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"Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc!"
“We gladly feast upon those who would subdue us.”
–Addams Family Motto
Music filled the air and the impromptu dance floor was packed with guests swirling in pairs: all manner of ghosts, goblins, and ghouls. Costumes ranged from elegant and extravagant to comedic, to truly frightful, but all had clearly spared no expense for the event of a cartel kingpin’s Halloween party. Even the members of the large band were all dressed in elegant trajes de charro and ornate sombreros, with their faces painted as calaveras.
The hacienda was festooned with spooky Halloween decorations and more traditional Dìa de los Muertos marigolds, papel picado, and a large altar abundantly heaped with ofrendas of pan de muertos, bottles of mezcal and tequila, and pictures of Salamancas and other members of the Juarez cartel who had crossed over into the land of the dead.
Nacho sincerely hoped that the belief that they would return wouldn’t come true, or at minimum, that he wouldn’t have to navigate any Salamancas returned from the dead. He loved his husband, but his large and…colorful…family were enough to manage, as it was.
Marco and Leonel knelt by the altar, setting down offerings of mezcal and cigars for the fallen Salamancas, and praying to the icon of Santa Muerte with marigolds heaped at her skeletal feet. Of all the family, the twins were the most devout. Though they only seemed to pray to the rogue narco-saint Santa Muerte, and to ignore the Catholic God and His other, Church-sanctioned,saints.
Tío Hector only seemed to step foot inside of a church for the high holy days. Or funerals, christenings, and weddings. Now that Nacho and Lalo had tied the knot, Hector had moved on to terrorizing Tuco and his girlfriend Rosa about their nuptials.
Lalo stood beside him, his arm wrapped reassuringly around his waist, as it had been throughout the evening as they dutifully made their rounds as the hosts, checking in on all of their esteemed guests. At the moment, they were standing with Don Eladio and the other capos.
“What are you supposed to be?” Tío Hector asked Don Gustavo and Don Maximino. Nacho was grateful that he kept the scorn in his voice to a minimum. Tío Hector was not a fan of Don Gustavo and Don Max: first, because they were Chilenos; secondly, because they were both alphas, which he insisted was unnatural for a mated pair.
“Ah! These are beloved comic book characters in Chile,” Don Max explained enthusiastically. “Gustavo is Condorito, the hero. Though we decided to skip the actual condor bit. It seemed easier to just go with a human version. But in the comic books, he really is a little condor bird, whose friends are humans. And I’m Condorito’s loyal best friend, Don Chuma! Though I decided to forgo his giant nose!” Don Max chuckled. “Gustavo and I discovered early in our relationship that we both loved the Condorito comics when we were kids.”
Don Max’s eyes glittered, and he looked at Don Gustavo as if he had hung the moon, clinging onto his arm. Don Gustavo’s typically severe expression warmed and softened, and a rare smile graced his lips as he returned his mate’s loving gaze.
“Hmmph,” Tío Hector sniffed dismissively. “Why those peasant clothes?” he asked, staring challengingly at Don Gustavo.
Nacho winced at his Tío’s rudeness. He usually made more of an effort to rein it in, in front of Don Eladio.
Gustavo laid a hand on Don Max’s arm, stopping whatever he’d been about to say. “Don Hector, with respect, these are not peasant clothes. This is the traditional clothing of Chile’s huasos. Vaqueros, I believe you call them here in Mexico.”
Don Gustavo looked handsome, Nacho had to admit, in the huaso attire: a colorful poncho; broad brimmed black hat; striped trousers with a sash in the red, white, and blue of the Chilean flag tied around the waist; and black boots with glittering gold spurs at the heels.
Don Max’s costume as Don Chuma was a less traditional outfit of gray slacks, a white shirt and black tie, and a red blazer, hat, and shoes. He’d even grown a thick mustache for the occasion.
“Ay, Tío. Don’t be rude,” Lalo chastised Hector, without any real weight to it. “You have no leg to stand on. Where is your costume?”
Tío Hector and the twins were the only ones at the party who were not in costume.
“Bah! Halloween is a stupid gringo holiday,” Tío Hector groused. “What I’m going to dress up for? I’m not a clown.”
Only Tío Hector could be so flagrantly rude to Lalo and get nothing more than a token complaint of “Don’t be such a stick in the mud,Tío,” in response.
