw.

“Dami, you lip!” you insist, mumbled against his mouth.

“Ugh, fine,” he groans in annoyance, pulling away. “Worth it. I haven’t kissed you all day. Even though you’re a pain in the ass.” He smacks your butt for emphasis. Damiano brings that hand up to his lip, but there's no blood when he pulls it away.

“You’re healing, already. Holy shit.” You turn Damiano’s face from side to side. He was visibly less swollen and the discoloration had faded. Sure being with your mate promoted healing, but this was on another level. Dami shifted out of headspace as the subject changed.

“Is it part of your Vampiriano thing? Super healing?” Damiano scoffs, but pauses in a way that indicates a forthcoming answer.

“One of the pills I took is to help with the recovery. But…yes. There’s a possibility that I have a slightly higher healing capability. However, it's not negligible enough to give me an advantage in sports.”

“Oh, well you know that's what I really care about” you reply, sarcastically. Then it hits you that as soon as baby Dami was diagnosed with this, he had to prove to everyone, repeatedly, that his medical condition shouldn’t exclude him from a normal life. It hurts your heart to imagine that now, but when he was a child…you couldn’t bear to think about it.

“It must have fucked with your head as a kid, feeling like a liability? Did you have any room for error? Like normal, human screw ups? None of it is even your fault.” Damiano sighs and you’re close enough that you can feel the warm hair hit your face. He rests his head against yours and goes so long without answering that you start to wonder if he intends to.

“Can I get a raincheck on having my mind read by you, love?” You curl his dirty hair around your fingers and nod, feeling bashful enough to chew on the inside of your lip. It was a beautiful testament to the emotional intimacy you shared.

You sat there, sexually pent up, gazing at each other hungrily, but also reflecting on the day's events. You kept running into the sensation that you were missing something. If Alpha Dysregulation didn’t affect the omega side of your relationship, then why had it dictated all aspects of your intimacy?

“So, just to clarify –”

“Mhm.”

“This doesn’t inhibit our sex lives?”

“Nope, everything works.” Eyebrows furrowed, you wait for Damiano to elaborate a modicum of reason. He directs a questioning gaze right back at you.

“I don’t get it.” Dami is immediately reassuring.

“It’s a ton of information at once. I don’t think any normal person would understand right away.” He runs his thumb along the back of your hand.

“No Damiano, I don’t get what this has to do with us. So what you shift more often? Did you really think I’d leave over that?” His face falls, not just his smile, but his eyes are downcast. It was a rhetorical question to make Dami see the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Never did you dream that the answer would be yes.

“Are you going to?” he murmurs.

“No!” You’re appalled. Has his faith in your feelings always been so fragile? The silence that follows is louder than any sound: any scream of anger, any outcry of betrayal. That silence echoes like it's ricocheting off the walls of some endless void.

“So all of those restrictions were because you weren’t planning on us lasting?”

“Not planning, just –”

“How long did you anticipate sticking around?” you spat, feeling your entire perception of reality crumble.

“As long as I could!” he shouts, welling up. “I needed to survive losing you and I won’t apologize for that! So…so is this it?”

“What the fuck do you mean is this it!?”

“Because you’re free to go. I made sure that – that you’d…I haven’t marked or mated or even knot – knotted,” Damiano chokes up. It was just as you had suspected: he craved intimacy even more than you.

“I’m not leaving. I don’t want an out,” you say, forcing yourself to be calm.

“That’s what it means to be a protector. It’s not a fairy tale,” Dami recites, visibly trying to convince himself. “It’s about sacrifice, about prioritizing your wellbeing.”

“Fuck your sacrifice! This fragile girl in your head isn’t me, Damiano. I don’t need you to make decisions for me.” He looks at the carpet in shame, pulling on each individual frayed thread with a vengeance. Dami’s words that very first day come rushing back. He’d insisted that there were things you needed to know, things that were the antithesis of romance, but he couldn’t be the one to teach you. It was ironic that the most confident alpha you’d met was secretly the most insecure. Damiano’s bravado was so well-cultivated that no one suspected it to be a facade.

“Why were you convinced I’d abandon you over this? The stress alone must have…” must have made it physically impossible to relax.

“You can’t be so sure right away,” he argues.

“Do not insult my intelligence by implying I can’t make my own decisions.” Damiano falls silent, then takes your face in his hands. He stares at you, searching for comprehension.

“This is permanent; I am defective. Diseased. Unfixable.” He’s waiting for you to realize the gravity of the situation, recoil from his touch. You attempt patience, knowing you’re battling years of self-loathing.

“You. Are. Not. Broken to me.” His expression grows angry and you realize you’ve gone deep enough to challenge his sense of self. Damano was furious at a body which robbed him of basic control and all in life that comes with that. There was no rationalizing, only balancing the scales. It was time to remember and channel every bit of affection you’d felt for this alpha. Living the past year of your life with a guardian angel that respected your autonomy more than any you’d met. Damiano had spared you of so much fear. Meanwhile he was battling ruthless demons inside his own head.

You climbed back onto Dami’s lap, and stroked his scowling face. He allows these things, hands yearning to hold you.

“Someday I will make you accept that the shiny exterior isn’t the only version of yourself that is lovable. However long that takes, I’m staying.” Dami’s chin trembles and a tear falls as soon as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I don’t understand why you’d stay,” he whispers, voice wavering. At this point you wanted to lobotomize yourself with an icepick. At least, after this mess, you’ll never have to feel insecure about being difficult in the future.

“Why would I leave, love?” There's that “L” word again.

“Because everyone leaves!” he bellows. Damiano’s volume actually startles you, as does the lack of his embrace. He just stares at you: guilty, tortured. You kiss him on the forehead lightly, then on his eyelids which fall closed.

“You are the same person you were yesterday. The label is meaningless. I want you just the same.” Damiano careens forward, wrapping his arms around you, pressing his face to your neck. He takes a heaving breath and so do you, rocking back and forth.

“Getting you to be transparent has been like using a nail file to open a bank safe that's welded shut.” Dami snorts and wipes his nose. You reach up and grab the tissues from his night stand. Damiano blows so hard that you’re surprised his nostril doesn’t resume bleeding.

“Gentle with yourself,” you murmur.

“I should have told you about this at the beginning, but families don’t let their kids date or befriend alphas with hormonal regulation issues. My parents hate that I hide it, but I’m selfish and when I realized I should stay away I just couldn’t. ‘Til your 16th birthday was mostly to buy time.” Having those last couple pieces of the puzzle that was Damiano David made everything else fit together right. It also began to lift the claustrophobia of a time restraint.

“Right, so we also need to talk about that.” You stand up from his lap and sit on the edge of the bed. If you tried to do this already wrapped around each other it would be an epic failure. Dami follows, sitting cross legged in the center, extending a hand out to hold yours. He plays with your fingers, clasps your hand in his, then turns it over to trace the lines in your palm.

“I ache for you, Damiano. I feel sick over it. I could barely get myself out of bed on Wednesday.”

