my name is birdie and i Do Not Control The Special Interest. please help if you send me prompts from this tag please clarify which post you're talking about or i won't be able to use it
-DRAW MORE ENGIE OR CAPTAINEER AND MY LIFE IS YOURSSS RAHHH
-cough cough.. Anyways!! you should totally draw some more captaineer if you want more ideas on what to draw bc them, yes nfmslsm
-of course if you want! Also also hiiii I really love your art and how you draw all the different egos it's so tasty and scrumptious.. Especially how you draw Wilford and Engineer
-Have a lovely dayyyy! 🌑✨
hi thank you so much! heres some captaineer for you ✅️✅️✅️✅️
grace: you can manually beat someones heart from outside of their body BUT you might break their bones and also sometimes you have to breathe into their mouth
rocky: -loud crack of ventral seam splitting- rocky do to grace. question.
everyone get more convineer pilled IMMEDIATELY ‼️ enjoy another one of my contributions but one woman can only spread so much propaganda guys come on
this particular page is based in my fanfic universe, if you don't know what's going on here come read!! we have a great time. SPEAKING OF WHICH
FANFIC NEWS!! you guys probably recognize this pattern by now but uhhhhhh I'm gonna need another week for this one 😖
LISTEN I'm sorry but I genuinely crisised so bad writing this chapter, something felt so off and it just wasnt working but I've come up with a much better plan now, I just basically have to rewrite the whole thing 😭 NEXT MONDAY THOUGH!! I'm gonna try to do bi weekly on mondays since with my new work schedule my weekends are sunday/monday.
once again I am sorry and I can only hope this doodle page can satiate you for a bit. love you all 🫶🫶
to my troopers who have made it down here, you get extra special super cool exclusive secrets for next chapter, the title 👀
grace studying simon's mouth. fingering over his teeth and marveling at how they're sharper than typical human teeth and at the extras he now has. coaxing simon's second mouth open so he can feel how his jaw muscles move differently. asking simon to loll his tongue through both mouths. keeping simon's mouth full of his fingers or tools or both so simon can't speak, any words he tries to form coming out garbled and causing him to drool over grace's gloved hands. grace shushing him and telling him he's doing so well, he just wants to keep looking for another five minutes, is that okay? you're just so interesting, simon. grace being so focused on the science that he doesn't notice simon's cheeks getting redder, his eyes growing more desperate, the way he crosses his legs to hide his arousal.
prev tags: #this is before their any sexual relationship is established so Simon is YEARNING#and when Simon jacks off about it later he feels so bad#put that man in situations
DELICIOUS YES
at first simon thinks he's just embarrassed and uncomfortable and That's why he's blushing and trying not to look at grace and has a weird feeling in his stomach. and then he realizes oh, fuck, i'm hard and gets hit with CRAZY guilt. he can't believe his lack of restraint; he shouldn't be getting turned on by this, that's so disrespectful to grace and shows that simon clearly can't be trusted to act like a normal person around him.
as soon as grace is done, simon bolts like a skittish deer. he locks himself in his room and tries for a while to calm himself down, thinking about the least sexy things he can conjure, but his brain keeps circling back to grace. grace's fingers prodding at his tongue. grace's face hovering over him, leaning closer and closer to get a good look at what's inside his mouth. grace mistaking his whines for a noise of discomfort and gently patting his cheek as he tells him it'll just be another minute.
fuck it. he tugs his cock out of his pants and, as he gets his fist around himself, imagines what it would've felt like to have grace's gloved hand do this instead, spit-slick nitrile against heated skin. he imagines grace treating his dick with the same semi-detached intrigue as his mouth. murmuring to himself about the way simon's cock reacts to his touch. pausing every so often to note something down. suddenly remembering that, oh, right, there's a person attached to his object of study when simon can't help it and lets a noise slip out.
he comes so hard his vision goes fuzzy for a minute and realizes in his post-orgasm clarity that he is absolutely, completely fucked for this man.
(meanwhile, grace knows Exactly what the awkward, panicked shuffle of a guy hiding a boner looks like — he taught middle school, after all — and he's back in his lab flagrantly ignoring lab safety rules while he rubs one out to the thought of simon)
the fact that grace and simon would canonically be disabled4disabled is so important to me actually.
simon rubbing lotion into grace’s burn scars. grace walking simon through mirror therapy. the two of them doing a daily exercise regimen together to keep their joints healthy in erid’s gravity, helping each other with tough stretches and pausing for kisses. one of them having a bad pain day where they can’t get out of bed and the other tending to them with a smile. the thousand little gestures of love and care throughout the day — drawing a warm bath, bringing a favored drink and a handful of medications, massaging a knot out of a muscle, commiserating about the bad moments and celebrating the good ones.
and the sex too, because disabled people can and do have sex and we should be allowed to feel sexy about the ways we accommodate ourselves.
grace fucking simon and quickly realizing that his hip/thigh muscles just aren't having it today, so they flip over, letting grace lay back against the bed while simon rides him. the muscles in simon's left arm flexing while grace blows him, a sign that he'd be gripping grace's hair if he still had the hand. one of them randomly experiencing a pain flare in the middle of sex so they pause, the other giving them a therapeutic massage for however long they need, the mood never once shifting from sensual and heated. wearing braces and pain relief patches during sex and not only not ignoring them, but appreciating them, caressing them. sex on a day where neither of them has the strength to leave bed, where all they can do is press their bodies together and kiss and slowly chase that pleasure.
Grace having a vivid wet dream and being really embarrassed about it when he wakes up
Simon being a light sleeper who was awake the entire time Grace humped his ass and mouthed at his neck until he came in his pants
fuck yes oh my god
i already see simon as a perpetual little spoon (something something curl up in ryan gosling's arms) so this setup is perfect
simon is used to waking up when grace has bad dreams, so when he's roused by the sound of grace mumbling and softly moaning, he's prepared to roll over and wake him up to comfort him. grace shifts, but instead of trying to fight off an invisible attacker, he grinds his hips against simon's ass and simon freezes. he recontextualizes the sounds grace is making and... yeah, no, those are definitely sex noises.
grace's hands grope aimlessly at simon — his chest, his stomach, his waist — as he buries his face in simon's shoulder. he opens his mouth, panting breaths warm against simon's skin, and presses it down in a half-kiss. simon blushes, and as grace continues his uncoordinated grinding, he can feel himself getting hard. he panics a little; is it okay for him to be turned on by this? would it be okay to slide a hand beneath his waistband?
"simon," grace whines in his ear, and simon bites his lip to muffle a groan of his own. he wants to turn around, to give grace a little more friction to work with, but he's afraid he'll wake him up and ruin the moment. instead, he holds still and lets grace rut against him until he feels his hips stutter and hears him gasp and knows that he's coming.
grace is still for a while. simon assumes he's asleep, that his fun dream has ended, until grace whispers, "you awake?"
"uh. no?"