“Hector, Hector! Lighten up! You’re no fun. Old age has made you grumpy, compa!” Don Eladio chuckled, slapping Hector on the back. Only his status as the head of the cartel kept Hector from punching him, Nacho was certain by the visible twitching in Hector’s jaw.
Eladio was a bit on the nose with his own costume, in Nacho’s humble opinion. In Tony Montana’s iconic red and white suit from Scarface, even his Halloween costume left no doubt who was El Padrino.
Nacho crossed his arms self-consciously under his chest, uncomfortably aware of how his pecs were pushed up to resemble cleavage in his low-cut, skin-tight black gown. “You really went all out on the decorations,” he commented to his husband.
“Por supuesto, mi amor!” Lalo laughed and squeezed Nacho’s waist. “When have you ever known me to half-ass anything? Or to turn down a chance to throw the best party Mexico has ever seen?” He grinned rakishly.
Lalo looked unfairly handsome, Nacho thought, in his Halloween costume: a black and white pinstriped suit, black bow tie, and gleaming black and white wingtip Oxfords. He carried a fencing saber (a real one) in its scabbard, leaning on it like a cane. His dark hair was neatly gelled back, the silver streak shining in the warm flickering lights of luminarias. Nacho had always thought his husband was a dead-ringer for Gomez Addams.The only inaccuracy of his costume was his facial hair: Lalo had refused to get rid of his soul patch or shave his mustache into the pencil-thin strips iconic to Gomez. Otherwise, he was picture-perfect. Nacho hadn’t failed to notice that heads turned everywhere his husband went, igniting a low smolder of jealousy in his chest.
By comparison, Nacho felt less-than-secure in his own Morticia costume: a long black wig and the constricting dress that clung to him too tightly, accentuating his omegan curves. He worried that he’d trip over the fluttering tendrils of the mermaid skirt in the stiletto heels that Lalo had begged him to wear. Most of all, that plunging neckline made him feel over-exposed and foolish.
I can’t wear this, he’d fruitlessly complained to Lalo when he’d first brought the custom-made costumes (no cheap polyester for a Salamanca prince and his wife) home. I don’t have tits. It’s going to look stupid.
In his usual way, Lalo had nonchalantly waved his worries aside. Nonsense! You’ll look beautiful! As you always do, mi vida, he’d insisted.
“No. I’ve never known you not to do the most, mon cher,” Nacho mock-grumbled, rolling his eyes, and dragging a long, bright red nail softly down Lalo’s cheek.
Lalo laughed delightedly. “Tish! That’s French!” He seized Nacho’s wrist and kissed up his arm, neck, and cheek, finally claiming his mouth. When he broke away, he dipped Nacho at the waist as if they were dancing the tango. Nacho felt his face flaming red when Lalo righted him again. All eyes were on them; not just in their little circle of capos; all of the guests were watching their hosts’ flirtatious behavior.
“Looks like I might get my nietos soon, eh? About time!” Tío Hector cackled loudly, raising his glass of tequila at them.
“Tío!” Nacho and Lalo exclaimed simultaneously—Nacho, genuinely embarrassed; Lalo, beaming with smug pride.
“Hold up! What’s this about grandkids? Did you finally knock Nacho up?”
Tuco’s voice boomed far too loudly as he cut his way across the patio, barreling towards them. In his Uncle Fester costume and pallid makeup, he looked even more intimidating than usual. His girlfriend Rosa–-dolled up in a tight white dress and feather boa as Debbie Jellinsky–-tagged along behind him, wobbling on her white high heels, blonde bobbed wig slightly askew as she tried to keep up with Tuco’s pace. Behind them, Tuco’s sister Soledad and her husband Gonzo followed along. Gonzo, with his hulking fridge-like frame, made a very funny Pugsly Addams, while Sole’s slightly sour expression perfectly suited her Wednesday Addams.
“Tuco, cállate,” Nacho hissed with a grimace when they drew closer.
“Don’t tell me to shut up, bitch. I’ll make you shut up.” Tuco grumbled, but there was no heat in voice. “So, are you pregnant, or what?”
Nacho’s face was flaming hot. All eyes were on him. “No! I’m not. Tío was just joking around. Now can we all move on and stop talking about kids all the time?”