“It’s unnatural, all my guidelines.” He begins nervously tapping the side of your wrist. “The physical progression of our relationship is easy and primal, but I got in the way. Plus your birth control and hormone suppressants, your body must just be,” he trails off, shaking his head. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” Fuck staying away. You crawl towards Dami so your foreheads are pressed together, both hands laced.

“I can’t wait until my 16th birthday. Even besides the sex it’s – it’s lonely. It feels like my molecules are screaming for you at night when things are totally silent. I want to like – I don’t know, walk to your house, climb in your window, or something crazy.”

“I know. Okay.”

“Nothing helps, Dami. Nothing. I’m on the verge of spraining my wrist and its so fucking frustrating because it doesn’t do anything. But, like, what else am I supposed to do?”

“I understand, love. I agree.”

“I’m literally drowning in my own libido and my instincts are –”

“Y/n, baby?” He gets your attention, looking into your eyes emphatically. “I won’t make you wait.” Your chest swells with butterflies so energized that you can barely contain a victorious shriek. You’d anticipated an hour of back and forth, but Damiano had simply agreed. All these things you’d lusted for, not available for another seven months, were possible. The warmth of his cum on your skin, felt from the inside. For days, traces would remain internally. If you had a semi-regular sex life you’d never truly have to be apart from Damiano again. Plus, you were both so close to nakedness already. The immediateness of your every fantasy was totally overwhelming.

“Y/n, you should know that your parents will interfere when I tell them. I can’t mark you and then not be allowed to see you. That will fucking kill me, please. Knowing that the mark is fading.” Theres that tortured look again. You hated to see Damiano at odds with himself.

“Well, then I won’t tell them.They barely see you and it took me three months to figure it out.” His face goes blank for a moment. He hadn’t considered the path of least resistance because it wasn't the nobel option. Damiano’s expression becomes concerned, probably dealing with the morality of withholding information.

“Hey, it's my job to tell them, so you’re free of obligation. Easy,” you shrug.

“That seems too simple.” Surely, no one has a tendency to over think like your boyfriend. He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back.

“I’d be honored to mark you, whenever that feels appropriate to you.” He barely has time to finish speaking before you’re overflowing with enthusiastic consent.

“Mark me, mark me. Baby, mark me. Please mark me. I’m yours, I am.” You get a hand in Damiano’s undercut, soft hair tickling between your fingers, and pull him so close your faces are pressed together. It feels like you might choke on the hope that's blooming in your chest.

“I promise that I’m yours. I’m yours, so mark me. Mark –”

“I know you’re mine.” Dami pulls you onto his lap sideways. One arm goes under your mid-back and your legs are draped over his thigh. He’s cradling you like a child. It’s not the feral, sexual dominence forcing your into the mattress you’d expected. This is way more intimate, looking up into your alpha’s eyes while he gazed down at you with so much affection.

“I’ve done this once before and it was rushed, stupid, and not with someone I really care about.” He pauses for so long that you nod in understanding, in case recognition is what Damiano was waiting for. “But I really care about how this feels and I don’t want you to be self-conscious. Let your body do what it wants.” Technically, marking didn’t necessitate the involvement of more than an omega’s external scent gland and an alpha’s teeth. However, omegas naturally found their way to orgasam because marking forcefully stimulated their most sensitive erogenous zones.

“I’ve never been marked or knotted,” you pant. Damiano’s other hand is on your flank, steadying as you begin to tremble in anticipation.

“I know,” he answers, doting.

“No other alpha has seen me naked or kissed me.” Dami’s eyes switch and a primal rumbling emanates from his sternum. This was exactly the reaction you wanted, to spur Damiano into action. He puffed out his chest in territorialism.

“I’ve never even been touched by another alpha,” you whisper, trying to subtly redirect his hand between your legs. “Please ruin me for anyone else.” Emulating virginal sweetness, you shift your hips to bring Damiano’s hand closer to your cunt. Looking determined, he pushes you from his lap and crouches over your body.

“This is why I couldn’t be around you because you say things and I want to mate with you so fucking bad so no one else gets to touch you ever and I’ll be your only alpha forever you’ll be mine only so I can have you always and you’ll never belong to anyone else because you’re mine,” he snarls. Dami presses his face to your chest, licking between your breasts, up to your collarbones.

“I don’t know what anyone’s told you but this hurts, which is why it’s usually done during heat.” Even in alpha headspace, Dami’s expression is so obviously one of concern, rather than predatory. How could anyone have been terrified of him?

“I know, love.”

“We’ll start lightly in case it’s too much.”

“I wanna be naked. Both of us.” You don’t need to explain this compulsion to Damiano. Nothing is more satisfying and organic than skin-to-skin without barriers. He takes off his boxers first. Alpha cocks are always intimidating, even half-mast. Your pointer finger finds the ridge at the head of Dami’s dick and traces all the way around. This is the place that would swell to form a knot, temporarily making the two of you one. His member twitches under your curious touch and grows more erect as Dami fiddles with your underwear.

It’s objectively gross, the way your panties are saturated with slick all the way through. The fabric loses its warmth rapidly when not directly in contact with your skin. If you shifted ever so slightly the cold, wet gusset rubbed against your body dreadfully. When Damiano removed your panties and brought the garment to his face to smell, you audibly made a sound of disgust.

“Ick.” He licked his lips and smirked at your reaction, eyes closed as he breathed in deep. He cock pulsed when the moist fabric crumpled in his hand, brought back to his face for one final sniff.

“I’m keeping these.”

“Please do,” you quip.

“Hmm, but I’m never gonna wash ‘em.” He raises his eyebrows provocatively while you gag. “Which do you think is gonna smell better when it dries, your sweat or your slick?”

“I’ve changed my mind, that whole shape thing shifting is weird.” Damiano bursts out laughing while throwing the offending panties off the side of the bed. You’d never made him cackle while in headspace so his canines are on display, as if his smile couldn’t get any more beautiful.

“On your stomach with a pillow under your chest,” he instructs. You like that he doesn’t ask. Not just because the domineering is sexy as hell, but because it's what you would have chosen anyways. Only three months and your alpha can already read your mind.

“Actually wait.” You pause, sitting on your hip, about to turn over. Damiano begins finger combing your hair, dragging his nails across your scalp. The touch makes you shiver in delight. The point becomes apparent when Dami secures it with a hair tie. Your glands are now totally exposed and this makes it real. Marking isn’t just an act of intimacy, Dami has to pierce your scent gland, his saliva in the open wound changing your pheromonal signature.

Once you get situated, Dami puts his mouth on your skin right away. You freeze completely, only to feel the teasing brush of his canines.

“Relax love, we don’t break the skin until you want to.” You weren’t sure that you’d ever want to have your flesh pierced. It was an unfortunate responsibility. You’d hoped Damiano would give you a brief warning so you didn’t have time to overthink and do the deed of his own volition. Instead, he pushes a hand underneath your body and cups your vulva.

