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It was a normal request.
“Sorry, Director - I haven’t seen Mr. Holmes in a little while…could you maybe check up on him?”
Unfortunately for him, Gordolf found it quite difficult to turn down anything Miss Kyrielight asked of him. And by the look on Ritsuka’s face, poking around the corner to watch the interaction - it was clear that everyone in Chaldea knew. If you wanted to get something from the Director: best ask Mash to ask for you.
Gordolf sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine, yes, I’ll do it.” He pointed lazily at Ritsuka, “But next time: you can just ask me directly.”
Mash and Ritsuka’s faces glowed in that perfect way; the way that made it even harder for him to weasel out of it. He groaned internally: there was no way for him to get out of it now.
Not that it was a particularly odd request. Not that it wasn’t something below him. No, just that when it came to matters surrounding The Sherlock Holmes…
…sometimes it was easier destroying a lostbelt tree than getting the detective out of bed.
He turned his attention back to Mash, waving her off with his hand. “I’ll see to it by the end of the day,” he paused, before adding, “Now get back to…whatever you were doing.”
She jumped, her arms moving in a ‘should I hug him or not’ way before deciding to give him a chaste ‘thumbs up’, “Thank you Director!”
Gordolf groaned internally again. He promised himself a good glass of whiskey that night for his hard work.
Well. Guess he had to do it now.
As if by magic, he didn’t need to do much that day. When he popped in to visit da Vinci, she had informed him that all of his work for today had been ‘taken care of’ and he was free to do whatever he pleased. Further prodding had revealed the truth: Mash and Ritsuka’s dual efforts had tackled his paperwork.
It was nice to not have as much work, but on the other hand - it only freed him up to tackle the hardest task of the day. He wouldn’t be able to push it back until the evening, or heck; push it until tomorrow. Try as he might to procrastinate, the radiant smiles of those below him would remind him of the quest that had been assigned.
Gordolf sighed, waving to da Vinci before slowly making his way into the section of rooms for the servants. His feet dragged; his entire body dreading what would happen next.
Not that he disliked Sherlock, no, of course not. The advisor was talented, intelligent, and a fun character to be around. But his moods were difficult to wrangle, his temperament hard to ascertain. When he was without case, Gordolf had to make sure Paracelsus wasn’t ‘upping his dosage’, lest he spiral into a drug-induced haze. When he was with a case, it was arguably worse - staff members could go weeks without seeing the detective as he toiled in his room without the need for food or drink.
He was probably in the latter, then. As Gordolf approached Sherlock’s door, he prepared himself for an earful.
As his hand ghosted over the door, his knuckles ready to knock against it, something struck him suddenly. Something he had not expected to experience in Chaldea.
Gordolf was an alpha. For the most part, people may be initially surprised, but after some time would grow to understand why. However, due to the environment, it rarely came up. Chaldea’s medical team had made heats basically non-existent, and a person’s classification was kept secret unless it was one-hundred-percent necessary. Some people wore it on their sleeves; some chose to keep it hidden.
Gordolf didn’t care - he shared if someone asked, but didn’t announce it. Originally he had even taken some medicine to control some of his alpha tendencies, but as the suppressants got better and less and less servants suddenly went into heat, well, it wasn’t needed as much. The problems had been worked around, and services were provided to help if things went wrong.
To him, the ability to hold himself back was the mark of a true alpha - raised to rise above it, to not spiral out of control. And so far, his restraint had remained firm.
It did help, however - that whenever someone had gone into heat, it had been someone Gordolf hadn’t had feelings for. Not that, if that person had asked, Gordolf wouldn’t have helped (it was a mark of a true alpha to help with heats, if it was asked of you), but rather that his services as an alpha had not been needed prior to that point. And as such, he had been able to keep everything in check for his stay in Chaldea.
That made it so when the distinct scent of heat washed over him, he was taken aback.
His hand faltered slightly. He knew Sherlock Holmes rarely allowed people to step foot into his workshop. The very few exceptions could be counted on a single hand. He tried to count them off the top of his head: Helena, da Vinci, Ritsuka, Mash and himself.