"ohmygod." grace rolls away from him onto his back and covers his face with his hands. "i'm so sorry, simon, that was —"
"what were you dreaming about?" simon interrupts, rolling over to face him. he smirks a little as he adds, "sounded like you were having fun."
grace gapes at him.
simon scoots closer and kisses his cheek, his noise, his mouth. "c'mon, ryland, let's have a little more fun."
gracerocky petplay where grace is the pet is already peak but i wanna add simon too. rocky and his two puppies. grace and simon play-fighting, growling and nipping at each other until rocky gets onto them. rocky giving simon belly rubs until grace gets jealous and plops himself on top of simon to get rocky’s attention. rocky hand-feeding them treats. rocky catches the two of them grinding on each other — “naughty dogs, can’t leave you alone for one earth minute” — and edges them both until they’re drooling and panting and whining, then lets them back at each other to finish the job.
in the book, he never accepts a compliment (which grace isn’t sure whether to attribute to eridian culture or rocky’s personality — i’m gonna assume it’s a rocky thing for this post). he waves off grace’s enthusiasm over his engineering, maybe saying an awkward ‘thank’ if anything. grace GUSHES about rocky in his narration, but holds back verbally.
he also definitely holds a lot of guilt over his mission. he felt responsible for 22 deaths (and the eventual, inevitable demise of his planet) for 46 years. he was alone and useless and stupid and he probably hates himself. and then his breeder tank design fails and he’s alone and useless and stupid AGAIN, this time responsible for grace’s death and the destruction of grace’s planet as well.
i think he’d both preen under grace’s praise and despise himself for wanting it. having his savior shower him with compliments would thrill him, but he feels like he Has to deny them because he doesn’t deserve it. to have grace, as they’re having sex in whatever ways they can, whisper how he’s so pretty and doing perfect for me, rocky and the best thing that ever happened to me would melt him.
eventually, he asks grace not to talk like that while they’re fucking and grace is confused. rocky always enjoys it — fogging up his ball/suit with steam, humming higher and more vibrato, dripping from his seam — so why should he stop? he tries to explain his reasoning and it breaks grace’s heart.
so he doubles down. rocky literally Cannot escape it; there’s nowhere he can go where he can’t hear grace. he just has to give in and let grace repair his self-esteem one orgasm at a time.
Bloodymary dry humping. Like, they didn't even MEAN for it to turn into sex. Theyre just so pent up that kissing turns to making out turns into groaping turns into finishing in their pants and Grace ia just: "well, that was... interesting"
simon that has a narrow view of sex so he doesnt understand a lot of grace’s paraphilias but he really tries to roll with it even when stuff as simple as grace’s fascination with the harness on his chest kinda confuses him
lmaoooo oh my god i can see this
he has No Clue how these things translate to sex because he has a very literal view of what sex is. when grace gets turned on by things like his harness or simon's too-sharp teeth or watching simon carry heavy things simon is just like ?? i don't get it.
however. he also associates certain things with sex that are definitely Not Normal and therefore paraphilias. he prefers to do things partially or even fully clothed. sex and procreation are inherently connected to him so he brings up breeding a Lot during sex. maybe he's done soaking before and wants to do it again with grace.
Omg, trans Simon angst oppertunity. What if Grace kinda vaguely brings up the notion of wanting to have sex with him, and Simon is immediately terrified, because he assumes it means Grace intends to get him pregnant. And he really doesn't want that, but he's afraid of what will happen if he refuses. Especially because he's absolutely heard the singing rocks talking about wanting to study the full human life cycle, and hoping he and Grace have 'pebbles'.
And he's absolutely terrified, but eventually he accepts that if it's going to happen then he might as well get it over with. So the next time Grace shows inclination that way, he agrees. And Grace is a little surprised, but plenty eager to ravish his lover.
Then Grace proceeds to eat him out and make him cum like four times, only to then find out that Grace came in his pants and apparently wasn't too fussed about penetration in the first place.
Simon is left breathless, shaky, and incredibly confused. But also happy?
simon who literally doesn't have a concept of sex outside of 'the thing that makes babies', let alone a concept of an orgasm happening to someone with a vagina. if i project a bit of my own religious trauma onto him (as i often do), he's been told that sex is pleasurable for men and unpleasant, quite likely painful, for women; it's something that you do to keep your husband happy and to have children because that's what you're supposed to do.
i also very much headcanon grace as being super into giving oral so the idea of their first time just being him eating simon out until they're both exhausted is PERFECT.
It helps that Jack still helps him through it, of course. Why wouldn't he be there for his mate? His partner? Saying it now almost feels as easy as breathing. It's been two years and things have worked out so far.
This will be the fourth rut Simon's had since he got here. Jack can smell it when Simon goes into pre-rut, by now. His unnatural chum scent gets weaker. When he's close to actually going into rut, it's almost completely gone, making way for his mated scent.
Jack creeps up behind Simon in the kitchen one evening, wraps his arms around his waist, and buries his nose against Simon's neck to drink in that scent. Like roasted rosemary. Like the first rainstorm after a bushfire. Earthy, herbal smells, tinged with the smoke that follows Jack everywhere. To be loved is to be changed, or something, right?
Jack purrs against Simon's back, curling his hand around Simon's wrist and pinning him to the countertop. "You smell good."
He hears Simon swallow firmly. "Yeah?"
Jack presses his other hand against Simon's stomach. Simon lets out a quiet gasp at the contact. They know by now that his egg cycle gets started before his rut goes into full swing. Stomach aches, back pain, and a bottomless appetite? He's spawning eggs.
"Jack…" Simon grits out, a warning. "That hurts…"
"I know," Jack smiles into the back of Simon's neck. He doesn't release the pressure, though. He kneads his fingers against Simon's ever-so-slightly bloated abdomen, until he coaxes out a choked off grunt. He feels Simon's wrist tense up as he balls his fist against the counter.
Simon's scent gets sharper when he's in pain. It's hard to discern from the way it elevates when he's turned on. A lucky thing, then, that they often overlap. They've had many opportunities to explore Simon's feelings about pain and punishment.
And if he keeps having ruts, they'll have many, many more.
"Jack," Simon snaps a little more insistently.
He elbows Jack in the chest, making just enough space between them for Simon to spin around. He looks down at Jack with a slightly pained expression from the prodding. He squares his shoulders in an intimidating stance. Jack wonders if he even knows he's doing it.
Jack would grin, if he weren't laser focused on his goal. Instead, he scowls and tuts firmly. "Ah-ah-ah— No."
One of his hands curls around the back of Simon's neck, the other coming up to calmly, but firmly, stroke Simon's ampullae. The result is quite immediate; Simon's eyes flutter, he lets out a surprised groan, and his knees go weak. He collapses against Jack, who guides him safely onto his knees. When Simon shakes off the ambush, he clings to Jack's hip, gazing up at him with wide-eyed awe.
Now Jack grins at his own handiwork.
He threads his fingers through Simon's hair. He knows he didn't press hard enough to trigger tonic immobility, so he asks, "What's your color?"
Simon blinks, the way he always does when his mind's racing. "G-Uh… Green."
With permission to continue, Jack tugs on Simon's hair until he hears a muted grunt. "You're goin' into rut, aren't you, darling?"
For a split second, Simon wrinkles his nose and bares his teeth. It looks almost involuntary. Yet he still grits out, "No, I-I'm still in control…"
Jack clicks his tongue wryly. "No you're not. Look at you. Baring your teeth at me like that, trying to get a whiff of me?" He rolls his neck, exposing his scent gland. Simon's not shy about renewing the bonding bites, but regardless, he hears and sees Simon's jaw snap shut reflexively, hungrily. "Wanting to bite me, no less. You're a slave to your instincts already."
Simon's face twists at the debasing words, a strained growl clawing out of him. Jack caresses Simon's cheek as a small, comforting gesture. He knows talking like that is playing a little too close to the limit of what Simon can tolerate.
"Don't worry, pup," Jack soothes, affecting faux-pity. "I've got you. It's my job to keep you in check, my unruly alpha," he grins lopsidedly.
Simon clenches his jaw, snarling more deliberately as he raises his hand. Jack catches it in midair. "No," he growls. "Bad dog."
Jack feels Simon tense up, but the musk in his scent betrays his arousal. Simon stays still, and eventually, Jack feels his wrist relax within his grasp.