“You’re already so wet for me and so enthusiastic, love.” He rubs his erection against your flank, teasing. “I need you to know that if you ever want to stop –” You choke down the urge to protest, but it comes out as a dry sob when you don’t expect it. With your hips tilted dramatically, you could even rub your clit against Dami’s hand. Instead of moving it away, he provides generous resistance for you to rub against. It's such a gift. You test the boundaries, pinning his hand between your legs humping it gracelessly, using the edge of the pillow case as a gag. Rather than acting like marking and your sexuality were separate, he accepted this confluence. You kick your legs in response to even such minimal stimulation and whine loudly against the bedding.

“I know that feels so good baby, but I need you to submit.” You let out another gasping cry, because the world you had come to know wasn’t one where you could trust freely. You couldn’t help yourself from grinding back against Damiano’s rough palm, greedily. A sexual inertia had taken over your pelvis, seeking the satiation of a knot. Your body preparing to be marked was flooding with hormones that magnified every sensation and emotion. You weren’t unhappy, just so overwhelmed that it overflowed: in a couple small tears and in your movement.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he whispers in your ear. Now you understand why he kept reassuring you the first time, because this feeling was a possibility. Providing comfort, Damiano scents you just lightly enough that you can still think.

“I know it's intense, so let me be in charge.” Fists balled, you force every muscle to still. It takes so much attention because your brain is clouding from the weight of Damaino’s body, the warmth of his form, texture of his skin, and most of all his smell. It’s not that earthy aroma of springtime that you associate with his pheromones, detectable in his sheets. Damiano smells of sweat from practice, long ago overpowering any deodorant. He reeks of testosterone and a special musk emanates from his armpits and groin. Somehow, the combination of all these things makes you go limp with arousal.

Even as you can observe Damiano smells genuinely unpleasant, another sect of your sexuality is violently aroused. You want to give him a bath with your tongue, lick him clean. Only then do you realize what makes his scent so enticing: he smells like you.

“I don’t want to go into headspace yet,” you whimper.

“You don’t have to. Submit.” You take a shuddering breath, trying to find that place inside you that longed to be led, rather than lead.

“I’ll try,” you mewl, in your softest voice. You barely summon the strength not to beg for what you really want: a knot. There's a raging conflict inside you: the part that wants Dami to mark you with his cum and the other that doesn’t want to interfere with progress. What’s so excruciating is there will never be another first time. This moment is finite. You’re externalizing this conflict by squirming around underneath Damiano who can immediately sense your discomfort. Assuming its arousal, he presses a finger inside.

That driving inertia takes over and you’re pushing back against Damiano so hard that his muscles are straining. The meat of his hand is firm against your throbbing clit and it's glorious. You can’t get his finger deep enough to satisfy some demanding hunger you had no name for. All you could communicate was this wasn’t enough anymore by whining like you’re wounded.

“Baby what's happened? Lemme make it better.” Damiano had never seen your discomfort unshrouded. It was heart-wrenching to watch your face twisted in an expression that bordered between pleasure and anguish.

“Y/n, what can I do?” He adds another finger, hoping it's what you need. However, you already know that two digits isn’t substantial enough so you try changing the angle by turning onto your side. It knocks Damiano off of you.

“I’m in charge,” he reminds you. “If you want me to mark you like this, ask with your words.” No, this certainly wasn't the feral interaction you’d fantasized about, but it was exactly what you needed. Damiano’s tone had the patience of a caretaker, always giving you the benefit of the doubt. If he’d barked orders you would have burst into tears. He saw your vulnerability when you’d forgotten about its existence.

“I’m just tryna – I need, I need…” He begins moving his fingers back and forth, assuming that more is the answer you’re struggling to verbalize. While this isn’t the case, the new stimulation does feel amazing and you seek out his hard cock without thinking. When Dami scoots away from your body a couple more tears fall and those tears become a powerful sob. You’re just trying to do what’s most natural and he won’t let you. There's simply no alternative. Damiano is the stronger of you two, so no matter how much you seek him out, he decides.

You hate this very visceral reaction to fighting for your needs. Unfortunately, trying not to cry only makes the tears more numerous.

“Love, I need you to tell me how to fix it. I can’t watch you cry, lemme fix it, baby.” He runs a finger down your cheek and is riddled with insecurity about his role. There are no precise answers. Following instincts you’ve only just discovered is messy and you always live with such brazen commitment. This experience is equally raw and potent. Although Dami is aware this response is hormonal, your very visible discomfort is hard to stomach. He knows you won’t abandon him regardless of how this goes and that's what makes it scary. How many people in our lives will stay when we fail them completely?

After managing a few deep breaths, you ease back into position with the help of Dami. He gives you the best reward: a third finger. You relax completely and it goes in with an ease that others would want you to feel shame for.

“Good girl, y/n. You listened so well, being such a good omega.” You want to express gratitude, but what comes out is a tactless gargle of noise. Dami doesn’t laugh at you. The amount of arousal dripping down Damiano’s fingers is making squealing sounds as they thrust in and out of your body. He doesn’t mock this either.

“Taking three so perfect. Can I stretch you out, love? Is that okay?” You push your hips back. At first Dami just holds steady, but then he helps you integrate all three at once by using some force. When you get them all the way to the last knuckle, he growls in appreciation, scenting you again. It's that woodsy smell you’ve come to know and love with a Pavlovian level of intensity. When you’d gone for a walk with Gia in what used to be a Christmas tree farm, the smell of the pine made you feel euphoric because of the association with Damiano.

That euphoria had nothing on your experience now, being surrounded with the real thing. Slipping into headspace was nearly irresistible even though you desperately wanted to be present for the coming moments. Last time you’d made love, you’d worried about headspace, and Dami had kept you present. Maybe he could fix it.

“I don’t like this.” Gulp. “How do I –” Sniffle. “Make it stop.” Damiano sighs, gently kissing each freckle on your shoulder in consulation. He’s giving you every ounce of his body weight, even resting his legs on yours. A less experienced person would be afraid of crushing you. In reality the deep pressure prompted the release of dopamine. Dami’s cock is so erect that it’s a little painful against your back. You imagine his pre-cum trapped between his body and yours. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel your skin sticking together, like you’d never been separate beings to begin with.

“Do you know the science behind why this feels so good?” he whispers. “The bacteria on our gut is highly compatible. When our brain senses that about another body it releases hormones which are a huge part of what makes my presence so attractive.” You’re not sure why Damiano is telling you this, but the timbre of his voice makes it easier to breathe. “Smell is the only sense with a straight shot to our primal brain. So everything you’re feeling is normal.”

“But can’t you –”

“I can’t fix something that isn’t broken, baby.”

“Knot,” you finally break with a sob. “Gimme a knot. Knot me. Knot me, knot me, knot me, knot me. You wanna know what I’ve been thinking about Dami? What's been driving me up a wall?” He repositions and in doing so rests his forearm right above your head while getting his legs under him. You let out a pitiful noise at the loss of contact.

“Tilt your head to the side so you can breathe,” he replies calmly, adjusting the pillow so it’s under your chest. You scoot up, kissing Dami’s hand as a translation to licking his skin. It’s salty and you can feel each flexed tendon with your tongue upon moving down to his wrist.