He and Lalo had been married less than a year, but the Salamanacas–-Tío Hector, in particular—-never seemed to tire of bringing up the subject of when they would have children. Nacho had never envisioned himself as a parent. The stereotype went that omegas were naturally maternal, but that had never connected for Nacho. He’d been far more interested in the money and power that the cartel lifestyle offered. Now, being married to Lalo, he could imagine it. They would be loving parents.
The idea of bringing more children into a cartel family and lifestyle gave him pause, though. The chaos and violence that was an integral part of Lalo’s childhood wasn’t exactly what Nacho wanted for his own children. But how could he tell his new family about his concerns, when it was so normal for them? He hoped that he and his Papá together could at least convince Lalo that any children of theirs should have a choice not to be involved in the Salamanca family business if they didn’t want to be.
“That’s too bad! We could use some little kids around here to liven things up! You’ll have to try harder, primo!” Tuco howled with laughter, showing off his glittering silver and diamond grill, and elbowed Lalo in the ribs.
“Oh, it’s not for lack of trying. Believe me.” Lalo replied with a wink.
“Lalo!” Nacho hissed, wincing.
“Stop terrorizing them, Tuco. And you too, Tío,” Soledad scolded. “You can borrow mine any time you want, though.” Soledad had carried on a Salamanca family tradition by giving birth to twin boys two years ago, and she and Gonzo were permanently frazzled and sleep-deprived, ever since.
“Please,” Gonzo chimed in with nearly comical urgency, setting the rest of the group off with laughter.
Tío Hector, never missing an excuse to get in one last jab, turned his attention to Tuco and Rosa now. “You owe me nietos, too. Don’t think you’re off the hook because your sister gave me grandchildren, Tuco. None of you boys have given me heirs. Inútiles, todos mis sobrinos.”
Eladio threw his head back with laughter. “These Salamanca boys better watch out for their Tío’s wrath, eh, Don Juan?” he asked Don Juan Bolsa, who looked miserable in his Porfirio Díaz costume of military regalia and a thick, fake white mustache. Nacho wondered if Eladio had talked him into it. He couldn’t imagine Don Juan willingly dressing up as anything.
“Excuse me for a second. I’m going to go check on Papá,” he said to Lalo, beating a hasty exit before Tío Hector and his heir obsession could fixate on him again.
Nacho spotted his father across the patio with Abuelita Serafina and a small group of Chihuahua’s high society notables. “Papá, cómo estás?” He asked, looping an arm around his father’s shoulder.
In the fringed brown suede jacket, black cowboy hat, black pants with a large silver belt buckle, crisp white shirt, and black cowboy boots traditional to the baile folklórico of Nacho’s mother’s home state of Nuevo León, his father looked handsome. It brought back warm childhood memories of cheering on his Papá and Mamá at dance competitions around the Southwest.
“Estoy bien, mijo. Gracias,” his Papá replied, his eyes sparkling with joy in a way that Nacho hadn’t seen for a very long time, until the wedding.
It took some time for Manuel Varga to come to terms with his only child marrying a high-ranking cartel capo. But after some intense, draining arguments and a short period of estrangement, he had accepted that if he wanted to stay in his son’s life, he’d have to learn to deal with it. Before the wedding, he had implored Nacho to reassure him that Lalo made him happy. When Nacho continually and emphatically insisted that he did, Manuel had finally given the couple his blessing.
“What a wonderful party this is, Ignacio! Your husband knows everyone from Albuquerque to Oaxaca City, it seems!” His father effused.
“He’s a real social butterfly,” Nacho replied, trying not to sound frustrated. Lalo’s role in the Juarez cartel entailed a great deal of travel and networking on both sides of the border. Some of which, Nacho joined him for. Mostly, he preferred to stay in Chihuahua and leave the schmoozing and politicking to Lalo. He couldn’t help being a little resentful of how often work took Lalo away from home.
“And you’re happy, mijo? Settling into all of this?” Manuel gestured expansively, meaning not only the luxurious hacienda itself, but life in Mexico (and life as a cartel wife) as well.
“Sí, Papá. You ask me every day, and every day the answer is the same,” Nacho said, fond exasperation coloring his voice.
Just a few years ago, as Tuco’s lieutenant and right-hand man—before Lalo crossed the border to run the New Mexico territory with Tuco and help him kick his meth habit—he could never have imagined that he’d be happily married to a rich and powerful alpha (let alone, a Salamanca), and that he and his father would be living at a splendid hacienda in Chihuahua. Life took such strange turns!