There was clearly someone experiencing a heat. And considering the fact that he had seen Mash, Ritsuka and da Vinci already that morning…and they hadn’t seen Holmes in ‘a little while’...
You didn’t need to be the world’s greatest detective to figure it out.
Something stirred in him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes focused on the pin-pad by the door. After their many late-night talks, Sherlock had given him the by-pass code. He knew it as much as his own. He could easily go inside. His fist shook.
Really. What had his underlings asked him to do?!
Certainly, they weren’t asking him to handle Sherlock’s heat, were they? Sure, they must have known that Gordolf was an alpha, and they likely knew about the closeness of their relationship. If any alpha within Chaldea was able to do it, well - likely Gordolf was on the top of that list!
But there was a difference between chatting often as a friends and fucking!
Gordolf squeezed the bridge of his nose. He shook his head softly. No, maybe…it wasn’t actually a heat. Maybe Sherlock was doing an experiment that had somehow created the exact scent of an omega in heat. And perhaps it had become so intoxicating that Sherlock was trapped in there.
Or heck…maybe even Sherlock was helping someone with theirs. That could be it!
Even…if it was…Sherlock…Gordolf forced himself to stand tall. He was a true alpha, able to control his own desires. If Sherlock simply ‘needed help’, then Gordolf could find him something to help relieve some of that heat. Or find someone.
And if Sherlock wanted that someone to be him…? Gordolf shook his head - he would cross that bridge when he got to it.
He sighed, rapping his knuckles against the door. “Holmes?”
He got no reply. He rolled his eyes and knocked again. “Holmes? Are you in there?” After a pause, he added, “I do not care what state you’re in, I just need to know if you are in there.”
Quietly, he heard, “I am.”
A flood of relief ran over him. Gordolf nodded, licking his dry lips. “I’ve been asked to check up on you as you haven’t been out in a couple of days,” he explained. He mulled over the best way to ask the next question, unsure of if a ‘best way’ even existed. “Do you…require any assistance?”
Gordolf stayed perfectly still lest he not hear the answer. Worried that perhaps Sherlock had not heard him, he opened his mouth, ready to ask again when:
“M-maybe,” Sherlock said. “C-could you perhaps…access the situation for me?”
Ah. Another pair of eyes. Holmes often asked for Gordolf’s opinion. Whether or not it actually mattered to the detective was something Gordolf was still figuring out, but he did enjoy being involved in the discussion. Perhaps it wasn’t Holmes who was in heat - maybe he had been correct. Gordolf could be the second opinion Sherlock needed.
He smiled, relieved. “Can I come in, then?”
“Yes, please do so.”
Slowly, carefully, as if not to mess up the combination, Gordolf typed in the code. The light shone green, the lock clicked. “Alright, I’m coming in.” As if time stood still, he gently pushed the door open, just enough for him to slide through. He closed it behind him, descending him into darkness.
The first thing that hit him was the smell. The fierce stench of an omega’s heat hit his nose, causing him to step back. It was thick, hazy, covering the room and overwhelming his senses. Despite himself, he could find his cock responding, growing out of instinct. His body raced, telling him that there was an omega here, desperate for his dick, desperate for his k-
He closed his eyes and exhaled, pushing that down. No, he was a true alpha, one that didn’t descend into madness at the first whiff of an omega’s heat. Yes, it was quite strong, but nothing he hadn’t experienced a little before. Gordolf was a gentleman, he would act as such.
When he reopened his eyes, he blinked a little, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. As it did, he noticed the mess. Sherlock Holmes’ room being untidy was nothing new; anyone who attempted to clean it up was met with a fierce talking-to about how things were set up in a specific pattern. Whether or not that was an excuse for Sherlock’s room being chaotic, who could say.
However, today it appeared to be even more disorderly than usual. Clothes lay strewn about. Papers were scattered on the floor. And on his bed, where the blankets were usually pushed to the sides of the mattress, now they were all clumped up into a large, writhing pile congregated in the center.
