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The room is unbearably hot. So, so unbearably hot. Everything is too warm, and too cold, and not cold enough, and Regulus wants to die.
Frankly, in his own, definitely truthful opinion; heats are the worst.
Especially during the first few symptoms. The first days of feeling like he's being boiled alive in an underwater cave by the North pole. Does it make sense? No, exactly, and Regulus needs it to stop.
The thing is, that, usually he would simply pop a few pills, and everything would be fine.
Heat medication is a holy blessing brought upon omegas by saints, he's sure, but they're out. His brother and him are out, the entire flat is devoid of heat medication, and his brother isn't here to get him any for another week , and Regulus' heat has already started, and he's not going outside like this. With trembling legs, and glassy eyes, and a heavy scent. That's a stupid, stupid idea.
So, like a good, normal person, Regulus will sit out his heat, and wait for anyone to knock on his door, so he can send them to buy him meds.
The only problem? No one is knocking on his door.
So, Regulus decides to make his life easier by as much as he can manage. He grabs all the thick blankets he can find, along with every pillow in the flat, and props them up on his queen size bed. A little big for a flat, but he likes to live spoiled.
The nest he builds is, admittedly, quite great. He manages to push scented sacks in-between every other pillow, distracting from his own, heady, obvious scent. Besides, they're just horribly comforting.
As Regulus grabs a pack of ice from their freezer, which is in the laundry room, he pauses momentarily. His gaze drops to the pile of clothes that had collected over the last week, and he sees a big shirt he's never seen before. Red, with shimmering, yellow letters—nearly golden.
Potter.
Like in a film, Regulus gets a sudden flashback of hearing James' voice one evening, when he was already in bed. Possibly taking a shower after practice because he was headed somewhere and the place for their game hadn't had any showers.
Oh.
Regulus reaches for it before he even realises, and he tugs it out from under the other clothes, looking at it with a gaze he can't even place himself. It's his mind. His twisted, disgusting brain, and the only thing he can think about is his nest.
His nest, which needs something comforting to smell. His nest, which needs something good to smell. And, oh, Regulus is a weak man.
So, with little hesitation, he pushes the big shirt into the basket he's taken with him earlier, burying it under all the snacks, like he's afraid someone might see it. Then, he takes the ice pack, and stumbles back into his bedroom on trembling legs.
It doesn't take much longer until his beautiful creation is complete, and Regulus is buried in a tower of comforting, fluffy blankets, and scented pillows, and good snacks, and cold drinks.
Yet, above all those sweet, delicious scents, he smells sunflower seeds, and basketballs, and every summer fruit mixed together addictively.
Regulus has fallen deep, he's fallen so, so unbelievably deep. But he presses his thighs together harshly, and pushes his face into the shirt he's stolen, hugging it tight, and willing himself to calm. It's so much better. So, so much better with an alpha's scent to inhale, even though his body aches for the alpha to be his. Even though he aches for the alpha to be here. It's enough for now.
Not for long, Regulus realises, however.
Only a day later, he's laying in the exact same position. Now, he's wearing the shirt, pressing his nose into the collar of it, and pressing an ice pack against his forehead. Regulus is overheating. His body is trembling, and he feels so, so empty.
It's not fair. It's not fair how badly he wishes to be filled by someone who's not here. Who doesn't even know that Regulus craves these things.
Nothing is fair, and Regulus feels so—so hot.
His mind is fuzzy. The heat has gotten so bad so fast, and everything is so warm. Regulus can't breathe if it's not through the fabric of his new comfort shirt, but it's slowly losing scent, and the young omega craves. He craves, and craves, and God. It's so unfair. Regulus whines into the shirt, and presses his thighs together tighter, like it would do anything against the throbbing want between his legs.
Everything is quiet, and so loud with the blood rushing in Regulus' ears, and his nest is so comfortable, but it feels almost trapping with how lonely he is in it.
As though the universe has read his mind, and decided to bless the poor omega with the best blessing there could be, the front door opens with a loud creak, and Regulus' head shoots up. His brother. It has to be his brother. It has to be Sirius, who's remembered. Remembered that they're out of heat medication, and that Regulus is all on his own. He doesn't want to be. God, he doesn't want to be on his own.