“Y cómo estás, Abuelita?” Nacho asked loudly, bending down to kiss Doña Serafina on the cheek.
She still got around well, with her cane, but her hearing was fading rapidly. In her high-collared, long black dress and large black feathered hat as Grandmama Addams, she looked more severe than usual. But her typical sweet demeanor shone through when she cooed, “Ay, mijo, todo es perfecto! Qué gran fiesta! Y tú ves muy linda, mi preciosa!”
Nacho blushed. Abuelita Sera was always so old-fashioned, preferring to use female forms of words for all omegas, in spite of his (usually) masculine appearance. But she was a sweet old lady, so he couldn’t hold it against her. And at least tonight, he looked the part.
“Gracias, Abuelita. I hope you’re enjoying the party. Don’t let these degenerates give you too much tequila.”
He winked at the circle of prominent local leaders (including the Mayors of Chihuahua City and the nearest town of Ojinaga, as well as several local business leaders, lawyers, and doctors). Nacho stayed to chat with the group for a while, making sure that his Papá and Abuelita Sera were comfortable, and that their elite guests felt well attended-to. The conversation kept Nacho occupied until his husband sidled up next to him, slipping an arm around his waist.
“Mi vida, necesitas algo?” Lalo asked, leaning in to plant a kiss on Nacho’s cheek.
Nacho couldn’t suppress his grin. Nearly a year of marriage had passed, but they were still in the honeymoon phase; still drunk on the mere sight and presence of each other. “No, mi amor. Estoy bien. Sólo necesito tú.” He cringed a little, saying it, feeling too sappy and sentimental.
But Lalo positively beamed. “Ay! Mi amor, qué romántico!” he exclaimed, once again living up to his Gomez character by kissing up Nacho’s arm until he reached his mouth.
The kiss went on just a little bit too long. Pulled so tight against Lalo’s warm and solid frame, Nacho could feel himself already starting to grow wet between his legs. It wasn’t even close to time for his heat, but just being this close to Lalo had such a strong effect on him. He pushed his hand against Lalo’s chest and stepped away with a small smile, before he got too riled up in front of his Papá and their guests.
“In that case, querido, may I have this dance?” Lalo bowed with a flourish, gesturing to the dance floor as the band struck up a tango.
Tango wasn’t a dance form that Nacho was familiar with, prior to being with Lalo. But he’d quickly discovered that his husband had a real knack for it, and he had (quite literally) swept him off his feet.
Nacho allowed himself to be pulled out onto the dance floor, and he and Lalo swirled into the push-and-pull of the tango. The dance was a natural chase: a cat and mouse game of desire and denial, played out with haughty looks and dizzying spins, and it never failed to make Nacho want Lalo. When Lalo pulled him flush against him and then dipped him low at the end of the dance, Nacho couldn’t help but lunge up to capture his lips in a kiss.
Heat flooded Nacho’s face as applause erupted among the guests. Lalo grabbed his hand and raised it high in the air, bowing, as if they were performers on a stage, before their adoring crowd.
“Do you always have to make a spectacle of us?” Nacho grumbled under his breath.
“I can’t help it that I’m so handsome and my wife is so beautiful,” Lalo purred.
Nacho huffed. “You’re too much. I’m going inside to rest for a bit.”
Predictably, Lalo followed him into the salon. “Wait here, mi amor. I’ll bring you some champagne,” he offered, which eased some of Nacho’s tension.
Large social gatherings like this always drained his energy. He was used to being in the background at cartel events, when he was a lieutenant. But now, as Lalo’s wife, he was expected to play the hostess and make the social rounds as much as his husband was. It was exhausting. He settled into the large wicker peacock rocking chair (purchased just for this occasion, for its resemblance to Morticia Addams’ chair in the old TV show) to wait for Lalo’s return.
“I can’t believe you bought a bear,” he said when Lalo returned with two glasses of champagne, gesturing to the enormous taxidermied bear looming across the room. “Where did you even find that thing?”
Lalo shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a guy! Besides, the Addams Family has to have a bear!”
“Mmhmm,” Nacho deadpanned, “It wouldn’t be a real party without a dead bear. What the hell are you going to do with it after this, mi marido loquito?”