“Turn your head,” he repeats. Your vocalizations have been so frustratingly ineffective that you resort to something more primal and nip the meat of his hand in retribution for disregarding your request. After begging, Damiano should at least extend the decency or a yes or no.

He tsks, scooting his arm up, almost out of reach. His quick movement triggers some primal response and you bite him to keep him close. Sure you could use your hands, but for some reason your jaw came to mind first.

“Y/n,” he warns. It feels strange to hear your own name because you don’t feel like y/n right now, you feel like an omega. To communicate this, you nibble gently on the base of his thumb, just scraping your teeth against the skin because that comes more naturally than lips. You switch to the middle of his forearm, which feels muscular and sturdy and allows you to use more force. Nipping turns into creating those petal shaped marks to adorn Damiano’s skin.

To his credit, Dami was expecting this. You’d been using your teeth to convey affection since gameday, probably unaware. Making out always included pulling his lip into your mouth over and over, almost obsessively. As if you were trying to eat him alive. Whenever you kiss his neck, shoulder, jaw, etc. Damiano could feel the hard surface of your teeth just under your lips. He’d tickled you on Sunday after you’d woken up, and you outright bit him over his sweatshirt. He’d been shocked while you giggled against his neck, totally unaware. It was so subconscious that he didn’t know what to do. It wouldn’t be fair to discipline you for urges beyond your control.

Daminao accidently scooted his arm another millimeter away. You mewled in disagreement and latched on. There was something so compelling about resistance of the muscular tissue. It was a texture thing, but also the warmth of his skin and the taste. Instead of attempting reason, Dami bit you back. It's a warning bite, not nearly as rough. The realization hits you that this is what you’ve been craving intuitively, for days, maybe more.

For these reasons, you expect it not to hurt, but the pain is searing. At the same time it's the most satiating thing you’ve ever felt. You hump Damiano’s hand manically, squealing into the bedding. You try to ask for another finger, having lost count at his point. The words don’t come out clearly so you wiggle your hips and arch hard. He releases his jaw, moving his lips against your skin. You can’t tune into what he’s saying, but are so sexually frustrated that you kick like you’re having a tantrum. Damiano heeds your unspoken request, working at a snail's pace. But when your physicality definitively reveals that yes, you do want another finger, he gives you a little help integrating it. It feels full enough that you can actually think.

“Kitten?” Dami’s cock jumps at your responsiveness, before concern takes over at your lack of communication. “‘Kitten? Hey, hey, hey. Ok, baby. Y/n?”

“Don’t call me that,” you whimper, as your eyes focus on the sight in front of you: Damiano’s arm, marked with various tooth shaped bruises. This is sufficient to land you back into reality and you gasp in horror, breathing in the bed sheet as you do. Dami gives up and physically turns your head to the side himself.

“Hmm, someone got distracted. You went a little feral there for a second, kitten.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Sometimes giving into instincts with Damiano is a little too easy.

“You need to be gentler,” he states, firmly. You’d hurt him. After everything he’d been through today, you’d hurt him.

“I’m really, really so – sorry,” you sniff, trying to hold back tears once again. It was totally counterproductive (again.)

“Shh, everything’s okay. It’s just your instincts wanting to mate, love,” he soothes. “It's okay to mark your territory in the meantime, but gentler.” Damiano referring to himself as “you territory” absolutely did something between your legs. Even though slick production was limited by hormone suppressants, it was still embarrassingly plentiful. Damiano could feel every pulse, every rush, every tense with the hand against your cunt.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers and you want to cry, because you’d spent your entire adolescence terrified of subservience to an alpha and this wasn’t scary at all. This didn’t feel like being forced into anything, it was meditative, safe.

“Why – why won’t you listen?” Your voice is so wobbly it's hard to hear.

“I was listening,” he murmurs, kissing your hair as his own falls in your face.

“No. No, you were –”

“Making sure you could breathe,” he interrupts. “Because your well-being is my purpose.” You feel small, immature. “Now what did you mean –”

“But I need a knot! Because, because I – it feels like…I just need it,” you finish lamely. What you wanted to say is I need a knot because everything inside me echoes with an emptiness that you were made to fill. Because you’re the flood that fertilizes the plain. Because you’re the salve that soothes the ache. Because you’re the seed from which the garden flourishes. Because you’re the warmth that turns shivers into peaceful sleep.

“I feel so empty and you can fix it so why won't you fix it?” Your plea is desperate, spilling out unfiltered. You’d think that getting fingered would satisfy that need to be filled, but it was deeper than that, past what he could reach with any appendage. What you ached for was the warmth of Damiano’s cum. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear.

“I promise you’ll get your knot, kitten.” Surely Dami can’t actually mean…

“Are you fucking with me right now?” you demand. That had come too easy for it to be true.

“No that’d be so cruel, love, I wouldn’t do that.” You burst out into heaving, ugly sobs, crying so hard that your hands come to your face. Your hips stop moving completely and your thighs relax. The relief of his statement feels better than some orgasams. It’s that same rush of happy chemicals so intense it feels like you're choking on the endorphins.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs in horror at your intense reaction. Dami wraps both arms around you, shifting onto his side. Accidentally, he nudges your glute with his erection. You move towards it, scooting up so the head is pressed between your legs. It's a challenge for Dami to maintain control because no matter how he shifts, there’s slick wetting his cock. Your cunt is so engorged that it pulses against the head and Damiano can already feel the urge to knot in his groin.

“Now, please,” you whisper, undulating your hips along his dick.

“Not while you’re crying,” he huffs. Despite Damiano’s insistence, his cock twitched as you slid it between your labia. Thighs squeezed tightly together, you bring his shaft right against your body. With just slight adjustments, the head was nudging your clit and you moaned quietly. Why haven't you done this before? Dami’s cock was warm, girthy, skin softer than you’d imagined.

“Baby, please, please, I’m begging you, I need to think.” You halt moving and his chest heaves against your side for a few seconds. You decide to speak up.

“I’m not sad. I know I’ll stop crying if you just –”

“Show me your face. I have to see your face.” You drop your hands and wipe your nose, looking over your shoulder at Damiano. He’s in headspace, you both are.

“Do I look different?”

“You smell different, like a little piece of heaven tailor-made for me.” His chest heaves and nostrils flare as Damiano tries to absorb your essence through each pore. Of course you both know the best way to do that, to fulfill that craving for sameness.

“I’m terrified that what happened before is gonna happen now and this is so important to me that…In my rational brain I know there's no issues but part of me is screaming that I’m about to destroy everything and if that happened I couldn’t live with myself,” he babbles. You bring a hand to his cheek and Dami stares back at you. He’s analyzing every inch of your expression for fear or disgust. His gaze is so intense that you want to shrink back, but instead you allow yourself to be seen.

Why use words to assure him when all he needed was to observe the way you look at him? It was so much more honest than concocting some personalized platitude. Dami already knew his fears were unfounded, but his insecurity still needs proof. After a thorough search, he of course comes up empty handed and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“There aren’t words to describe how bad I want this,” you assure. He unwraps his arms, moving into a functional position that allows him to watch your expressions. You look back, heart thundering when Damiano drops his gaze down to his cock.

