Omega doesn't have any idea how to get to subspace.
It isn't that he's a brat, or that he resists. He's perfectly willing to get on his knees, to follow orders, to take whatever is given to him with nothing more than a murmured thank you.
It's just that his brain doesn't shut off. He doesn't drift, doesn't let go of himself, he doesn't know how. He thinks it has to have something to do with his powers. It ties him to the fabric of the world, to other people's bodies, and emotions. It keeps him tethered. Firmly grounded.
And then Aether shows up.
Aether flips the switch on the whole thing. Omega gets on his knees for Aether easily. Like calls to like. But he warns Aether before he does it--that he's never really dropped. He'll still enjoy it--still wants it--but it's ok if it doesn't happen.
It isn't Aether's fault, it's Omega's, something broken deep within him.
Aether laughs. He drags a claw along the sharp line of Omega's jaw and smiles kindly down at him.
"Oh, don't worry. I can do it."
And Omega doesn't even have a chance to question what that means, or where this new ghoul's misplaced confidence is coming from before Aether does something with his powers and the ropes that have kept Omega held firmly on the ground for years are gone. For the first time since he's stepped foot on this forsaken planet, he stops thinking.
Aether makes his demands with a firm grip on Omega's jaw, their faces so close together that Omega can smell the sulfuric tang of fresh magic.
Aether asks him something--Omega misses it. And then he's hurtling back to earth. Aether's fingers go gentle on his face.
"No," Omega says, breathless already. "Give it back."
Aether keeps him grounded for long enough to have a discussion. Omega should be thankful for it, but he spends every second of it longing to be let loose again. To float.
And then, like the snap of a finger, it's back. He's gone. Aether is the only thing that matters, the only thing that exists. Omega worships at his altar.
Aether takes him apart.