Who comes through his bedroom door isn't his brother, though.
The dark brown door opens to reveal a tall, tan man with wide eyes, and a hand over his nose and mouth.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no, no, no.
Not now.
James can't come in now, he can't come in now, because—
Without thinking, Regulus pushes his face further into the shirt he's wearing over nothing but his underwear, and he closes his eyes with a whine as his body gives a violent tremble. The scent is so strong now. It's so strong, so present, so here. Regulus wants it closer. He needs it closer. Please. God, please.
“Is that—You’re wearing my shirt,” James states, and he's still standing at the door.
Why does he do that? Why, why, why? Regulus needs him closer, so, so much closer. As close as possible. He smells so good, even from here. “‘m sorry,” the omega whines, and he presses together his thighs again, another whine leaves his throat, and he's so empty, he thinks he's going to cry, “It—It smelled so good. And I—I—I’m so hot. It's so hot, James.”
For a moment, the alpha looks absolutely conflicted, as though he's fighting an internal war.
Understandable, maybe.
“James,” Regulus whines, and the expression on the man's face twists and twists, and it's so annoying.
So, so hot.
The omega feels so hot, and his thighs are trembling, and he sits up as the shirt slips down one of his shoulders. Face red, and eyes glassy, looking up at James like he's close to begging, and oh, oh, he would. Everything. Everything right now.
Every single thought of medication deletes itself in his mind.
Regulus doesn't want pills.
He wants James. He wants an alpha, he needs it.
So, again, he whines, high in his throat, “Jamie.”
And oh, that does it.
The tan hand that's been covering James' nose drops immediately, and after a singular, deep breath, his gaze darkens by so much that it shoots a shiver through Regulus' body. A good, full body shiver.
The mattress dips down when a knee presses on the edge of it, and Regulus' breathing stops.
Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes.
James' scent gets so much closer, and the dazed omega reaches for him, reaches for the alpha like he's close to combusting. All trembling hands, and spreading thighs, and fuck. Regulus is so empty, and James is right there.
He can't think. Is this a bad idea? He can't think. He needs James. He can't think.
“A—Alpha,” Regulus breathes as soon as he gets his hands on James, and he wraps his arms around his neck quickly, trying to lock him in close, to keep him there, “James.”
The taller man topples over in Regulus' nest, and he places his big, warm—or cold?—hands on the omega's waist, pushing him into the mattress gently, but roughly, and Regulus can't think.
“Baby, aw,” James cooes, and he sounds so genuine that the omega wants to cry, “You’ve been suffering here all alone, haven't you, sweetheart? Good thing your brother gave me that key. So helpless.”
With those last two words, one of the hands on his waist slid up to Regulus' face, and a thumb presses to his bottom lip.
There's not a pull. Not a single tug. James' thumb simply rests on Regulus' lip, and the omega opens his mouth without a second of hesitation. Urging to please, urging to receive. He wants. He needs. His head feels so fuzzy, so mushy, and his eyes are so hooded, he can only see James. He can only smell James. An alpha. His alpha.
“What is wrong, doll?” James asks, and his lips are so close, but they're not close enough, “Tell me.”
And then, “Tell your alpha.”
Regulus' brain completely shuts down.
With a loud, needy whine, his legs spread as far as he can manage, and he pulls at James' neck. Closer, closer, closer. Then, finally, his mouth follows the idea. “Closer,” he whimpers, head thrown back into the pillow, and lips parted.
James chuckles, low in his throat, dangerous.
He wants to feel that sound against his body. Regulus wants him so close. So close. Why can't he?
“You’re so needy, baby, all stupid from want,” James tuts, and he licks into Regulus' mouth, kissing him like he means it, and yes.
God, yes.
The only thing the omega can do is push his tongue into whatever James puts into his mouth. His own, or the edge of his thumb, or even his teeth as he bites into his lip.
Yes, yes, yes.
Regulus pushes his hips up, and his mouth is left open even as James pulls away from the kiss.