“Our first time was like this, remember?”

“Of fucking course I remember,” he scoffs, kissing your shoulder. “I’ll always remember.” Damiano positions himself against your entrance, holding his shaft at an angle. When he pushes forward into your pussy, you tilt backward in equal measure. This both expedites the progress and communicates your enthusiastic consent.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you hissed as soon as the head of his dick was inside. Your hymen was a little sore, but it didn’t sting like it had in the past. You’d expected this to be the most painful penetration you’d experienced, but were determined to take every inch, no matter how bad it hurt. This was not the sensation you’d been anticipating with girth like Damiano. You moan again and he freezes.

“Mm, it's good,” you reassure. “Why is it easy? I thought it was gonna be…uh, mhm.” Dami gives you another inch, beginning to tremble.

“You’re really relaxed, because you trust me,” he pants. “And that helps, but we also just…just kinda fit.” You take a deep breath in, and he delivers another push on the out breath, whimpering.

“We fit,” you repeat, eyes fluttering, but mouth falling open in pleasure. “Yeah we – we ah ah, Damiano,” you squeal. A jolt of pleasure caused you to squeeze down on what could be a knot.

“Is that –”

“Just your g-spot, baby.” He gives you a couple shallow thrusts before pushing deeper in. “Scent glands,” he murmurs, a moment after which your spasm violently. No cock had ever properly stimulated this erogenous zone. The touch had always been so aggravatingly inconsistent and inexperienced that you recoiled. Whereas Daminao left you searching for something to hold on to all while a rush of slick moistened everything, half way down to your knees.

“Oh my fucking god,” Dami mewled, resting his face on your shoulder as you clenched down on his cock. His hips delivered short, rapid thrusts and Damiano threw an arm over to hold himself up. You squeezed down again and Dami made a sound like he was in pain, but his hips twitched just the same. It was then that you realized this movement was involuntary, the same way tensing was involuntary.

“Is that all of it?” you questioned, since he wasn’t moving deeper.

“Need a sec,” he pants, propping himself up.

“It's okay if you need to cum,” you reassure. Damiano snorts, cheek bone resting on your shoulder.

“My stamina is a little better than that, love.” He starts exploring what angle felt easiest before freezing completely. It’d been so long since he’d produced a knot. It happened sometimes in his sleep like nocturnal ejaculations, but it couldn’t be prompted with typical masturbation. The urge started in his groin, a suffocating pressure, that somehow brought relief and more unbearable intensity as it spread to the base of his cock.

Although everything felt the same, the sudden change in behavior tipped you off. Damiano pushed in until it was suddenly painful and you startled. His hips ceased forward motion. Instead, Damiano went back to searching for a more stable position, restless in a way that you recognized as mitigating discomfort.

“Just give me a sec and I’ll take all of it.” You focus on relaxing your pelvis, making room for the intrusion.

“That’s your cervix, love.” Anatomically, there was nowhere else to go, but still you yearned to have Damiano’s cock fully seated. This frustration was contained in a whine that became a high pitched growl.

“You took so much more than I thought you could, baby. Four fingers and almost all of my cock? You’re amazing,” he coos.

“Four fingers,” you choke, face burning with shame. What the fuck would Dami think of a someone who could take four fingers their first time? He might as well have fisted you. What did you have left to give?”

“Mhm, and moaned so pretty when I gave it to you,” he compliments. Damiano turns his face away when he grimaces, shifting around in discomfort at the pressure building at the base of his cock.

“Why would you give me four?” Your tone comes out more accusatory when that's not the intent.

“Because you asked for them, baby. You were enjoying yourself. Don’t feel embarrassed.” You try to let that self-consciousness go, because clearly Damiano had no problem. He propped himself up with one hand and wrapped his other arm around your stomach. Suddenly it took everything in him to hold back. Damiano strained, nose scrunched, eyes squeezed shut. You knew what was happening and your heart pounded in your ears.

“Dami, please –”

“Once I start I won’t have control,” he grunts.

“I’m sure about you.” Damiano recognizes those words, the very same phrase you used that first day. His features relax one at a time until his mouth falls open and a drop of saliva lands on your shoulder. You’d figured it’d be instantaneous, but you don’t feel any change. Damiano obviously does.

“Ti do il mio cuore,” he whispers. You’re trying to figure out if you’ve misheard him when Damiano’s hips spasam and his grip around you tightens. Dami scents himself, rubbing his cheek against your glands roughly. It’s a masturbatory act that shocks you, but the erotisicm turns you on many times more. Apparently he wanted your pheromones on his skin so badly he couldn’t wait for you to realize this fact.

Dami’s movement had changed where you felt pressure internally, stimulating your scent glands so directly that you yelped in surprise. His lips found your shoulder, gentle kisses to comfort and you realized his pelvis wasn’t moving at all. This sensation of pressure everywhere was a knot. Your head fell against the mattress, unable to hold its weight and mitigate all your were feeling, but smiling wide. Being released from all the craving and anticipation couldn’t be described as anything but unadulterated joy.

A stinging pain made you look up at your shoulder and found Damiano viciously working a hickey.. The vein in his forehead was prominent and his canines scraped your shoulder. He could have pierced the skin, but was choosing not to, or perhaps forcing himself not to. His teeth became more demanding and that sensation of widespread arousal behind your belly button turned uncomfortable, then achy.

You tried to scoot away, but Dami growled and yanked you back, snapping his jaw by your ear in warning. Pulling out during a knot never ends well. For many omegas it wasn’t even anatomically possible. You whine at the discomfort and Damiano begins thrusting in and out, dispersing the pressure. As he did this the knot thickened and you growled in frustration. Things had been going so smoothly before. Now you felt short of breath because of the intrusion. You’d anticipated it being a bit sore, but never that the pain wouldn’t be sexy.

Damiano’s thrusts were frenzied, his knot massaging your g-spot then brushing your scent glands unevenly. He grunted during each pass, until those sounds turned to moans.

“That’s all,” he slurs. All that delicious and excruciating pressure had abated and now Dami could piece together a thought. You try to to relax, try to enjoy it, but you’re so fucking cramped. His cock was already more than you tried to fit before, but this was unattainable. All those omegas who talked about getting a knot whenever possible had been bullshitting. Sure, they hadn’t been lying about the pleasure, but they neglected to describe an ache so intense it negated everything good. How the fuck do people reach orgasam like this?

Noticing your distress, Damiano slowed his thrusts and kept them shallow. When that wasn’t effective, he figured that maybe the knot was more comfortable deeper inside. So Dami shifted to little thrusts, nearly to the hilt then halfway out. Still, your hands were balled into firsts. So he moved even slower which seemed to make this worse. Cumming was the only solution to lose the knot, but he couldn’t even get close to the edge seeing how much you weren’t enjoying this. So Damiano stopped, thinking maybe some cuddles would help you relax. He could manage gentle touch if you needed him to.