"That's better," Jack mutters. "Yeah… You've got everyone else fooled, but not me. I can break you down and train you, same as any other mutt."
Simon pants sharply through his nose. He's trying his best to glare up at Jack, but there's a vulnerable spark in his eyes that Jack adores. Even if his alpha instinct is to assert dominance, to stake his claim, he can't hide how excited and willing he is to be subjugated. To give Jack control over the animal parts of him he's too afraid of.
That instinct is all Simon. And Jack is positively giddy to help him indulge it.
"When I let you go," Jack explains, leaning in to Simon, "you're gonna walk straight to our bedroom, and you're not goin' to gimme any trouble on the way. If you do, I will muzzle you. Tight enough to paralyze you, if I have to. You get all that, pup? Answer me."
"O-Okay—"
Jack pulls Simon's hair tighter, until he gasps in pain. "Try again," he commands.
"Hhhngh… Yes, Master…"
"Good boy," Jack grins, though he's sure to inject a bit of sarcasm into his tone. He lets go of Simon's hair a little rougher than necessary, watching him like a hawk as he straightens up.
Simon leans against the countertop for a moment to catch his breath, staring down at Jack with careful intensity. Something in his posture makes Jack brace himself. And he's right to.
Simon lashes out lightning fast, scratching Jack's neck in his hurry to bring him closer. Jack can't stop him before he sinks his teeth into Jack's neck with a ravenous growl. It nearly drowns out Jack's hiss of pain. The hormone injection he got when Simon entered pre-heat makes it harder to focus, makes it so tempting to go limp and let Simon take control, but that's not what either of them want.
Jack twists hard enough to force Simon off him, once again grabbing him by the back of the neck. He's not gentle, this time, when he rubs the oversensitive spots on Simon's face. He doesn't stop until Simon is completely limp, and his only act of mercy is letting him down carefully to the floor.
"Savage little mutt," Jack sneers. Simon lets out a strained, aborted purr in reply. Jack tuts. "No matter. I can still tame you. This is why contingency plans are so important."
He left Simon's muzzle in the bedroom, but his collar and leash fit perfectly well in Jack's pockets. He fishes them out, clasps the collar around his throat, and attaches the lead. Simon doesn't struggle. He can't. All he can do is watch Jack work through half-lidded, glassy eyes. When Jack is done, he holds up the leash's handle and cocks his head smugly, looking down at Simon.
"You're too heavy for me to pick up, so I'll wait 'til you recover," Jack explains, as if he's being beneficent instead of lazy in his decision-making.
It doesn't take Simon long to break out of tonic immobility, if he fights against it and his face is left alone. In less than a minute, Simon lifts himself off the floor enough for Jack to pull him up by the leash. Simon tilts his head down, glaring at Jack and baring his teeth, but by this point it feels like a hollow threat. Just playing into the fantasy they've constructed together.
Jack grins wolfishly, wrapping the leash tight around his hand. "We can play this game all day, alpha. I'm still the one in control."
It's a shame the collar is in the way. Jack would suddenly love to mark up Simon's neck as best he can. The bastard heals too fast. Bonding marks don't last as long as they should. Jack's teeth will probably shatter in protest one day, when he tries to mark up that unfairly tough skin, but it's worth it.
Jack walks them both to the bedroom. This time, Simon complies when Jack makes him follow. Stripping him naked is a little more awkward when he's already leashed, but Jack's not stupid enough to remove it at this point. The moment Simon is naked, Jack wrestles him down onto the bed. Simon growls in protest at being pinned down.
"Behave," Jack snarls as he plants his full weight on Simon's chest, cuffing his wrist to the bed. He broke one of the links last rut, so Jack replaced the whole chain with one of his own making. "No escape attempts this time," he orders with an uncompromising glare.
Another addition of Jack's is the pair of padded cuffs at the foot of the bed. Simon puts up a token resistance, and almost kicks Jack in the face once or twice, but it's easy enough to hold him down, until he's restrained and spread-eagle on his back. He has enough slack to squirm and writhe all he wants, but otherwise, he's at Jack's mercy.
When he's sure Simon is secure, he reaches up to cup Simon's jaw. "Color?"
"Mmm… Green. H— I wanna touch…" Simon complains, tugging hard on his handcuff. It doesn't give.
"D'aww," Jack coos in a sarcastically saccharine tone. He leans in tauntingly close, but still too far for Simon to close the gap, and he speaks with a wide, smug grin: "Well it's too bad you don't get to decide that, isn't it? You're my dog, Simon. I decide when and where I touch you."
It's one of Simon's trigger words, so Jack won't say it out loud, but god, it's satisfying to wear Simon down until he's just Jack's bitch. Simon lets out a high, strangled growl. Like he's still a little too proud to whimper with his whole chest. Jack will fix that. It's only a matter of time.
Jack undresses as slowly as he himself can tolerate. But if it's unbearable for him, it's torture for Simon. That's certainly how it seems, with the way Simon writhes, thrusting his chest up towards Jack as he growls needily.
Jack drops his shirt over Simon's face, grinning at the short, quick breaths Simon takes before he uses his residual arm to push it away. "Goin' crazy for my scent, aren't you, pup?"
"Sh-ut up," Simon grunts, turning away bashfully.
"Nah, it's cute." Jack runs his hands up and down Simon's sides, relishing in the way he squirms at the touch even when Jack's being careful around his gills.
"You're just a needy little dog, aren't'cha? All those hormones sending you into a tailspin."
He flicks Simon's forehead as gently as he can, though he still earns a growl for his taunting. Jack grips Simon's jaw firmly, though he's careful not to aggravate the split on the left side. The last thing he wants is to dislocate his mate's jaw mid-rut.
(He could almost laugh. Usually the alpha would be the one having that particular concern.)
"So desperate. Bet'cha can't even tell up from down anymore," Jack continues. He pulls back to undo his trousers - again, agonizingly slowly. "Thank god you've got me, huh? Someone to keep you locked up so you don't hurt anyone like the big, bad alpha you think you are."
When Jack shrugs off the last of his clothing, he drags his ass across Simon's cock, just to hear him groan again. He glares up at Jack with searing heat and need, and no small amount of impatience.
"St-op teasing me… Get on with it."
"No. You don't get to make demands of me."
Naturally, Jack takes his sweet-ass time. Even though he feels awkward and clumsy, reaching behind to finger himself while straddling Simon, his ragged breathing and frenzied thrashing just spur Jack on. And every time Simon lets out a particularly feral or demanding growl, Jack makes a point to slow down, or throw his head back and moan.
He does relish this; making Simon watch and wait while Jack focuses on his own pleasure. Taunting him with the knowledge that he's helpless to Jack's whims, that he'll only get to touch his mate as much as Jack permits.
Even he has limits, though, and it's not long before he wears his own patience thin. With the last of the lube and slick on his fingers, he strokes Simon's cock. His knot throbs at the contact as he throws his head back, his hand wrapped around the chain of his handcuff.
"Oh, fuck, more, please, Jaaack…"
"Who's Jack?" Jack asks wryly. Before he can give Simon a pinch or a slap, though, Simon corrects himself.
"Master, Master please, come on, c'mon, lemme— please— ack!"
Jack pinches Simon's inner thigh, making sure to dig his nails into the soft flesh there. "Hush," he commands. "I'm doin' this for me, not you."
Wiping his hand off on the sheets, he lifts his hips and positions himself over the spiked head of Simon's cock. Simon bucks under him with a strained, desperate whine. Jack doesn't let him move, though, pressing him down with a firm palm against Simon's chest.