Gordolf studied the room carefully. Sherlock could squeeze himself into weird positions, hide in odd places. When his lookover proved fruitless, he came to one conclusion: Sherlock was in the mass of sheets.
Carefully, he took a step, making sure to step on the areas free of papers or clothing or pipe. “Sherlock? Are you…in there?”
The blankets wiggled. From the side, a single hand popped out and beckoned him forth. “Yes, p-please, come in.”
From what Gordolf could hear, the voice felt strained - like he hadn’t drank water in days. Gordolf chided himself. Considering Sherlock’s habits, he really should have brought some water with him.
He took another step. Another wave of scent washed over him. It made the hairs on his body stand up, goose pimples dotted his skin. His cock stirred. Clearly, the heat was coming from the bed. The bed that Sherlock was hiding in. Gordolf studied the pile; it’d be a feat if Sherlock had somehow slipped someone else in there with him.
He swallowed again. His finger flicked. His theories were dissolving, one by one, revealing only one fact: Sherlock Holmes was in heat.
Gordolf’s mind felt as if it bloomed at the realization. He licked his lips. He took another step forward, now less than a meter from the bed and its mass of blankets. The heat rolled over him, bathed him in a warm hug. This was likely the closest he had been to an omega in this position. His cock jumped. His body buzzed with electricity. Its message was clear: fuck him.
He shook his head, pushing all of the feelings down. No, he was a gentleman. And he’d help Sherlock out, only at his request, and only how he asked. He ignored the images his mind cooked up for him - Sherlock’s slick, hungry ass opening up for his knot, his mouth twisted in pleasure… Gordolf bit on his tongue to try and snap himself out of it.
Finally his legs bumped against the side of Sherlock’s bed. He had made it. “I’m here.” He paused, watching the hand that poked out of the bundle. “How can I help?”
He didn’t need to ask what was happening. He knew. He would still help.
The mass of sheets moves as its host readjusts himself, before Sherlock’s familiar face pops out. Familiar…but the expression was very new. His normally pale-white face was flush with a fierce blush. His well-kept hair was messy, bangs slipping down to stick to his sweaty forehead. His cool, collected expression had melted away into one of want, his feeble attempts at normalcy easily beaten by the lust in his gaze.
Gordolf has to swallow hard again. His hands ball into fists. He tries to focus on anything but Sherlock’s mouth, the prettiness of his lips calling out to him. Sherlock’s lips, wrapped around his dick, the way his face would twist as he tried to adjust his jaw around the k-
He forces himself to think of something else. Anything else. He tries to imagine the most intense boner-killer imaginable, but the sweet scent of Holmes’ heat pulls it away each time, reminding him of the reality of the situation.
He closes his eyes briefly and fidgets with the fabric of his pants. “H-how may I help…”
He hears Sherlock laugh. It reverberates in his ears. “Well, as I am s-sure you are aware, I’m in a bit…of a predicament,” the detective explains. He withdraws his hand and wiggles underneath the blankets. Gordolf is left to assume what’s going on in there. “I-I may need your assistance…quenching this thirst.”
Gordolf nods - maybe a bit too quickly - and holds his head high. He looks up at the ceiling to try and clear his mind. It fails. But he tries.
“I can grab some toys for you,” Gordolf suggests, “Or perhaps I can find an alp-”
He’s cut off suddenly by the feeling of Holmes’ face rubbing against the fabric of his pants, “I don’t believe that will be necessary, Director.” He moans sharply, his cheek having found its prize: he turns his head to rub his lips and nose against the tent that builds in Gordolf’s pants. “I believe there is…an alpha right here…”
Gordolf bites his cheek, almost enough to draw blood. His fingernails dig into his palms. Holmes’ hot breath against his clothed erection makes him see stars, threatens to melt his mind. He forces himself to remain firm.
Holmes is in heat; he may not be all there. He may have accepted any alpha that had come in. He needed consent. He needed to be certain that it was Gordolf that Sherlock specifically wanted.