“This isn’t working for you.” You whine in displeasure, trying to figure out how knotting was supposed to soothing. It occurred to you that laying on your side probably restricted your pelvis more than any other position. Just trying to open up your hips and create room, you place your top leg on the mattress and naturally extend your arm out for the sake of balance.

Dami follows this time instead of stopping you. Internally he’s kicking himself, because of course you’d want to go on your tummy. It was always the position you naturally took with him. Damiano had been so focused on seeing your face that he’d ignored preferences your body had made blatantly obvious. Helping you along, he grabbed your extended leg under the knee and pulled it just below a 90 degree angle. His cock sank in with far less force. You let out a happy hum and he looked up to see your face relaxing the more you rocked your hips to get comfy.

“Like this? Not your tummy?” Rather than answering, you encourage Damiano by rocking your hips against him instead. This new position had totally changed the sensation and the angle felt less confined too. The pressure of his knot was still intrusive, but not unwelcome. You time your breathing with Damiano’s thrusts, which are tame and careful. He’s wrangled that out of control, frantic desire. It’s a relief, but you can feel the inertia in his groin, wanting to thrust to the hilt forcefully.

Checking if he’s bored from all the time it’s taking you to acclimate, you focus on Dami. His eyes are fluttering as he tries to watch you, but becomes overwhelmed by sensation. When he realizes you’re staring, Dami smiles drunkenly, breathing hard as he drops his lips down to your shoulder and rests his cheek there. You’ve never seen him more relaxed. He moves into you with his entire being, upper body surging forward with each thrust. It’s instantly better with his skin touching yours. Dami must feel it too, because he rests on top of you.

Every time your heart hurt like an open wound, craving all of your alpha with no barriers, had led up to this. Damiano’s warm cheek gave way to his bare chest, to his quivering stomach, to his muscular thighs, and you were denied what lay between. Now, you could trace every place you’d ever begged for more down to where he pulses inside you. There is no stopping point. He’s yours entirely. No tiding yourself over with pieces and fantasies that left you with a gnawing sexual frustration.

The only issue is Damiano’s weight pressing you into the bed. You had to keep your muscles actively engaged, so you didn’t end up flat on the mattress. The position felt so good that readjusting your leg constantly was worth it, but it also meant you couldn’t rest.

When Damiano realized this he grabbed a pillow, stuffing it right under the hinge of your left hip. This of course also positioned it under your cunt and you feel a bout of insecurity. You’d never been knotted, had no idea how much slick should result from it. What if it was too little and Damiano was insulted?

“I’m gonna wreck it,” you squeak.

“We’re gonna wreck it,” he corrects. “Relax.” When you stay frozen he presses his lips to the shell of your ear. “That wasn’t a suggestion,” he snarls, sending a shiver down your spine. You disengage your muscles, and the pillow does its job, holding the position for you. Ever so slowly, Damiano sinks in until his cock is fully sheathed. Just resting his body weight against you is enough, skin against skin everywhere it's possible. Gravity does the rest of the work. When Dami finally gets to laze against you it's euphoric. His cock twitches inside when you moan quietly, shifting your hips some more.

Damiano drags his canines along your shoulder, focusing on marking now that you’re enjoying yourself. All the hair stands on end in anticipation and a healthy dose of fear. You tilt your head to the side, making your left scent gland accessible. He can see that you’re nervous, but still compiling, trusting.

“Starting small so you’re not frightened,” he narrates. He bites down as he had earlier, roughly working a hickey into the base of your neck where it can be covered. You’re shifting around again and he looks down to discover the real issue. Your clit is pressed into the pillow and you’re struggling to hold back because you haven’t been permitted to use it this way.

“Oh, omega wants to rub herself on that huh?” You look down to the pillow guiltily. “Do you think that’d feel good? Go ahead,” he encourages. The case is medium blue and made of thin cotton. If you did this it’d be unusable, but the fabric is so soft and the pillow plump enough for some resistance.

Thing is, you hadn’t been holding back for Damiano’s sake. You’d devoted your adolescence thus far to not being this omega: ruled by an insatiable sexuality that compelled them to be depraved things like hump pillow cases or the arms of couches. The present issue is that Dami’s knot has rendered every erogenous zone in your groin highly sensitive. So while your clit is throbbing so hard each beat aches, and while your heart flutters at the thought of grinding your pussy against that pillow, initiating the stimulation is intimidating. Sure the sensation will probably be far better than holding back, but you’re not willing to sacrifice this last bit of control to find out.

“Go ahead, love,” Dami repeats, assuming that you hadn’t heard him. You whine, trying to hide your face in shame.

“What if it hurts?” you whimper.

“It’s not gonna hurt,” he soothes. Damiano kisses the back of your neck, gives you a genius amount of time to comply.

“I don’t wanna,” you try.

“Do. Not. Lie to me,” he snarls and you cower against the mattress. He delivers another warning bite, except this time it's more like a retribution bite. Damiano means to hurt you a little. Discipline isn’t supposed to be enjoyable. It makes you squeal and your hips quiver against the pillow. You know that the pain has been intentionally administered and that's why you like it so much, because it demands subservience.

Dami bites you again, but it's loving, a painless nip. He noses around your scent gland as you come out of your shell, finally relinquishing control. He lets out a rumbling hum, and with every molecule of your being you know its praise. So often it felt like you could do nothing right, or to other people’s standards. But just now you’d made a mistake, taken a correction, and your mate was showering you in recognition. Dami licked your neck in all the best places and his hand found your nipple to play with.

“Good omega,” he soothes and tears sprang to your eyes. All you've done is not fuck up further. But Dami was rubbing your nipple between his pointer finger and thumb in a way that made your peripheral vision go fuzzy. He administered a couple more love nips on your upper back and pressed his face against your skin, purring. So really, heeding his request was the most natural thing in the world.

“We’re going to try together,” Damiano orders. He presses you against the pillow and slowly drives forward, dragging you clit across the entire length. You’re trembling beneath him, crying. These aren’t the same tears you’d shed earlier, they were tears of pleasure. Even though Dami just meant to get you started, you stay with him as he repeats the motion over and over, dragging your cunt back and forth.

“When was the last time you did this?” Self restraint was odd behavior for the situation.

“Never.” Your voice is so low it's barely audible.

“Why not, baby?”

“I don’t know how,” you plead. The act had always been too intimidating. Even as you say the words, your hips are finding their own speed, one much faster than Damiano’s. He was glad you couldn’t see his face of genuine confusion. You loved friction: his hand, the crotch of his jeans, his thigh. Even when Dami administered touch you’d rub your clit up and down the pad of his finger rather than letting him do the work. Did you even know your own preferences?

Now that you’ve allowed yourself, the movement is messy and embarrassing because it's desperate. Grinding your pussy against the pillow is intuitive and your alpha is just following to the best of his ability. The grunts and broken moans you’re letting out aren’t pretty or feminine. It was apparent that you desperately needed to orgasam this way, but refused to give yourself permission.

“You’re gonna cum on my knot, omega.” Damiano decides for you. Searching for assurance, you reach out and hold his hand. Dami squeezes back, recognizing the way you’ve begun to tense and tremble. Even when he’s not doing much, you always have the most intense orgasams about your alpha. This one feels like hot coals turned inferno and you desperately want to finish because it's insupportable.