"You're just my pet this week," he says, before finally letting Simon sink inside him. "F-Fuck— Yeah, don't move… That's it… Hah, good little fucktoy," he grits out under his breath. Even when Simon's knot hasn't popped, it's still prominent enough that Jack tosses his head back as he stretches around it. When he's fully seated on Simon's length, he rolls his hips, savoring the feeling.
God, he's been looking forward to this all week. Simon straining against his bonds, growling and gasping and mewling as he lies helpless beneath Jack… It's a sight that never gets old. Jack cradles Simon's jaw, letting his thumb tug on his lower lip. Simon tries to take Jack's thumb into his mouth, but Jack pulls away and gives him a gentle slap on the cheek.
"Bad dog," he mutters, but there's little bite to it. He's much more focused on raising his hips up, dropping down at a deliciously teasing pace. He moans freely as he settles into riding Simon in earnest. Simon's trying his hardest to rut into Jack faster, harder, but Jack digs his nails into Simon's waist and pins him down.
"Yeah, fuck— Stay down, alpha," Jack pants. A grin worms its way onto his face. "Hah— You got the others so scared. Big, bad— ohh— a-alpha in rut, what's he gonna— gon' do to me, huh? They can't know— hnnngh, fuck—" He loses his train of thought when he leans back on a downward thrust and nails his prostate. He succumbs to the urge to roll his hips in rough, dirty little circles, milking Simon's cock for all it's worth. He feels Simon's heartbeat in his knot. It's starting to catch already.
Jack huffs out a giddy, breathless laugh when he starts bouncing on Simon again. "Th-They don't know you're fuckin' tame, do they? All that fuss and you're just my fuckin' dildo for the week… An' they don't know I got you under my fuckin' thumb, pet… That you— yeah— You're fucked. Biggest choice you get to make is whether you obey like a good dog— ooouhhh shit— o-or if ya try to bite back 'n' get punished for it…"
He doesn't mention the obvious fact that Simon can also choose to safeword, if and when he needs a break. Jack is in control, to be sure, but the total control, the immutable authority, is just pretend. Mostly for Simon's sake. Though Jack would be lying if he said he didn't get the appeal of wrestling his mate into submission, too. Simon loves metaphorically baring his neck to Jack, but sometimes he aches to be 'forced' into that position. Something about trying to hang onto his dignity. Jack can sort of understand the sentiment.
A sentiment which Simon seems to have on his mind. He snaps Jack out of his train of thought with a loud, savage growl, baring his teeth menacingly. Jack flashes his own in a wicked grin.
"Glutton for punishment, hey?"
Jack moves his hand quickly, avoiding Simon's attempt to bite, and presses his fingers to Simon's forehead. They slide down to press and squeeze at Simon's ampullae, until Simon is limp and purring. Jack rewards him with a particularly hard thrust.
"Weak little pup," Jack pants. "Can't fight back, even if ya wanted to. I know where your oh— where your off button is, toy. Little fuckin'… hnnmmh…"
Simon's knot is getting dangerously close to popping. Jack hilts himself one last time, savoring the way the knot stretches his rim when he pulls off. He keeps riding above the knot, fighting the urge to sink back down all the way.
"You wanna knot me so bad, don't'cha?"
A vocal response is beyond Simon when he's in tonic immobility, but Jack notices the little anguished furrow of his brow. He knows the answer well.
"Poor puppy. You know you haven't earned it yet… Hngah— Ju-Just like you haven't earned that orgasm you're chasin'. Not til I'm done using your cock, y'hear me?"
Simon finally lets out a pained, drawn out moan. Jack leans back again, riding Simon as hard as he can manage without taking his knot. It lets him focus more on the feeling of Simon's ridges tugging on his rim, the head of his cock nudging Jack's prostate just right every few seconds. It's so frustratingly, tantalizingly close to enough.
Jack surrenders to the urge to finally stroke his own cock, balancing his weight on Simon's thigh. Fuck yeah, that'll do it. He knows he's not gonna last. Neither is Simon, judging from the way he's whining.
"Don't fuckin' come, pet, not 'til I do," he mutters. He strokes himself faster and sucks in a hissing breath. "Fuck, c'mon, make your Master come…"
He stills his hips, bearing down hard on Simon's length as he fists his cock with wild abandon. He's so close, so goddamn close—
Until he's spilling over his fingers with a low groan, painting Simon's stomach with his release. It's not the most satisfying thing. Coming while knotted feels so much better in pseudo-heat, but there'll be plenty of time for that after Simon has laid his eggs, and that could be in days or hours. He squeezes around Simon's cock one last time before pulling off. Simon whines at the loss.
"Nngkh, Master… So close…"
"Yeah, I see that," Jack chuckles. As he sidles off the bed to reach the nightstand, he can see Simon's dick, bright red and straining for release. It twitches in time with his heartbeat. Jack zeroes in on a vein that isn't usually so prominent.
He turns back to the nightstand, grinning to himself as he fetches the toy he needs. Jack's old stroker valiantly held out for Simon's first rut before his knot tore it apart. Getting a toy that was designed to be knotted was a no-brainer.
"Poor mutt wants to come bad, doesn't he?" Jack teases as he pours lube into the toy.
Simon lets out a weak growl, too desperate to do anything but nod.
"Do it, then," Jack commands.
He pushes the stroker onto Simon's length slowly, immutably. The reaction is electric; Simon tilting his head back, his breath stalling out before returning in an airy rush of "Thankyouthankyouthanngghhfuck—"
"Thank me when you come, pet.
The moment Simon hilts the toy, Jack lifts it up and pumps him hard and fast. It doesn't take long for Simon's knot to get stuck, but by then, he's already a gasping, mewling mess. Jack still thrusts the toy as much as he can get away with, and he doesn't chide Simon for bucking his hips to meet it. "Come for me. Be a good pet for your Master."
Simon chokes on a swear, his entire body going taut as he starts to come. The moment he can breathe through it, he turns again into a babbling mess: "Ooohhhhhfffuuuuhhck, Master, thank you! Th-Thank you thank you! Hnnnnhgh, thankyousomuuuch, nnfuck, god, thank you Master thank you…" eventually trailing off into incoherent murmuring along those lines.
Jack pinches the top of the toy shut to contain the mess that threatens to pour out. It's a little inconvenient, but an open-ended toy is vital to let Simon pass his eggs, whenever they come. Maybe if Simon's particularly good, and Jack's feeling particularly freaky generous, he'll let Simon lay his clutch inside him again this time. But for now, he's earned a tiny reward, Jack thinks.
"Good boy," he croons, this time letting himself sound honest. Simon mewls weakly at the praise, clearly still deep in the throes of orgasm. Jack smirks. "How's that for your first rut-orgasm? Feel good, pet?"
"Nnnyeahhh, good, sofuckin'good, thank you Master…"
"You're welcome," Jack says without thinking. He kneads Simon's belly softly. "How's your clutch?"
"C-Can't feel it yet, Master, just hurts…"
Jack nods, and fishes for the cap of the stroker, wherever he left it in the blankets. He locks it onto the toy, containing Simon's release and freeing Jack's hands.
"Do you need anything, pup? Painkillers? Food, water?"
Simon shakes his head. "Just you, Master, please?"
Jack lays himself down beside Simon. "Alright, we can cuddle, but don't bite me. Y'haven't earned that yet."
Simon lets out a whine tinged with the faintest note of disappointment, but he makes no move to lunge. Jack finds Simon's hand and twines their fingers together. Simon squeezes his hand tightly, eyes gleaming with adoration at the touch.
"God, you're adorable," Jack sighs. It goes completely against the character he tries to play for Simon's ruts, but fuck it, he doesn't say it enough.