Gordolf reaches down to try and push Holmes’ head away, but like a pet, he leans his face in. His cheek slides perfectly into Gordolf’s grip, and he cannot help it - he rubs the other’s cheek idly with his thumb. Holmes mewls in response; Gordolf tries not to focus on the way his lips move.
“I…want to be sure this is what you want,” Gordolf manages to get out, brushing some of Holmes’ bangs out of his eyes. “I can very quickly find someone…more your type.”
Something appears in Sherlock’s gaze, he blinks in confusion. He does a quick look-over, studying his partner. He furrows his brow.
“I’m uncertain as to why you would think you’re not to my tastes,” Sherlock begins. “Perhaps you hadn’t paid enough attention to our previous encounters, Director.”
Gordolf turns memories around in his mind. Had…Sherlock been staring? Had Gordolf somehow just…not noticed? He tried and failed to think of scenarios, but all that remained was the embarrassing thought and oh - maybe. Maybe Sherlock liked him. Maybe he wanted him. Not just because of the heat. His mouth felt dry.
Sherlock’s face nuzzles into his hand, he leaves a kiss on Gordolf’s thumb. The heat of his tongue shakes Gordolf’s core. God his mouth would be really good to fuck.
“No why, if you so desired,” he pauses and rolls his shoulders. “You could have all of me.”
He pulls himself out of Gordolf’s grasp. Sherlock sits up, and with him his blankets fall from around him - revealing his stunning, naked form.
His shoulders were dotted with splotches of red. He was sweaty, he panted softly. While his body was littered with scars from experimentation and addiction, that was not what drew Gordolf’s attention in. No, it was Holmes’ cock, standing tall and firm against his belly, pre-cum dribbling from the tip. A couple of egg-shaped vibrators had been taped to the side of his length, buzzing away mindlessly. It jumped, Sherlock’s hands gripping the sheets in response.
Just below, Gordolf could see the base of a dildo, the entire length sitting squarely inside him. From the corners, slick dripped, demonstrating his desire. Sherlock thrusted meekly, as if to reveal his need. As if it needed to be revealed, as if it wasn’t obvious.
Sherlock moved down, onto his back, folding his legs at the knees. His long, spidery fingers moved down, grabbing the base of the dildo and lazily fucking himself with it. “If you want to just watch…I can…try with that,” he whines. His back twists up as he hits a perfect spot, his toes curling. His idle hand plays with his cock, attempting to keep up the pace he has with the dildo.
All Gordolf can do is watch. Sherlock makes shallow thrusts, unable to keep the dildo out of him for too long. Now fully uncovered, the heat is undeniable - it spills from every pore, soaking Gordolf in the scent. Slick slips and coats the toy, spills onto the sheets. The detective pants, whines, his face contorting into pleasure as he fucks himself.
“It…it isn’t enough,” Sherlock moans, his fingers playing with the head of his cock. “I…I need the heat… to quench this…I need…” The last words sit heavy on Sherlock’s tongue. He looks up, holds Gordolf’s gaze. His gaze swims with lust. The final words are obvious to the two of them.
I need you.
Gordolf was a true alpha. One that did not steep so low. One that was able to control his animalistic instincts, one that knew how to hold back. While he told himself this, if he was asked to turn around and leave the room and not come back - his body admitted that it would be impossible. He needed Holmes.
Holmes said he could have all of him. He allowed his mind to go where it pleased. Holmes on his cock. His legs around his waist. His knot fully seated inside, his pups certain - the tent in his pants threatened to rip his pants.
He did not hold back.
“O-ok, just,” Gordolf stammers, stepping out of his pants and boxers in one, foul sweep. His dick is harder than he’d like to admit; he can blame it on the scent. He kneels on the bed, settles himself in between Holmes’ legs.
The detective smirks; it’s a familiar expression this time. One of a man who knows he’s won.