Climaxing while knotted is easy, but you’re crying in overwhelm, then choking on your own air. Damiano scents you while also squeezing your hand rhythmically, slowing his thrusts even though it’s less pleasurable. He becomes your metronome and your entire body falls in sync. Dami keeps you from crash landing on the other side of your orgasam. Instead, you both intuitively find each other in the middle with an untaught movement neither has to think about. It’s not quite thrusting, but your bodies roll together in a way that falls organic, like the beating of a heart.

“You can bite me harder.” Your orgasam had prompted a wave of courage. Damiano moves his mouth closer to your neck and bites again. The pain is white hot and you’re kicking so hard that you kick him. In any other state of mind, the collision of the top of your foot with his shin would have gritted your teeth in pain. Right now that sensation has nothing on the throbbing bite mark. Yet, when Dami releases his jaw you miss the pressure of his teeth.

“Again,” you request, breathless. Damiano bites down and a very primal part of your mind that’s been awaiting a mark confuses all that adrenaline from pain with pleasure and gives you a powerful rush of oxytocin. With your bond it’s not really necessary though. If Damiano had told you to take it, even though it hurt, getting to appease his request would be enough to offset any discomfort.

Things start to blend together: fear and arousal, pain and orgasmic pleasure, where Damiano’s knot ends and your vagina begins. Of course you know that you're separate beings, but there's no discernable evidence, just the reassuring ache in your core. Already traces of Dami were collecting inside you, every bit of pre-cum preserved. You hadn’t lost a single drop of Damiano and that fact made you tear the fitted sheet off of the corner of the bed in ardor.

You’d been moaning so loudly and so often and Dami quickly realized you weren’t even conscious of it. He should probably tell you to quiet down, but he’d never consider interrupting whatever you were feeling right now. Your eyes rolling back in your head in response to the biting was equal parts relief and turn-on. You were arching up towards him with every part of your body, trying to get closer and holding his hand in a vice grip. He literally pins you to the bed, which causes things to shift and reveals a long, wet streak on the pillow.

“Mm, mark me. Ma – mark me,” you stutter. Dami takes a shaky breath and bites your scent gland. There’s pressure, but not the blazing agony you were expecting. He was hesitating, not wanting to injure you. At the same time Damiano’s canines craved burying themselves in the muscle of your neck. He couldn’t help but admire your tender expression: slightly drooling in relaxation, cheeks flushed, sweat, stray hairs stuck to your forehead.

Damiano had thought that your yearning for this was uninformed, but at every turn you’d welcomed and adapted. Trusting, so fucking trusting after seeing him totally loose it today. He could just as easily pierce your jugular and you’d be dead in 60 seconds. You both knew he held your life in his hand, and could close his fist at will, but you lived in the certainty that he would never harm you. Your unwavering belief that he was fundamentally good made Dami a better person.

“Break the skin,” you whine. “God, please break the skin. Please, please –” Outright begging, Damiano finally gave himself permission, and you do feel the exact moment he pierces your scent gland. Dami has to bite down hard and the sensation of breaking flesh is immediately pleasing, even though the taste of blood is not. Pheromonal excretions flood his taste buds, both sweet and musky. It's the strongest dose he’s ever gonna get and he doesn’t want to let go. Dami is aggressively snapping his hips against yours before he can stop himself, aroused beyond comprehension.

The force makes you yelp then go pliant, as do Damiano’s vicious growls which have taken the place of moans. Your brain kind of turns to static, like changing the channel to one that has no programming. The TV is still on but the signal isn’t reaching anything. The inertia in your pelvis demands that you rut against the pillow harshly, disregarding Dami’s pace. His teeth do tug at the skin painfully while you move, but you reach orgasam so easily that it's irrelevant. Your climax takes the form of a full body shudder where everything tenses momentarily then relaxes so completely you can’t move. Behind your eyes rays of white hot energy all band together as you peak in the most intense orgasam of your life. This very visceral visual fades into warmth that travels throughout your entire body, fingertips and toes.

Meanwhile, Dami forces himself to release his jaw. The small, narrow crescent shaped hole of your scent gland is inflamed, but not bleeding. One of his front teeth landed directly on the gland, which explains the burst of excretions in Damiano’s mouth. The two puncture wounds left by his canines on either side are a little bloody, though. Damiano’s front teeth have left deep marks as well, but everything else is bruising deep purple.

You’re squirming beneath him, probably in tremendous pain. Your face scrunches in tension, then releases completely.

“Kitten? I need you to use your words right now.” It takes you a second to remember how to speak.

“M’ here,” you reply. Damiano’s stomach rests on our tailbone. The amount of slick on your thighs is absolutely horrendous and the sensation makes you grimace.

“How much pain are you in, love?” Dami scolds himself for not looking up how deep a bite was needed for effective marking. This had to be excessive.

“M’ not,” you murmur, thumb stroking the back of Damiano’s hand. Even though he knows this to be temporary, Dami is so relieved that he peppers kisses across your face. The sensation makes you smile and wiggle around adorably.

“Wha’ ‘er you doin,’” you giggle. Your legs are basically adhered together by slick and it stings when you move. Your nose wrinkles in displeasure and it makes Damiano worry.

“Why the face?” You groan in annoyance at the necessity of speech.

“Slick.” You shift around some more, trying to find comfort and realizing the position itself wasn’t comfortable. You decide on having both hips propped up so you don't feel so uneven, extending the hand holding Dami’s all the way out and following it with your upper body.

Although he’s surprised to feel you moving so soon after getting marked, Dami heeds your instincts again. Watching the way you slowly shift, stretching every muscle as you move is so sexy. When you release his hand, after one final squeeze, Damiano gets on all fours. He tries to pull the pillow out from under you so you can lay flat like usual, but you growl at him. Daminao instead tries putting it squarely under your hips, earning a hum on contentment. Chest to the mattress with knees bent allowed you to be an active participant. Instead of having this be something done to you by your alpha, each undulation you rock back and forth together.

After getting marked and cumming twice with a knot, Damiano is unsure how your body will respond. He carefully sinks his cock inside, paying attention to if you’re arching back or pulling away. The position allows him to get deeper, a lot deeper, in fact. This was the only orientation so far that had permitted him to really thrust, building momentum. Directly on your side was awkward and tilted was exhausting.

“Deeper,” you demanded. Experimentally, Damiano gave you every inch of his cock, making sure you could take it. You whine in impatience and he wants to eat you alive. Angeling his dick towards your belly, Dami pulls back fully then thrusts until his pubic hair is tickling your glutes. These long strokes are getting some primal, happy noises, but it's not the drastic reaction he wanted. Damiano focuses on stimulating your scent glands, but there's a place further inside that aches for attention. Maybe it could only be reached by ejaculation, or maybe if you arched hard and thrusted back harder, the tip of Dami’s cock could get there.