"I love you," Simon blurts out in reply.
Jack's heart slams into his throat. He doesn't say that enough, either. Fuck it, he can break kayfabe to be a little sappy. As a treat.
additional tags: past/referenced noncon, hurt/comfort, hospital visits, love confessions, getting together
Before this, Jack had only helped one or two omegas through their mating cycles. There are marked differences between an omega in heat and an alpha in rut (especially whatever Simon's had going on,) but there are a few notable points of overlap. From what Jack has heard, anyway.
The most important similarity, right now, is that the comedown can be abrupt…and unpleasant. When someone spends a week full of hormones and endorphins, slowly being deprived of those chemicals doesn't leave them feeling well. Especially not mentally.
Jack knows that. It still doesn't prepare him to hear Simon mutter into his neck, "Do I deserve to die?"
It's so jarring, so goddamn morbid, that Jack would laugh if Simon didn't sound sincere. Jack pulls back enough to stare down at Simon. His face twists as he returns Jack's gaze, shining with the threat of imminent tears.
"No, of course you don't!" Jack replies. He cradles Simon's face in one hand, brushing a thumb across his cheekbone. "What on earth makes you say that?"
Simon looks away from Jack, focusing on the ceiling. He bares his teeth in a severe grimace. He chokes on a sob. "I, um— hnk— I…"
At a loss for what to do, Jack kisses Simon's forehead. He caresses Simon's cheeks, mindful to avoid the sensitive spots that made him go limp before.
"You deserve to live," Jack insists. "And I'm happy you're here. Your brain is just mean."
"I'm disgusting," Simon sniffs. The handcuff chain clinks as he strains against it. "I don't deserve any of this…"
"Don't talk like that," Jack pouts. "Here, let me…"
Even if the rut's not fully out of his system yet, Simon's probably close enough not to need the handcuff anymore. At least, if the fucking suicide ideation is anything to go by. Jack unfastens it as quick as he can, tossing it somewhere on the bed. Thanks to the padding, Simon shouldn't bruise, but it feels right to rub his wrist anyway.
Simon glances up at Jack, and his expression darkens. "I bit you way too hard…"
Jack's neck has been aching all rut, but he can live with it. He runs his hand over the ragged skin. The sting isn't too bad. "I've had worse," he lies.
"So have I! That doesn't make it okay!" The congestion in Simon's voice does little to mask his contempt. Or the subject of his words, for that matter.
Jack quirks his eyebrows. "You've had worse?"
Simon screws his eyes shut, tears spilling down into his hairline. His entire face puckers like he just bit into a lemon. A small, weak moan of anguish escapes him. When he opens his eyes again, they fall to the side of the bed, where the muzzle was cast away, just within arm's reach.
"I…" He interrupts himself with a sob, and forces out his words in a fast, shaky breath: "I liked it, this time…"
Jack suddenly feels like he's swallowed a rock. He's afraid to press, but… "What? What do you mean, 'this time'?"
Simon turns his head to the side and stares at the far wall. His hand, now free, crosses to clutch at his residual arm.
"Weren't many alphas on Eden," he says, as if that explains anything. Then, bitterly, he adds: "Being a dick was encouraged."
Jack idly remembers some studies he's heard about, on secondary sex characteristics in captivity situations. Long-term hostage situations, cults, prisons… The stereotypical hierarchy with alphas at the top and omegas at the bottom becomes amplified. Alphas protect themselves and their packmates the only way they can - through violence.
"I wasn't enough of a dick," Simon scowls. "I was awful, but the others were worse. I wasn't alpha enough for them. So they…" He digs his fingers into his scales, and Jack is too horrified to warn him against it. "…They showed me how it's done. Fuckin'… Held me down and bit me and conquered me like an omega—"
"God," Jack interjects, because he can't keep it down anymore.
Simon lets out a strange, slightly hysterical giggle. "Sex wasn't even allowed. Mating in a forsaken world? No, no, that would be heresy. They didn't fucking care. They knotted me out of spite." A louder laugh bubbles out of him, like he just can't stop. "A-And it's not like I could fucking tell anyone about it! I mean who would even believe me? Who the fuck would care?! That'd just mean I'm a— a fucking coward if I can't even fight off another alpha! They could've—"
His hysteria is overcome with despair again, fresh tears rolling down his nose and into his hair. Some kind of potent, deep-seated terror flashes through his human eye, the only one Jack can see from this angle.
His words escape in a hoarse whisper: "They could've killed me if they knew I was that weak…"
"You're not weak, Simon."
Jack tilts Simon's face back up to look at him. The motion makes Simon's eyes go wide. He looks far more terrified than Jack wants. He wants, honestly, to undo the horror Simon's been through.
"What if I liked it?" Simon blurts out. The moment he does, he goes tense, floundering as if his mouth has betrayed him. His normal eye is turning pink, bloodshot from the tears welling in his eyes. "I-I-I liked it with you. You, I mean— wh— You p-put me in my place, made me weak and helpless and god help me, I really really liked it…!"
The more he confesses, the more strained his voice becomes, as if trying to silence himself. When he finally does, he claps his hand over his mouth, breaking down into inconsolable, nearly silent sobs that wrack his entire body.
Jack's own eyes are starting to sting. He's not sure if the sound he makes is a growl or a purr, but he lays his chest against Simon's all the same. He settles into an intense purr; an instinctive, desperate effort to soothe his mate. He noses into Simon's neck, lips drifting over his scent gland. There's a smoky undertone to Simon's scent, now, like a brushfire. Like Jack.
They stay like that for god knows how long. Until Simon's crying starts to peter out a little. When it does, Jack pulls back and grabs Simon's hand, peeling it away from his face. Simon is a mess of tears and snot, gazing up at Jack with a vulnerability that always threatens to crack him open.
"You're okay, Simon." Jack squeezes his hand emphatically. "You're not dirty, you're not broken— whatever your mind's tryin' to tell you."
Jack never looks away, even when Simon turns his head to the side again, ashamed.
"I-I don't—" Simon hiccoughs. He grunts, swallowing down what sounds like a lot of mucus. "I dunno why I like it now a-nd not then…"
Jack presses his lips to Simon's knuckles, thinking for a moment. He's not the right person for this. There's soothing a partner when their hormones are out of wack, and then there's having to do that while processing some of the worst news imaginable. He supposes all he can do is his best…
"How much do you trust me, Simon?"
That gets Simon's attention back. "Why?"
"Do you trust me more than the bastards who hurt you?" Despite himself, Jack's face hardens at the mere thought of them. Faceless assholes who hurt his friend and mate. He squeezes Simon's hand again, to soothe himself more than him.
Simon exhales shakily. His gaze darts around the room for a moment. When he meets Jack's eyes again, he gulps.
"Yeah," he answers.
Jack climbs off of Simon and comes to rest beside him. He reaches out to cup Simon's jaw, carefully avoiding his extra teeth.
"I don't want to hurt you, Simon. You know that. It's okay to like being…tied up, gagged, pinned down, anything like that. Doesn't matter that you're an alpha. People like what they like. But consent makes all the difference in the fuckin' world."
He stamps down a growl, and fights to keep his expression neutral. "Those fuckers… They didn't ask you, did they? Just took…right?"
"Yeah…"
Jack tucks Simon's hair behind his ear. "You let me. I asked. And I'd've respected it if you asked me not to."
His chest flutters. He's more used to topping, it's true, but he's never had so much power over someone. Never been intimate with someone who seemed all but completely helpless. Never had someone give him that much control. His chest pounds with the sudden epiphany that he liked it, too. A lot.
…Great, now he's stewing over it too.