“I won’t mark you,” Gordolf explains, tossing his shirt off to have it join the piles on the floor. “Just help you try and cum.”
He holds Holmes’ thigh with one hand. He almost jumps at the touch - his skin is burning hot. How long had he been here, trying to ride out his heat?
His other hand dips down, and carefully, he brings his fingers around the base of the dildo. With Sherlock’s slick, it slips out easily, his ass opening and closing. Sherlock’s hands, warm against Gordolf’s cool shoulders, lazily wrap around his neck, pulling him in closer. It’s an invitation.
Sherlock hums, “We’ll see.”
Gordolf is about to bite back when Sherlock moves in, kissing him deep. His tongue slides in, coaxing Gordolf further. He can feel himself melting into the other’s kiss, slipping closer, his whole body leaning in to get closer to the other.
His dick rubs against Sherlock’s hole and the other gasps into the kiss. His ankles dig into Gordolf’s back and push down. A very obvious: get to it.
And so he does, moaning as he slides inside. It’s slippery, easy for him to slot into. Holmes’ hard work has made it so Gordolf’s thick cock moves in effortlessly. He thrusts, until he’s slotted all the way in, Holmes’ insides hugging him entirely.
It’s warm. So warm. From Sherlock’s hands to his mouth to his ass, it’s a heat that overwhelms Gordolf. It rewrites his mind; no, rather, returns it to the base instincts, the basis of what an alpha should be. His body and brain screams at him; knot this bitch up.
The flip switched, he starts thrusting. Frustration builds, he uses as strength to fuck Holmes harder. Sherlock swallows down his moans, mumbling his name in kind as Gordolf seats himself in fully each and every time.
They’re perfectly slotted. Holmes’ hands and feet make sure that he won’t be able to leave any time soon. Not that Gordolf would want to, no, not when his ass feels so good. He increases his pace, gasping as Holmes tightens around him.
“Fuck,” Gordolf swears, breaking the kiss so he can press his face into Sherlock’s shoulder. The detective threads his fingers in Gordolf’s hair, his nails scratching the scalp softly. He takes deep breaths. Holmes’ sweet scent rolls over him, but just underneath, he catches the familiar scent of tobacco.
Something in his mind clicks. This isn’t just him helping out an omega. This isn’t even him helping out his friend and co-worker. No, this Sherlock Holmes, specifically asking for him - asking for his knot. He wanted him.
Gordolf growls. He bites down on his lip to keep himself from biting his partner. His fingers scratch Holmes’ thighs, moving up to settle on his hips. Sherlock Holmes wanted him. Wanted his knot.
He’d give it to him.
He pulls away, using the animalistic strength given to him to flip his partner over so he lay on his stomach. As quickly as before, he slides back inside. He’s able to go deeper in this position. He pulls Holmes’ hips up, bringing his ass up to meet his cock, using him like a fleshtoy. Holmes squeals in delight, hands gripping the sheets as Gordolf picks the pace up once more.
Gordolf can feel it. He can feel the heat rising in his cock, the base starting to expand. He watches Holmes’ back through half-lidded eyes, panting as he focuses on hitting Holmes in all of the correct spots. His thumbs dug into the other’s hips. There would be bruises to match the scars, but that would be all.
His mouth watered. His eyes focused on Holmes’ spine. His body screamed at him, desperately trying to get him to mark Sherlock. To make it known who he belonged to. To make it known that Holmes was his, the brilliant detective the omega to the alpha director.
He swallowed it down. No, no he was just helping - he wouldn’t do that. “Fuck, i-it’s coming.”
He’s thankful that Holmes is this wet. His knot grows at the base of his cock, it bumps against Holmes’ entrance as Gordolf increases his pace. He leans over, his chest against Holmes’ back as he makes shallow thrusts. He wiggles his hips as he tries to slip the knot inside.
“T-take it,” Gordolf growls, rubbing the knot against Holmes. He pushes, thrusting inside hard, desperate to knot him up. It slaps, slaps against him, until -
“Ah, f-fuck,” Holmes whines, dipping his head down into the pillows. The knot slips inside, keeping the two connected. Now all Gordolf can do is make small, fast thrusts, his balls slapping against Holmes’ thighs.