So on the next pass you drive back against Dami forcefully. He’s about to scold you for damn near knocking over when he feels your feet pound against the mattress and your cunt clench in pleasure. On the next thrust he holds your hips steady and grinds against you, getting that extra quarter inch you need to squeal his name.

“Dami, Dami! Oh my fucking god,” you mewl.

“You want me to touch your a-spot, sweet girl. Did you even know that’s what this is called?” You shake your head, slamming the palm of your hand against the bed. There was no way to find this with your own fingers, Damiano realized. Yet, your instincts couldn’t have chosen a better position for this particular stimulation.

“Knew exactly what you needed, didn’t you?” Damiano hits a really steep, invasive angle as he finishes his sentence. You surge backwards, whimpering at the gentle touch that accompanies such a jarring sensation. Damiano runs a calming hand up your back while shortening his thrusts. He pulls halfway out then plunges as deep as possible.

“That,” you pant. “That, that, that!” At first the sensation was strange.You weren’t sure what compelled you to change position for this. But after a couple thrusts the newness was gone and replaced with complete satiation. It wasn’t the electric stimulation of the g-spot, but made everything feel full and effortless. Only the head of Damiano’s cock could reach which meant that his knot was rubbing against the top of your internal scent glands. The stimulation itself was really, really deep. You hadn’t even known your vaginal canal went back that far, but of course Damiano did.

“Whatever you just…again or…or more, or…fuck something,” you moaned, lost for words at the change in sensation. Dami shorted his thrusts even further, seeing you grab handfuls of the rumpled bed sheets.

“Ah, uh god! Dami!” you shriek. He smiles at your visceral reaction, happy to get it so right the first time. After tearing into your neck with his teeth he wants you to feel amazing and clearly it's working because you’re dripping onto the bed. He’s not gonna announce that because you’ll get self-conscious. Damiano is also not about to tell you how damn loud you’re being, because you’re enjoying yourself too much and he doesn’t particularly care if it annoys his brother.

“Turn your head, love,” he gently coaches.

“M okay,” you answer. Dami shortens his thrusts even further and you bite down on the sheet and mattress cover while squealing. This motion is actually easier for Damiano, and allows him to consider his own orgasam. His bollocks were tight against his body, heavy and aching with his seed.

“More that,” you murmur, struggling to form words. Damiano switches to just pulsing against your a-spot. He only pulls out a half inch then grinds hard, tilting his hips at a downward angle as much as possible. It barely counts as thrusting, so he’s expecting a correction.

“Oh please! Just please, please, please,” you wail, stilling your pelvis and finally letting him do the work. It's the catharsis of a craving that's been haunting you for weeks, in waking hours and in sleep.

“This what my omega needs?” You try to answer, but the title just makes everything fuzzy and warm. Damiano filling you up in every way possible exacerbated the instinct to submit. You hoped he didn’t think you were ignoring him as your eyelids grow heavy. Right now your internal scent glands were a headspace button and Dami was rubbing his knot up and down, up and down.

“Kitten? Kitten?” Damiano threads his fingers into your hair, which has mostly fallen out of its updo. It's just another glorious sensation to layer on top and you try to thank him, but it comes out as a hum in the back of your throat. Damiano turns your head to the side, speeding up his pace since the limited motion was so manageable. Your eyes roll back in your head then fall close. Dami reaches to caress your breast, feeling your chest heave. He tries to figure out how close you are to orgasam or if that’s what you’re experiencing right now.

You look peaceful, and when Dami realizes you’re purring, he knows everything is okay. He keeps up with that thrusting pattern you like, not wanting to stop stimulation you’d collaborated so well to find. However, he was positioned on all fours, and you lay on the bed, which left a distressing distance between your bodies.

“Y/n? Omega?” You could perceive the warmth of Damiano’s voice, but identfying the words was a challenge. It was comforting just the same, since you recognized the vocal tone as belonging to your alpha. His hand was in your hair again, pushing it from your face, massaging with his fingertips. Dami was trying and failing to get your attention, discerning if he could find his own climax. Thinking of your pleasure only for so long had tested even Damiano’s excellent compartmentalization. Behind his wall of focus, Dami’s orgasam had been building and now waited to crest like a great wave, a tsunami.

A knot wasn’t enough physical intimacy. Damiano flattened himself against you, face nuzzling your untouched scent gland, trying to cover himself in your smell. On the instroke he was cumming, mouth on your scent gland, trying not to use his teeth this time. It was excruciating to resist the fantasy that any alpha who got close enough to touch you would also be close enough to see you covered in his bite marks. Releasing rope after rope of cum made it impossible to remember that these bites Damiano used to communicate his unspoken love had a physical toll on you. He shook and clung to you in the final moments of his orgasam. Damiano cried out, guttural and passionate, right next to the shell of your ear.

You reached out for Dami in the dark. Hand crawling across the bedspread, you got lucky and found his grasp. The reminder that you were right here with him had Damiano releasing a groan that turned into a growl of desperation, his hips jerking against yours once again. Dami’s second orgasam came quickly and he collapsed on top of you before it had even peaked. His legs were placed on the outside of your own, squeezing down like that could make the tensing of your walls a palatable sensation. Bearing down was the instinctual reaction to feeling Dami’s hot cum coat your walls, splashing on your cervix. You wanted to hold him infinitesimally close somehow.

His second release was more plentiful than the first. Damiano pulled out halfway, hoping that your reaction wouldn’t be so visceral in a shallower spot. However, each rush of jizz landed on your scent glands and that had you bordering on overstimulation. Dami was considering his third orgasam when he noticed you’d stopped purring and were strangling his hand instead.

“I know,” he huffed, out of breath. “Uh, fucking fuck,” Damiano groaned, aftershocks making his cock twitch. When you winced again, he knew integrating all this stimulation had gone from pleasurable to overwhelming. It brought some bodily awareness back and Dami realized he was squeezing you every place he possibly could, trying to pull you closer subconsciously as if this wasn’t intimate enough. He forced himself to begin letting you go. After having you so completely, it was fundamentally counter-intuitive. Dami wanted to wrap you in all four limbs, biting and knotting until he was too dehydrated to produce anymore semen and saliva.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your hair. He strokes it carefully, wanting to get you purring again. That'd been such a beautiful sound.

“You’re mine. You’re mine. Your mine,” Dami chokes up. He relaxes his head against your shoulder and tries to collect himself. It's hard because he’s spent the last year worried about what might happen when you’re separate from him and right now you’re the same person. You’re safe, tucked against him, flooded with happy chemicals.

“Hey,” you rasp, moving beneath him. As Daminao lost his knot, you surfaced out of headspace. You detangle your hand from his, propping yourself up and taking some deep breaths. Awkwardly, he pulls out, resting beside you. As he shifts Dami realizes that he’d marked you on both sides, accidently. He carefully examines the bite mark on your right side, which thankfully didn’t break the skin.

“How do you feel?” he murmurs, looking at you differently than he did earlier today.

“Honestly, it's nice to only have my organs inside of me,” you joke.

Notes: Taglist to be added tomorrow <3 Tell me your favorite part this was a labor of love. Thanks for voting on the cover!