Jack thinks he should say more, but he's lost for words. Silent tension washes over them like a wave. Neither one of them say anything for a while, just staring, breathing each other's air.
Eventually, Jack lets his hand wander from Simon's jaw to his neck, down his shoulder, coming to rest splayed across his chest. He's still so warm. But not as feverish anymore, if Jack's not imagining things.
"You're okay, Simon," Jack says. "Comin' out of rut always makes you feel like shite."
Simon sighs in what sounds like agreement.
"You feel up for a bath, or something?" Jack asks, but Simon doesn't reply right away. Might still be weird about leaving the safety of the nest. "Maybe? Not quite?"
Simon suddenly tenses, scrambling to sit up against the headboard. Jack also bolts upright, raising his hackles.
"What's wrong?"
"I laid eggs!" Simon exclaims in horror, as if he's only remembering this now.
Jack turns back to Simon, but his gaze stays firmly locked onto the pile of eggs next to the foot of the bed. After a moment, he gives Simon an awkward reassuring pat.
"You…sure did…"
Simon's mouth draws into a thin line. Sounding for all the world like a guilty child, he mumbles: "…I didn't know I could do that…"
It takes every fiber of Jack's being not to crack up.
Every time it seems like Simon's in the clear, he winds up back in the hospital for another round of tests or medical treatment. It's a pain in the ass, and he and Jack both know it. They get lucky with scheduling an appointment the day after Simon's rut is over.
As much as Simon dreads being separated from Jack so soon after a rut, Jack can't accompany him to the examination room. What he can do is be there to greet Tamsin and Finn to give them a brief rundown; yes the rut was intense, yes it was a stupid idea to rush into it, no Jack doesn't regret it, and oh boy howdy did they find some new mutations.
Neither Jack nor Simon can stand to make eye contact when they hand over Jack's old backpack. And they forget to even try explaining what's inside until it's already too late. When Finn and Tamsin open the bag, the ziplock full of eggs is right there in plain sight. The doctors are understandably mortified to hear that those eggs came from Simon.
It had been a struggle to decide what to do with 'those fucking things' as Simon had taken to calling them. Something in his hindbrain sees them as viable offspring, something worth protecting. But when Simon's rut-brain started to quiet down, all he wanted at first was to destroy the damn things. Jack had to talk him down; better to have them studied, see if it'll ever happen again.
Tamsin and Finn are good at their jobs, but dissecting eggs is a little out of their wheelhouse, even if they had the equipment for it. Other than that, they find little out of the ordinary during Simon's physical exam. But they have checked Simon's meds, and they weren't faulty at all. Whatever sent him into rut, it wasn't a suppressant failure. What was it? Hell if they know, at this stage.
While Simon's having that frustratingly inconclusive appointment, Jack checks in to urgent care, since his scent glands are absolutely raw. He earns a few raised eyebrows and impressed whistles from the medics. He leaves with an antibiotic prescription and a medical collar. Apparently overzealous bonding bites are a common enough injury to have their own unique dressing for it.
Simon is still mortified when they get home. Jack keeps count; the poor bastard apologizes twenty-two times during the rest of the day. For a second there, he's worried Simon might literally die of shame somehow.
One of the urgent care medics asks Jack if he's sure he mated with an alpha and not a shark. Simon's not there with him, so Jack quips that it was clearly both. They find out later that week that, genetically, Simon's eggs are uncannily similar to shark eggs. It stops being funny, then.
The second and third week after Simon's rut mostly consist of medical exams. The gauntlet of blood tests, ultrasounds, CT scans, MRIs and x-rays is one that Simon has been through too many times already, and every time he hopes it'll be the last. At least this round is…enlightening.
Simon staunchly refuses to let anyone touch his face, the first time he tells anyone he had a reaction to it. Maybe the rut isn't quite out of his system, or maybe he's just really goddamn nervous about it. Either way, he only lets Finn study his face when Jack is there for moral support.
It's still a weird, intoxicating little power high when Jack strokes Simon's face and turns him into a limp, purring mess. It's especially weirdly validating when Finn reaches out to touch, and that purr turns into a growl.
"Don't growl, love, they have to be able to feel for themself," Jack gently scolds.
The pet name doesn't go unnoticed, but Finn's polite enough to acknowledge it with no more than a raised eyebrow in Jack's direction.
Simon isn't quite as tactful. At least, when they're alone in Jack's car after the appointment.
"What's with all the pet names?" Simon asks. He's looking out the window as he does, watching the colony streets go by.
"I dunno, we're fuckin' bonded. It's not that weird," Jack explains. But even as the words crawl out his mouth, an uncomfortable weight settles in his chest. He sounds overly defensive. And okay, fuck, maybe that's because he's being defensive. "…Is it bothering you?"
Simon doesn't answer. The car's driving itself, so Jack hazards a glance and sees Simon clutching the handle above the door, a pensive scowl on his face. He still pointedly avoids eye contact.
"I dunno," Simon sighs. "I'm just not used to it. Hearing that sorta talk from you."
Jack huffs. "Yeah, well, I'm not used to giving it." Liar. You do it easily when it comes to him. "You know me, I'm a fuckin' asshole. It's just… Man, I dunno, we fucked. We're mated, at least for now. I reckon it'd be weirder if I kept calling you friend, buddy, pal, guy—"
"Just 'for now'?"
Jack regrets looking back at Simon. Even with half his face mutated, his puppydog eyes are fucking lethal. Jack clenches his jaw, fighting to stay neutral, but his poker face sucks and he knows it.
Jack lets out a defeated sigh. "I mean, do you want to be real mates, or…?"
"Kinda."
It's a quiet utterance, and the way Simon's eyes widen in horror suggests he did not mean to say that audibly. But he did. Jack feels himself mirroring Simon's face subconsciously. Tense silence fills the car for seconds that feel like long, painful hours.
"D-Did I hear that right?" Jack asks, and he wishes he didn't sound like a nervous teenager.
"Fuck it," Simon sighs, weakly pounding a fist against the windowsill. "Look, the pet names just get to me, okay? It's weird hearing you get all sweet on me, and if it's just because you helped me through a rut? Cut it the fuck out. I—" He chuffs, clutching the passenger handle even tighter as he stares out the window again. He swallows audibly. "I can't handle it if you don't actually mean it…"
Jack turns his eyes back to the road. It's not doing much to distract him from whatever the fuck his heart and stomach are doing. Butterflies are the usual metaphor, but this feels more like a swarm of centipedes on meth squirming around inside his chest.
He's not ready for this. Is he? Would he ever be, honestly?
"What if I did mean it?" God fucking dammit, he's doing it anyway.
"…Do you?"
"I think so." Jack swallows. "Pretty damn sure."
"How sure?" Simon asks insistently.
When Jack turns to look at him, the intensity of Simon's gaze makes his chest feel that much tighter. Something far too close to hunger and vulnerability swims through his eyes. Jack's brain belatedly supplies the right word: yearning. The both of you are fucking yearning like lovesick puppies, and he's the one who's decided to stop pussyfooting around about it.
Jack risks taking one hand off the wheel to squeeze Simon's shoulder. He's not sure the feeling really translates through the jacket and the thick scales on that arm. It's the thought that counts. And it helps to ground Jack, make him feel a little less like he's going to make an ass out of himself.
"I really like you, Simon." Ugh. Cheesy. "I mean, fuck, you've been a packmate to me since you fuckin' moved in. I don't think I woulda partnered you if I wasn't a little bit interested in…more…"
"And you're serious?" Simon's voice is flat and intense, like he's some kind of interrogator. But the blink-and-you'll-miss-it voice crack and the sheer hope in his eyes… God, it cracks Jack's heart wide open.