Lalo shrugged again. “I don’t know. I kind of like him. Maybe I’ll put him in my office. Or one of the guest rooms! Give Tuco a nice fright the next time he stays over, eh?”
Nacho shook his head. “You’re impossible.”
“Claro que sí!” Lalo grinned. “Now, up, up! Let me sit with you.” Lalo pulled him to his feet, and then pulled him back down onto his lap. Nacho huffed, but secretly, he enjoyed sitting on his husband’s lap, leaning back against his strong, warm chest. He breathed in deeply, drawing in a whiff of Lalo’s alpha scent: notes of leather, tobacco, and cardamom. It settled and eased him, melting away any tension in his muscles, as Lalo rocked them gently and soothingly in the chair.
“Are you having a good time, cariño?” Lalo murmured as he mouthed softly at Nacho’s neck.
Nacho sighed and leaned back against him, craning his neck to allow his husband more access. “Yes. I’m having a good time. You throw a great party, mi esposo,” he said.
“Ah, say that again,” Lalo sighed happily, continuing to kiss and nuzzle at his neck.
“What? You throw a great party?” Nacho teased.
“Ay, no. Mocoso. Call me your husband again. My beautiful wife.”
Nacho rolled his eyes, but complied. “Mi marido. Mi esposo.”
“Ay, Morticia, mi hermoso cariño!” Lalo crooned, attacking Nacho with a sudden flurry of tickles and kisses.
To his chagrin, Nacho let out a very undignified little shriek, which drew the eyes of the others milling around the salon, including Don Gustavo and Don Max, who were perusing the bookshelf, standing so close together that they were nearly one silhouette as they whispered to each other; a small group of prominent members of high society, who were chatting boisterously around the oak bar; and the twins, who were standing by the fireplace, engaged in their own mysterious, silent communication.
“Um, disculpe,” Nacho muttered, his face burning with embarrassment. When everyone resumed their conversations, he slapped Lalo’s arm reproachfully.
“Watch it, Gomez. You’re on thin ice,” he hissed to Lalo, administering a quick but sharp pinch to his husband’s side.
“Ow, Tish. You wound me,” Lalo pouted. He tightened his arms around Nacho’s waist and he ground his hips against Nacho’s ass where it rested on his lap, making Nacho suddenly keenly aware that Lalo was hard.
“Hey. Cool off, cowboy,” he whispered into Lalo’s ear.
“How can I? With a hot little thing like you on my lap?” Lalo whispered back, drawing his teeth over the shell of Nacho’s ear. A shiver raced down his spine, and he could feel wetness pooling between his legs again.
“Lalo.” He said more sharply, putting a warning growl into his tone.
“What?” Lalo asked, tone all sugary feigned innocence, as his hands pawed at Nacho’s thighs.
“Stop it. There are people here,” Nacho hissed. But he couldn’t help the subvocal purr that Lalo elicited when he bit down gently on the mating scar from their honeymoon.
“So?” Lalo murmured, and he shifted Nacho so that his skirt fell over them, and his hands dove underneath, unfastening his trousers.
Nacho could feel the hard heat of Lalo’s erection against the silky panties that he had talked him into wearing under the dress. His own smaller omega cock strained against the silk panties. Lalo rocked them more vigorously, pulling the panties down so they fell around Nacho’s ankles, his hands then returning above the skirt to grip Nacho’s waist, positioning him so that his cock was pushing against his bared pussy.
Nacho squirmed, turning to “kiss” his husband’s ear, so he could whisper, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Just having a little fun with my pretty wife. Don’t pretend that you don’t like it. I can smell your slick, my little omega putita.” Lalo purred against his ear.
Unfortunately, Lalo wasn’t all wrong. Nacho was soaking his panties, dripping with slick. But if Lalo could smell him, that almost definitely meant that the other alphas in the room could, too.
He fought to keep his voice at a whisper. “I’m serious. Cut it out. You want your guests, your primos, to see us like this?”
“Hmm. Maybe. Do you, Nachito? Does it turn you on? For them to see what a good little omega slut you are for your husband?”
Lalo’s words went straight to his aching cunt, even if the reality of being seen frightened him. His hands gripped white-knuckled to the armrests of the rocking chair. He shifted slightly in Lalo’s lap, so that the tip of his cock was pressing into him.