Tongue lolled out, and pale shoulder exposed for the taking, and he feels so hot. It's so warm. And he's still so empty.
“Please,” Regulus whines, but James doesn't move, and the hazy omega lets out another, needy whimper, just wanting him close, so close, “Jamie. Alpha, please. Please, please.”
It's so mean.
It's so mean.
James kisses him again, but he doesn't touch him, and it's so, so mean.
“Please, please,” Regulus whines, “Jamie.”
Another chuckle. Dark, low, wanting. So why doesn't he take?
“You have to tell me what you want, baby,” James hums gently, kissing just below Regulus' ear, along his jaw, all the way down, and it makes a shiver run down the omega's spine.
Those words knock some sense into his malfunctioning, dazed brain.
Oh.
What he wants.
“Need you inside,” Regulus whines, and his eyes are so glassy, and he wants to cry, “Alpha, please. Inside. Inside, please.”
James groans, and he bites at the sensitive, pale skin of Regulus' jaw, making the younger man writhe beneath him in pleasure. It's so, so good. So warm. So good.
“You built such a pretty nest. Fuck. Such a pretty little boy, nesting with my scent,” James growls, moving his head down to push his face into the exposed skin of his omega's shoulder, he wants to, he wants it, why doesn't his alpha bite him? Regulus needs it. Needs to be claimed. Then, he remembers. Oh. Oh, speak. He needs to speak.
Regulus mumbles, just as both of the warm hands on his body sneak down to his underwear, “ Claim me, please. Please. Need it. Need an alpha.”
“Mm, of course you do, baby,” James chuckles, but his voice sounds strained, and he kisses at the shoulder, but he still doesn't bite, “I bet you're so lonely. So useless without an alpha to please. God, you'd please your alpha so well, wouldn't you, love?”
No thoughts. No thoughts, yet Regulus is nodding, and he's nodding, and nodding, and oh, he'd please so, so well.
Sirius will be so furious.
“Please,” Regulus moans, hands slipping off the soaked boxers he's been wearing, “Wanted you—Wanted you for so long. Please.”
Suddenly, a hand is back on his face, but it's holding his jaw, fingers pressed against the side of Regulus' throat. God. Yes, please, yes, yes, yes. He wants to feel it. Wants to feel the lack of power, the absolute void of it with James' big hand pressing him down into the mattress. And, oh, that's exactly what he's doing.
Another hand slides along his cunt, and Regulus moans loudly, head pressing back, and he's so, so empty.
“Alpha,” he whines, legs spreading painfully wide.
James tuts, “I know, baby, I know. I'll fill you up so good. You will feel so, so nice, I promise.”
For now, the trembling omega settles for that promise. Fine. He focuses on the kisses on his shoulder, and the fingers playing with his clit. He's a mess. God, god, he's a mess. His brain is so—so—so empty. And, oh. Oh, he is so empty, too. Why can't James—why can't—
Before Regulus' needy brain manages to finish the thought, there's two long, thick fingers inside of him.
He moans, loudly, because yes. Yes, yes, please.
The fingers move, and James—a blessing —doesn’t tease. Not now, not now, he moves his fingers fast, and deep, and Regulus moans. So good. So, so good. He feels drunk on James' presence, on the promise he's given. He feels dizzy from it all. From how fast it's all happened, and oh. Oh, oh, Regulus doesn't mind. He's been waiting so long. Months. He's been waiting months for James to touch him like this.
A loud moan that rips through his throat interrupts his own thoughts, because his brain is so screwed. He's so messy. He can't think, and it's so good.
“You with me, love?” James asks, and Regulus gives an unintelligible noise, “Do you really want me to claim you, baby? Do you want that? Words.”
Words.
The omega whines, and he pushes his hips onto the fingers—three, now—that have stopped with their movements.
“Yes,” he breathes, and he sounds so whiny, because why, why, why, he doesn't want to speak.
Luckily, James has decided it enough as well.
With a single set of motions, James pulls out his fingers, pulls off his shirt, undoes his trousers, and puts his hands back where they belong. One hand is pressing him down just below his throat, so dangerously close. The other one is holding Regulus by his slim waist, and oh, he wants to be held like this forever. In his pretty little nest, pressed to the mattress by an alpha.
