inkandblade

Waking in a sweet sweat four days into the probable five of his pseudo-heat isn’t, in any way, an unusual thing for Stiles. It isn’t an unusual thing for any unmated or unattached modern omega. Suppressants are far, far superior now to anything that his forebears had to make deal with — no cramping, no aching, no diarrhea or constipation, no bright-red skin to make sure even broken-nosed-alphas in the vicinity know what’s happening in the walking womb in their midst — and the really good pharmaceuticals even dampen down the heat-scent so far that even most alpha Wolves can’t tell.

Stiles can only really afford a middle-of-the-line brand, but he’s never worried that it might not do what he needs it to. Scott says Stiles smells more amenable during his heat, but that he doesn’t give off whiffs of the come-breed-me-now stench he would off the meds.

The only worrying thing about Scott’s assurances is that’s he’s a bitten beta Wolf who until recently actively tried to avoid his more lupine traits; he’s not exactly prime-sniffer material.

Stiles wonders if a full-shift, born, alpha Wolf has a stronger nose. It’s not the kind of thing that you just walk up to someone and ask, really.

Especially when the only full-shift, born, alpha Wolf you’re likely to run into anytime soon is the one that’s been hanging out at Grind Goal and apparently using his absurdly wide shoulders and suckable fingers and pert-ass butt to help out out Coach with delivering curried-pumpkin pastries and spinach and feta muffins and perfectly made decaf-coffees to the omega who sits in the corner.

It’s neither unexpected nor shocking that that said same alpha Wolf has been taking the leading role in the increasingly graphic and incredibly thigh-wetting dreams that Stiles’ even dampened heat-brain has been feeding him over the last few days.

The dream that Stiles just woke up from involved a hammock, lemon-flavored tequila, and alpha Wolf fingers doing far more than being sucked on.

Stiles came hard he’d woken himself up. His dream-alpha Wolf, dark hair and thick thighs and determined eyes had come so hard that…

Stiles should stop thinking about it. He’s wet and sticky enough right now. And, no matter how understanding his father is about the realities of unmated-heat, Stiles is feeling more and more guilty and embarrassed walking out of the laundry room every day with sheets to be folded and put away. He hasn’t had to deal with this since his body-chemistry settled enough to let the suppressants work properly.

He cricks his back and swings his legs out of the bed and bundles up the bedclothes in his arms and is glad that his dad’s shifts are currently getting him home in the mid-afternoon. Stiles slips his boxers down his legs to add to the pile of washing, and decides to take his shower before going downstairs to the washing machine. Not long after he’s washed, dry, dressed, and ready to face the day.

It’s not until almost an hour later as he’s setting himself up at his regular spot in Grind Goal that he realizes what he’s been presenting to the real-life version of the protagonist in his recent heat dreams. No matter how good his suppressants are at suppressing the heat smell, any Wolf worth their fangs can smell sex, and Stiles has picked up his slick-sodden sheets and cradled them to his body as he walked down stairs every morning this week.

Stiles tries to tell himself the chuckle he hears from behind the counter isn’t Coach reading his mind.

star (v): a prominent actor, singer, or the like, especially one who plays the leading role in a performance.

~~December~~ January Prompts List/Series: AO3, Pillowfort, Dreamwidth