Lalo inhaled sharply, rocking the chair back and arching his hips, so he breached further into Nacho. Nacho stifled a groan by taking a long drink from his champagne flute. He had no idea where to send his gaze, desperate not to make eye contact with anyone else in the room, for fear they would recognize what was going on right in front of them. He trained his eyes on the snarling mouth and raised paws of the taxidermied bear, with its ferocious fangs and claws.
The scent of Lalo’s alpha pheromones was a thick fog around him. He could feel himself slipping into an almost trance-like state as the rocking motions of the chair contributed to Lalo’s cock pressing deeper inside of him and then drawing shallow again. He grabbed Lalo’s thighs, digging his long, red, acrylic nails into the meat of his husband’s muscle for stability. He bit back a whimper as Lalo rocked into him again.
“You smell so good, amorcito,” Lalo purred into his ear, “Like cinnamon and vanilla. So sweet. So delicious. And Dios, you feel so amazing on my cock. So warm and tight. All that protesting, and now look at you: riding my cock in front of our guests like a good little whore.”
Nacho couldn’t stop a quiet whimper from escaping his lips at his husband’s devious words. Lalo lifted the long tresses of the wig to the side, so he could continue to kiss and bite Nacho’s neck, unobstructed. He fought hard not to obviously grind down against him, letting the natural movement of the rocking chair guide them. It was almost unbearable; too slow and too shallow to satisfy.
Everyone in the room had to know what their hosts were getting up to, at this point. If the smell of their combined pheromones wasn’t enough of a dead giveaway, the squeaking of the rocking chair and Nacho’s increasingly labored breathing had to be obvious to them all.
Why don’t they leave? Nacho wondered near-frantically.
He made the mistake of shifting his gaze from an interesting whorl in the natural woodgrain of the floor to looking back up into the room, and his gaze met the twins’. Marco and Leonel’s dark eyes stared directly into his. Their inscrutable expressions gave nothing away, but the intensity of their gaze and the heightened scent of their alpha pheromones (gunpowder and petrichor smell) told him that they knew. An involuntary moan trembled out of his open mouth.
Nacho glanced over his shoulder to see that Lalo, too, was looking intently at the twins, as he continued to fuck into him at the leisurely pace of the rocking chair.
Don Max and Don Gustavo, as well as the other guests who had been lingering in the room, appeared uncomfortable with the palpable tension (and the increasingly thick scent of pheromones) and made their hurried retreat. They whispered feverishly among themselves as they went, leaving Nacho and Lalo alone with the twins.
Leonel and Marco glanced at each other before approaching the couple. Nacho looked up at them towering over him, their stoic faces still giving him no clue as to what they were thinking. Only their scent told him: they were aroused. The smell of alpha want was thick in the air. Overwhelming.
“P-primos…” he whimpered, without having any idea what else to say.
“Isn’t he beautiful, boys? My lovely wife?” Lalo purred. “Do you want to taste him? Go on. It’s ok.”
He stilled momentarily, and Nacho gasped as first Marco, and then Leonel kissed him deeply. Then all three of their mouths were moving together. A little clumsy, but incredibly arousing. Lalo continued to kiss his neck, his teeth occasionally scraping or nipping at the faded mating scar, drawing moans from Nacho.
Lalo’s broad hands lifted the long skirt of his dress, revealing his erect omega cock and his pussy with its neat inverted triangle of dark hair above bare lips. Nacho followed the twins’ eyes, where they were watching Lalo’s cock rock in and out of him with rapt attention. It was too overwhelming. His own eyes squeezed shut.
His husband’s wide, calloused palm wrapped around his cock, stroking him. “Go on, pruébalo,” he urged his cousins, offering Nacho up like a dessert to be shared among them.
This time, Leonel took the lead, sinking to his knees to take Nacho’s small cock into his mouth. Nacho gasped, as Leonel’s warm mouth and skillful tongue suckled and teased him. Lalo’s cock continued to thrust into him, driving his own cock further into Leonel’s mouth.
It was so wrong. These were their cousins! Lalo’s by blood, and his by marriage; but that didn’t make it any less wrong for his cock to be in Leonel’s throat. Yet, it was so undeniably sexy, too. The very taboo nature of it, as well as the intense, almost worshipful attention that Leonel was paying him. And Marco, who was just worshiping all of them with his dark, intense gaze that sent shivers down Nacho’s spine.