His head dipped down low, nothing can hide Sherlock’s neck. Gordolf avoids the temptation by biting his shoulders, his back, he scratches his hips. His knot grows, spreads Sherlock further, tells him that it’s close. The knot is close.
Holmes cums first, his ass squeezing Gordolf’s cock deliciously. The director whines at the pleasure. It’s good. It’s so good. All he can do is focus on how good it feels. He feel his entire soul come together, come out in that beautiful white-
“Take it!” Gordolf curses. He bites down onto his lip, enough to draw blood. He cums, emptying himself inside of Holmes. He thrusts the whole time, the knot making sure that they remain together.
The high crashes quickly. Exhausted, Gordolf feels much heavier - still connected, he awkwardly lies down besides Holmes. He’s…never knotted anyone before. He has no idea how long it’ll last.
Holmes whines, wiggling his ass. “T-that’s a lot more t-than expected,” he comments, feeling the fullness as Gordolf continues to release inside.
Gordolf studies Holmes’ back. It’s still pristine. He’s done it. He’s been a perfect alpha. Still unmarked, Holmes can find a better p-
“You didn’t mark me, however,” Holmes comments. He reaches behind him, grabbing one of Gordolf’s hands. He guides Gordolf’s hand, making him touch the other’s body. A finger grazes a nipple. A hand cups Holmes’ chest. It moves down to grab Holmes’ cock, hard again from the knotting. It shocks Gordolf - how was he already back up?
Holmes smirks, resting his head on Gordolf’s shoulder. “Mark me.”
Gordolf’s mouth is dry, “N-no, I can’t.”
Holmes furrows his brow, removing his hand from Gordolf’s to reach up and cup his cheek. “You’re knotted with me…and yet you choose not to mark me.” He thrusts his hips down, squeezes Gordolf’s sensitive knot in his ass. The director moans in response. Holmes’ dick jumps in his grasp.
“Mark me,” Holmes repeats. His long fingers reach up, slip between Gordolf’s lips to make him open his mouth. “Take everything, Director.” He pauses before whispering, “Use your servant.”
A shiver runs through Gordolf. Connected with him like this…it only made sense, didn’t it? The worries about being enough…enough for Holmes…they melt away. What would a model alpha be if not someone who listened to their omega?
He increases his pace on Holmes’ cock, pumping him faster. Holmes was close for the second time around. He leaned in, his mustache rubbing against the soft skin of Holmes’ neck before:
He bit.
His mind swam. Holmes’ heat covered him and played with his mind. The scent changed, mixing with his own, making it obvious. Holmes was his omega now.
Sherlock came in his hand, covering his chest and the sheets with white. Gordolf’s knot remained inside him, now there to make sure they wouldn’t separate.
Tiredness hit like a truck. Unable to fight it, Gordolf fell asleep.
“So! I’ve been experimenting with suppressant drugs that will allow for heats to happen, but impregnation of the omega will not occur,” Sherlock explained. The heat now dissipated, he strolled around his room naked as if it was perfectly normal to do. “As such, the omega and alpha can still have heat-fueled sex, but nothing more!”
Gordolf watched him from his bed, eyes following him as Sherlock paced around the room. “And so, you used yourself as a test dummy?”
“Precisely, Director!” Holmes clapped. “Albeit, I hadn’t realized how quickly heats take effect when an omega goes off of their suppressants - I had barely stopped for a week before my body flipped over!”
Gordolf furrowed his brows. “Wait.” He raised his hand up, his mind trying to use the elements of deduction Holmes had taught him. “If you were waiting for the suppressants to stop working before you used your new ones, but then the heat overwhelmed you…”
Sherlock smiled cutely.
“....Did you…actually have the time to take them?”
Sherlock looked away.
“...No, I hadn’t.”
“....Then…”
“Then, indeed.”
Fuck.