"'Course I am, are you? You're not just making moony eyes at me 'cause we bonded each other?"
Simon has a dawning look of horror on his face, which Jack desperately needs to correct. "I mean, how'd you feel about me before rut? This—" He gestures to the space between him and Simon. "—Is this mutual?"
"Yeah!" Simon answers without hesitating. Like it's the simplest question in the world.
…Could it have been that simple the whole fucking time?
«You have arrived at your destination,» the GPS chimes as the car pulls into their driveway. The engine turns off automatically, and with the push of a button, the whole car powers down.
"I just had no idea where to start," Simon continues. "I've never had a real relationship. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."
God, there's so many firsts Simon completely missed out on. That's what happens when you move to space at age ten, Jack figures.
He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. Now that they're not on the road, he can stare at Simon all he likes. There's something expectant in the atmosphere, now.
"…You didn't answer me before," Jack says.
Simon cocks his head in confusion. "Before?"
"What if I mean it when I call you pet names? Is that…okay? If I call you love, or things like that?"
God, Simon needs to put those big round puppy eyes away before he kills someone. He holds eye contact as he inches forward ever-so-slightly and - jesus - licks his upper lip.
"If you mean it… If we can call each other mates…like, officially, partners or…b-boyfriends," his voice quirks upwards nervously, "then you can call me whatever the hell you want."
Jack can scarcely breathe, but he grins in excitement. His gaze flickers to Simon's lips, and he sees Simon do the same.
"I like the sound of that, darlin'."
He's not sure who moves in first. All that matters is that Simon's lips are on his, and he kisses like he's starving. He whimpers, clutching the back of Jack's shirt as he licks into his mouth. Jack welcomes him in with an elated groan.
In no time at all, the car windows start fogging up. Jack pulls away, panting. "How far d'ya wanna take this? 'Cause there's a perfectly good bed inside and leaning over the console's a pain."
Simon's face is wonderfully flushed already. The red in his skin stands out even more vividly against the dulled green of his scales. Jack idly wonders if they'll ever turn white again. Simon gulps before he answers: "Your bed or mine?"
"Depends," Jack smirks, tucking a lock of hair behind Simon's ear. "You wanna break in your new mattress, or lemme fuck you into my pillow 'til all you can smell is me?"
"Fuck," Simon moans. "I don't think I'd last long enough for either…"
"I'm off duty the rest of the day. We've got time to try both, if you want…"
"Jack…" Simon shivers, with a tone that suggests he's positively dying to try both. Try everything. Great, now Jack's getting far too worked up himself as he imagines fucking Simon on every flat surface in the house.
"Come on." Jack pulls him in for one last kiss before opening the car door. He can't even tell if he's pleading or commanding, but Simon follows all the same.
By the fourth week, the medics have figured out why Simon's suppressants failed him.
"Cycle suppressants work by binding to specific receptors in the brain that would otherwise be used by the neurotransmitters that activate mating cycles. Does that make sense?"
When Simon doesn't respond, Jack gives him a gentle nudge. "You following, Simon?"
"I guess…"
Tamsin wrings her hands. "Well… There's no easy way to say this… You don't seem to have those receptors."
"…What?" Simon asks, voice flat with confusion.
She deflates in her seat, offering a sympathetic frown. "Your neurotransmitters are…different. Still recognizably close to human, but there are enough discrepancies that just don't line up with our current understanding of…anything. If we give you more rut suppressants, they wouldn't be able to bind to your brain. They'd have no effect on you."
Simon hangs his head, but he can't take his eyes off Tamsin, nor fight off the dire expression on his face.
"So…suppressants just can't work on me anymore?"
"It…seems that way, yes."
Simon finally casts his eyes to the floor. His lips tighten. He clenches his jaw. Jack puts his arm around Simon's shoulder, barely swallowing the urge to purr for him.
"Is there any way to fix it?" Jack asks Tamsin.
"Even medications that reduce the symptoms without disabling rut wouldn't work for the same reasons. The only alternative would be to remove his scent glands."
"So no, then," Simon sneers.
Simon heals exceptionally fast, but he heals weird. Most of his body is scaly to some extent, but if he's to be believed, everywhere he used to have mere scar tissue sprouted those fully-formed, tough, tooth-like scales. Filing them down is a gamble, and trying to remove them just makes him grow more. He's like a damn hydra, in that regard.
Jack can only imagine how much it'd suck getting his scent glands removed, dealing with the hormonal fallout, and having to spend the rest of his life with a neck covered in what are essentially giant fucking teeth.
Simon scrubs his hand over his face. "Cool…cool cool cool. So I'm gonna… Just— be a fucked up animal once or twice a year for the rest of my life. I'm gonna lay eggs for the rest of my fucking life." He gesticulates wildly before letting his hand come to rest roughly on his knee. "Great. Just…great."
"We'll keep looking for a non-surgical solution," Tamsin says. "If it helps at all, your next rut should be less intense, now that the dam has broken."
"I don't—" Simon bites back the urge to shout. He pinches the bridge of his nose, above the oversensitive black spots (ampullae, Finn had called them.) He takes a deep breath. When he's calmed down, he tries again: "I just…don't want to go into rut at all…"
"I know," Tamsin frowns sympathetically.
Jack leans closer to Simon, gingerly stroking his back. "I can help you with it."
Simon tenses and shrinks away just enough to give Jack a horrified look. "I gave you a fucking infection, are you out of your mind?!"
Jack rolls his eyes. "You gave me an infection 'cause I took off the neck guard like an idiot. We can plan ahead for next time."
Simon looks Jack up and down. The distress on his face makes it seem like Jack practically offered to cut his leg off. But he keeps that to himself, swallowing harshly before looking back to Tamsin. "…H-How do people plan for this?"
Tamsin's full of useful advice. And, despite Simon's best efforts, Jack is able and willing to partner him for his next rut. Hell, even the one after that. As many as he has to endure before they can find a suppressant method that works.
Simon's clearly still stewing on the situation that evening. It's Jack's turn to clean the kitchen, but peering over the countertop into the living room, he can see Simon balled up on the couch, biting his thumb like he's lost in thought.
Jack can't blame him. But he can warn Simon against giving himself any more scars. He wanders from the kitchen to the couch and gently pries Simon's hand away from his mouth.
"Oi, quit biting your thumb."
Simon stares up at Jack like a schoolboy caught misbehaving. He curls his hand around his knee, shrinking further into the couch. "Sorry."
"Don't have to be sorry." Jack takes a seat beside Simon. It's tempting to wrap an arm around him, but for now, Jack refrains.
"I meant what I said before, y'know."
"'Course I know," Simon responds, casting his eyes to the floor. He's doing that thing again. Curling in on himself, trying to hide in the collar of his shirt. He seems to catch himself, though. He unballs his body and straightens up, sitting with legs crossed. A little less guarded, but not by much.
After a moment, Simon lifts his gaze. His pupils dilate just so. Jack probably wouldn't notice if one of Simon's pupils wasn't slitted, ringed by a pale iris. It's obvious when that catlike eye gets a little rounder. Especially when Simon's eyes linger on Jack's neck.
He's going to smell like Simon for months. And, by some miracle, it's not the stench of blood, but the scent hidden beneath it. He idly traces the bonding bites on one side. The scars will probably last long after the scent fades.
But he should know better than to touch the scars in front of Simon. He turns away again, frowning, and Jack leans over to catch Simon's wrist on its way back to his mouth.
"Don't go biting your fingers to shreds. You're fine, Simon."
Words of encouragement aren't enough to get Simon out of his head. His grimace doesn't change, and he still avoids eye contact like the plague.