After some time, Marco nudged his brother to the side and took his place wrapping his mouth around Nacho’s now highly sensitized cock. Between the twins’ mouths and Lalo’s cock inside of him, the pleasure was almost too much. Leonel, it seemed, was less content to be an observer than his twin, choosing instead to kneel at Nacho’s side and pull his dress to the side to kiss his pecs and suckle his nipples. He wasn’t in heat, but his nipples were still sore and hyper-responsive from his last heat at the beginning of the month, and he keened as Leonel’s tongue and teeth worried the tender buds.
“Ay, mi amor, you’re so sensitive! Listen to you,” Lalo crooned, “Makes me want to fill you up with my babies. See your belly grow and your tits fill up with milk.”
Nacho squirmed, partially out of physical overstimulation, and partially out of a mix of arousal and humiliation from Lalo’s words. “Don’t…Don’t say that…” he protested weakly.
“Why not, mi vida? You’ll be such a lovely mamá! Mm, you sweet thing. Of course I want to breed you.”
Nacho’s face felt impossibly hot. That word. Breed. It always did strange things to him; twisted him up inside and made him feel equal parts disgusted and turned on. Half of him wanted to slap Lalo, and the other half longed to slide to the floor and lift his ass in the traditional omega breeding presentation. The Lordosis reflex, he’d learned it was called in middle school Sex Ed, with a gaggle of other embarrassed, nervously giggling omega kids.
“Lalo,” he moaned, unsure whether it was a complaint or an expression of pleasure. “Alpha…”
“What is it, my beautiful wife? Hmm? Qué quieres?” Lalo murmured against the side of his neck.
Nacho whined in frustration. “I want...It’s too much…I…” it was too difficult to form a coherent thought, with waves of pleasure washing over him, between the twins and Lalo.
“Claro, mi amor. Entiendo. We’ll take good care of you, won’t we, my good boys?” Lalo addressed the twins (his cousins, the shaming piece of Nacho’s brain hissed at him). Marco and Leonel nodded solemnly, continuing the efforts of their hands and mouths to drive him absolutely wild with pleasure. “We’ll make you come, sweet thing,” Lalo promised.
His thrusts grew rougher, harder, now that he wasn’t even slightly trying to hide what he was doing anymore. Nacho’s cunt reflexively clenched around him, and they groaned in unison. The force of Lalo’s thrusts drove Nacho’s small cock deeper into Marco’s throat. Before long, he came with a moan, followed by instinctual purring. Marco swallowed his infertile omega spend and then licked his lips with a lecherous pleasure that made Nacho blush. Leonel’s teeth bit down sharply on his nipple, eliciting a whimper. Lalo’s arms tightened around his waist, and his thrusts became increasingly erratic, his hot breath painting harshly against Nacho’s neck, until he felt the warm heat of Lalo’s seed inside of him.
“That’s it. That’s it, mi corazon. I’ll make you a mamá. Fill this belly up with baby Salamancas,” Lalo murmured feverishly as his broad hands massaged Nacho’s stomach.
“Would you like that?” Lalo asked the twins, “Having some primitos around? They’d be beautiful, like their Mamá, qué no?”
Again, the twins nodded silently. Without any outward signs of communication, they reached out in tandem to rub his stomach, along with Lalo. It felt as if they were casting some sort of spell; some ritual to will a Salamanca baby to take root inside of him.
It was hard to know what he really thought about it, with waves of oxytocin and post-coital bliss washing over him, telling him that it was everything he’d ever wanted.
Lalo’s cock softened and slipped out of him, and after a while, Nacho grew restless, fidgeting in his lap.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and get back to the party, my love,” Lalo said in a tone that was both warm and a little strict, making Nacho’s heart race. He nodded meekly, still awash in omega mating hormones and too dizzy to anything but purr and follow his alpha’s lead.
Once they were decent again, Lalo looped his arm around Nacho’s waist, leading him back out to the patio, where their guests continued to dance and celebrate in the light of the stars and the flickering luminarias and Jack O’ Lanterns.
“Maybe Tío will get those nietos soon, afterall. Eh, mi corazon?” Lalo whispered in his ear as they drew close to the party again.
“Enough about the babies. Déjame en paz,” Nacho grumbled. But part of him hoped that maybe Lalo was right.