There's pressure on the omega's cunt, and he moans before he can register what's happening.
Oh. Oh, oh, yes.
James has pulled out his cock, and Regulus wishes he could appreciate how thick it looks, and so, so long. He wants it inside of him. Anywhere. Everywhere. It's not fair. Please, God, why can't he be fucked by James three times at the same time? It's not fair.
“Ready, love?” the alpha asks, but Regulus hasn't even finished nodding when the cock slams into him.
Oh.
His eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and lips parted so, so widely.
James' cock rests inside him for a moment, just pushing against Regulus' insides with a heat he's never felt before. Oh. Oh, oh, oh. This is good. This is so right. So right. Full. He's full. Not—not full enough, but he's so full.
“Fuck,” the alpha hisses, lips kissing along Regulus' throat, “Fuck, you're so tight. So wet, baby.”
Then, with a slow start, James starts moving. First, it's even, almost gentle. A slow rhythm of careful thrusts, and Regulus gets used to the feeling of being so—so full. So happy. It's almost sweet, and James whisper sweet words of encouragement against his pale skin, as though he's trying to coax him through the mind-bending stretch of his cunt. However, before Regulus can get used to the slow, steady rhythm, James switches it all up.
Without a warning, the hand that was previously on the omega's waist, suddenly presses down on his stomach, and the hand at his throat closes around it.
“Mm, God,” James moans, and just like that he picks up an unfair speed. Animalistic, almost. Rough. He pounds into Regulus like he owns him, and oh, how the omega wishes that was true. Though, there's no time for wishing, or thinking, because his stomach is pushed down, and James' cock pushes up, and Regulus is moaning so loudly that his ears are ringing.
The hand on his throat presses, slightly, and Regulus can't breathe. Everything is so—so mh. It smells so good. He's so full.
A smile curls on the omega's lips as he moans, and his eyes roll back into his head as James continues to fuck into him, hand on his throat releasing, but still holding. Claiming. Good. Good. Regulus wants more. “A—Alpha,” he moans, sobs, “Plea—Ah, mh— please.”
That's when it happens.
James brings his head down back to his shoulder, and he bites down hard.
It's so—so good.
Regulus' back arches off the mattress, and his head is thrown so far back that he sees the pillows behind him. He comes so hard. So, so hard, and James pounds into him regardless, and Regulus is gone.
“You look so—Fuck, fuck—dazed, baby,” James grumbles, having retracted from the bite mark to look at his omega, “So cock drunk, mh, Made to be claimed. God, fuck. Made to be claimed by an alpha. Shit.”
There's no more words leaving Regulus' mouth.
It's all moans, and whines, and sobs, and he's so good. Everything feels so sensitive, and James' thrusts turns sloppy with every second, but it doesn't matter, because Regulus is so fucked out he might die. In the best way possible.
“Fuck, I'm—God, Reg, I'm close,” James moans.
Suddenly, all sense is knocked back into the omega, and he lets out a whine. “Knot me,” he whimpers, begs, “Please. James, knot me. Alpha, please.”
Just as James opens his mouth to say something, a loud, pleasured groans escapes his throat, and he presses Regulus' stomach down hard as he buries his cock into his cunt. Fuck. Oh, God, fuck, oh. Something grows inside of the omega, something is filling him so well, and Regulus can't breathe. With James' hand pressing down on it, everything feels so, so intense. Oh, fuck.
“Mh, gonna make sure it fucking sticks,” James mumbles, sweaty forehead pressed against the shoulder he's claimed, and his voice sounds so strained, “Filling you up so good. Like you deserve, baby. Promised it.”
Regulus can't respond, because yes.
His insides are filled so, so good. He's so full, and he's so happy. Regulus could cry, His eyes are still a little crossed, and his lips won't close, because he whines and whimpers with every little shift and movements. And God. Oh, fuck, he's done for.
“Thank you,” he mumbles.
He'll take care of the messy things when he can think again.
Just let him be full and happy for a bit longer.