"I knew what I was getting into. I don't mind being bonded to you. Even if you were rough, it was nothin' antibiotics couldn't fix." You're hardly going to kill me. No, he already knows that wouldn't go over well. Not with Simon.
Simon's mouth opens uselessly a few times before he seems to find words. "I just…hate that I did that." Jack opens his mouth, but Simon interrupts with a pointed glance in his direction. "I know you don't mind. I know you're not mad, I just… I am. I hate feeling that way… Like I'm…fuckin' out of control."
Simon leans back against the couch. His fingers twitch to his right shoulder, then with a frustrated sigh, they run through his hair, coming to rest on the back of his neck. Lost in his own head again, he stares through the coffee table, curling his lip to show the barest hint of teeth.
"Made us effective soldiers to indulge in our instincts like that… Felt good, a lot of the time…" His face darkens, and he swallows slowly like he's pushing back bile. "I don't wanna be like that anymore. I hate feeling like a…predator. Conqueror." He chuffs miserably, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Jack listens. After a long bout of silence, it's clear Simon's done talking, and Jack hums sympathetically. "I get it."
Maybe he doesn't. Not all of it. But everything he's heard over the years about alphas and omegas, ruts and heats, makes Jack glad he doesn't have to put up with all that bullshit. For some reason, he chooses to express that thought as: "If I got too horny and angry to move for a week, I'd probably be sick of that shit after a while too."
Simon huffs a mirthless laugh. He scrubs his hand over his face.
"Just hate the idea of seeing you as…prey. Something to be fought over."
"That's just in your nature," Jack says. "You find a mate, you wanna protect them. I get that feeling too. Not as strongly as you, maybe, but I get it."
"Didn't feel like I was protecting you when I was hellbent on…" Simon trails off, frowning.
"Shoving your knot in me as fast as possible?" Jack guesses.
Despite the attempt at humor in Jack's tone, Simon just scowls more severely. "Yeah."
He drops his head into his hand. "I want to cage up that entire fucking part of me and throw the key into the void. It doesn't know how to protect, it just lashes out at everything… I wasn't protecting you, I was…staking my claim," he utters with transparent revulsion. "That's all alphas are raised to do where I came from…"
"Hey," Jack snips. "What'd I just say?"
"Alphas are just predators…" Simon claws at his forehead, ignoring Jack. "Primal, pigheaded fucking savages—"
"Hey!"
Jack grabs Simon by the wrist, tugging his hand away before he can do himself harm. The motion seems to shake Simon out of his downward spiral, and he blinks as words tumble out of Jack's mouth without a second thought:
"That's my fucking mate you're badmouthing, there!"
Simon blinks owlishly. His lips part ever-so-slightly. The living room suddenly feels painfully silent, somehow.
"I mean it, Simon. I'm not a full alpha, but I still protect my own. You bonded the fuck out of me, but I gave as good as I got, remember?" He lets go of Simon's wrist to brush his knuckles against Simon's scent gland.
Bonding bites aren't permanent. It'll take active upkeep to keep that bonding bite visible, to keep wood smoke and coffee in Simon's scent. And the thought of that scent fading away makes Jack's heart ache. Fuck, is he that down bad?
"You're mine, just as much as I am yours. You're under my protection. I want to see you happy…" He traces Simon's neck with his knuckles again. He can't bring himself to stop. "…And I don't take kindly to people insulting my loved ones."
Simon stares at him with raw vulnerability. Guilt flashes across his face. He reaches up to pull Jack's hand away from his neck. He just holds it there, fingers awkwardly twined together as Simon looks away and chews his lip thoughtfully. Anguish fills his eyes. Eventually, they shine with unshed tears.
"…They called me Simon the Butcher back on Eden," he whispers, grasp on Jack's hand tightening, "I was their Butcher, one of their most ruthless killers…and I was still too fucking weak for them."
Oh.
He wasn't talking about himself. Not…entirely, anyway.
"Hey," Jack murmurs, dragging Simon into a hug. One Simon makes no attempt to pull away from. "You're a better alpha— a better man than they ever fucking were. Don't think for a second I don't mean that."
Simon lets out a congested snort, not long before pressing his face into Jack's shoulder and dissolving into silent, shaky sobs. Jack lets a hand thread through Simon's hair as he settles into a steady, calming purr.
After a moment, Simon pulls back with a sniffle. "I hate feeling like them," he hiccoughs. "Want nothing to do with them, after…"
Jack rubs Simon's back and scalp in understanding. His own face is locked in a sorrowful frown, one he's glad Simon can't see. "You're nothin' like them, Simon…"
Simon stiffens for a moment, before falling back into Jack's shoulder with a strangled whimper.
"I am when I'm in rut…" he mumbles.
Simon pulls away again, just slightly. Just enough to fully turn his body towards Jack and pull him as close as possible. He noses up to Jack's neck, squeaking pathetically and audibly choking back the urge to purr.
"You can scent me, don't be scared," Jack says.
Simon's sigh rolls down Jack's back as he takes the invitation. He presses his cheek hard against Jack's neck, rubbing until Jack feels beard burn. A staccato purr escapes him, a self-soothing sound interrupted by breathy sobs and sniffles.
"I-I…" Simon starts. He pulls back yet again, holding Jack's gaze for a moment before switching to the other side of Jack's neck. It's harder for him to scent with his left cheek, with those damned teeth in the way, so he's painfully careful about it. Wrapping his legs around Jack's waist, and tightening his arm around his back, Simon confesses: "I feel safe with you…"
Jack rubs both his hands up and down Simon's back. "I know, sweetheart. I'm glad…"
After a moment, Simon sighs. His fingers dig gently into Jack's back when he lifts his head, fixing Jack with an anxious stare.
"I, uh…" Simon screws his eyes shut, and when he opens them, there's more conviction in his face. "When you…ugh. The— The restraints you used. On me. I felt…safe. It was good. I didn't like hurting you, and when you stopped me from being able to, that…" He deflates again, sighing. "Fuck, why is this so hard?"
"What're you trying to say, Simon?"
"Yeah, good question," Simon snarks under his breath. His eyes wander up and down Jack's body, to the floor, then back to Jack again. His hand slides up to Jack's shoulder, resting his thumb over Jack's scent gland. He takes a deep, steadying breath.
"If you're going to help me through my next rut…" he turns his head away, embarrassed, forcing out the words, "can we do that again?"
"Restraining you?" Jack blinks. "…You sure?"
Simon hesitates for a moment. When he finally makes eye contact again, his reply slips from his mouth effortlessly: "Yeah."
His thumb digs ever-so-slightly into Jack's neck, tracing circles over the scent gland. It's enough to make Jack tingle, but he stays still, drinking in Simon's pensive face as he tracks the movement of his thumb.
Simon swallows. "I think I'd rather let you chain me up than let me lose the run of myself."
Jack curls his hand around Simon's. He doesn't mean to interrupt, but when Simon pauses his hand, Jack pries it away and kisses his palm.
"I think I'd rather give it a test run, if that's okay. Not tonight, but maybe soon? Figure out whether you like being restrained."
Simon scoffs, stopping just short of rolling his eyes. "I hate it. At least you're…nice about it? I dunno. I'd bear it for you. I'd prefer it over letting myself fucking gore you again."
"Alright, alright," Jack snorts. "Let's just see how we take to it before your next rut, hey? Don't kill yourself over it in the meantime. We're gonna work this out. Together."
Their faces are so close, Jack can feel Simon's breath against his skin. It's easy to close the distance, pulling Simon into a chaste kiss. When they part, Simon lets out a shaky sigh of relief.
