our pretty, perfect omega

by naenia01

Summary:

Oscar’s first heat after years arrives and everything breaks.

Chapter 1

They were lying curled up in Lando’s bed, tangled in the nest Lando had carefully built. The house was silent. Just them.

Oscar had slipped into Lando’s arms that morning without a word, his fingers curling into the fabric of Lando’s hoodie like he was trying to anchor himself. “My stomach hurts,” he’d mumbled. “Feels weird.” Then he’d gone still, half-asleep, half-hiding. That had been hours ago. He hadn’t moved since.

Oscar was always a late riser, the kind who could sleep through alarms and sunlight both, but today felt different. Lando could tell. It wasn’t just the way Oscar’s body pressed closer than usual or how he buried his face into Lando’s hoodie. It was the scent. 

At first, Lando had thought he was getting sick, maybe a cold. But then young omega’s scent had shifted, softened, turned sweeter. Thicker. Warmer. It clung to the sheets, the air, to Lando’s own skin like syrup. Even with Oscar sprawled lazily across his thighs, Lando felt like he was breathing in omega’s scent from the source, from the delicate glands tucked behind his ears, his neck, his inner wrists, radiating that unmistakable pre-heat sweetness.

Lando hadn’t woken him. Hadn’t said a word. He didn’t want to scare him. Because Oscar’s heat was something they had been expecting, and quietly dreading.

It had been seven months since Oscar joined the pack. Seven months of learning how to sleep through the night again. Seven months of letting alphas close without flinching. Seven months without a single heat. But the truth, unspoken but known, was that it hadn’t just been these months. Oscar hadn’t had a heat for years. He never talked about the past, not really, but everyone in the pack knew. Stress. Trauma. Whatever he’d left behind before he came to them had locked his body down tight.

Now, after months of safety and soft mornings, it was starting to unlock. His hormones had finally found rhythm again. His scent had changed. His body was preparing.

And Lando just sat there in the nest he’d built, holding him, trying not to fall apart at the way Oscar clung to him in his sleep.

Maybe he should have called Max. Or Carlos. That’s what any sane person would do —call the pack alphas. Tell them their omega was shifting into heat for the first time in years. But Lando didn’t even look at his phone. Because deep down, he knew Oscar wouldn’t want that. Not now. Not like this.

And it wasn’t because Oscar feared the pack’s alphas. He didn’t. Not anymore. He’d stopped flinching when Carlos got too loud, stopped freezing when Max growled low in his chest just because he was annoyed about something on TV. He laughed with them now. Teased them. Trusted them. He’d even shared a bed with Max during his rut last month, tucked into his side, warm and safe and purring against his side.

But this… this wasn’t like that. This wasn’t a planned thing, a controlled thing. This wasn’t some quiet night where Oscar chose to be close. This was Oscar’s first heat in years. A heat his body had forgotten how to have.

And Lando could feel it, even through the haze of Oscar’s scent clouding the room like honey. Could feel how close to the edge he was. How soft. How breakable.

If Max walked through that door right now with all that calm alpha control, Oscar would run. Not physically. But emotionally. Internally. He’d retreat somewhere Lando wouldn’t be able to follow. And Lando couldn’t let that happen.

So he stayed still. Anchored. His hand curved protectively around Oscar’s spine, thumb tracing slow, lazy lines. The weight of the moment sat heavy on his chest, but he bore it without complaint. Because Oscar had chosen him. Not with words. Not even with a look. But with his body. Pressing in close, curling into Lando’s arms like they were the only place that didn’t hurt.

Oscar didn’t need an alpha right now. He needed someone who wouldn’t push or expect or claim. He needed stillness. He needed softness.

For a moment, Lando wished Charles were there, too.

Charles was calmer. More grounded. His scent was soft and cool, like linen left out in the sun. He was the kind of omega you could lean against without realizing you were falling. And maybe Oscar needed that more than he needed Lando’s jittery heart and anxious hands. Because Lando felt everything too much. Every little sound Oscar made in his sleep, every change in his scent, every twitch of his fingers. Lando soaked it up like a sponge, like it was his job to keep Oscar from unraveling. But Charles? Charles would’ve just breathed. Would’ve known what to do with all this fragile.

Oscar trusted him, too. He always did. Let his head rest on Charles’s thigh during movie nights, let Charles fix his hair when it got too messy. Once, during a panic spiral, Oscar had curled up against Charles’s chest without a word, and Charles had just held him. No questions. No pressure. Just warmth and silence and safety. Lando could still remember the look on Oscar’s face after, like he’d been allowed to rest for the first time in years.

But Charles wasn’t here, wouldn’t be back for nearly a day. And so it was just Lando. Restless, soft-hearted Lando, curled around a boy on the verge of breaking open. Trying to be steady. Trying to be enough.

---

Oscar woke in a haze of heat and sweat and confusion.

Everything felt sticky . His skin clung uncomfortably to the sheets, his body flushed and slick and trembling in the aftermath of sleep that hadn’t brought rest.

The hoodie and sweats he’d worn when he curled into Lando were gone, and he didn’t remember taking them off. But the sheets stuck to his bare skin, his thighs slicked and soaked through with the mess leaking out of him. It was everywhere. Warm and humiliating and too much. It coated the inside of his legs, trailed almost down to his knees.

His body pulsed with something hot and raw, like he was burning up from the inside out. His stomach cramped, and his head pounded like it couldn’t keep up with what was happening.

A tiny, fractured sound cracked out of his throat. Something between a gasp and a whimper. Not on purpose. Not even conscious. Just a desperate little whine, small and scared.

And that’s when he realized he wasn’t in Lando’s lap anymore. There was a pillow under his cheek, smelling like Lando. Warm and worn and familiar, like safety in fabric form. His fingers had twisted into the case like he’d been holding on for dear life.

He must’ve been moved. Or maybe he’d shifted in his sleep without realizing. Still, the sudden absence made his chest twist with something too close to panic. Until he turned his head to the right and found him. Lando. Lying on his side, body curved in a quiet, protective arc just inches away. One arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting near Oscar’s hip. Eyes on him. Watching. Waiting. Like Oscar was something delicate. Like he was afraid if he shifted even a little, Oscar would shatter.

Their eyes met. Oscar’s wide and damp and aching. Lando’s full of that terrible, unbearable softness that made Oscar feel seen in ways he didn’t know how to handle.

“How are you feeling?” Lando asked, voice barely more than breath, like anything louder might hurt. Might scare him off.

Oscar tried to answer, he really did. But nothing came. His throat felt sandpaper-dry, swollen shut with sleep and heat and the panic still fluttering under his ribs. All he could manage was a small, broken whine.

But even that was enough. Lando understood instantly. He just shifted up, reaching over with slow, careful movements. He grabbed the glass from the nightstand, then turned back, slipping an arm behind Oscar’s shoulders to lift him just enough.

The water touched Oscar’s lips and he drank greedily, almost trembling with the relief of it. A low, involuntary sound of pleasure rumbled from his throat, more vibration than voice, as his head dropped back onto the pillow.

Lando placed the glass back in its spot, then turned toward him again. There was a faint smile on his face, but the worry in his eyes gave him away. “Do you want a hot water bottle?” he asked, same gentle tone. “For your stomach,” he added, like Oscar might need help naming the pain.

Oscar frowned, nose scrunching in protest as a miserable groan escaped him. “Noo,” he whined, almost petulant. “Too hot.”

“Okay, baby,” Lando murmured, nodding slowly. “Tell me what you want, then.”

Oscar reached out, fingers trembling like they didn’t quite trust the air. They curled around the hem of Lando’s hoodie, gripping, anchoring, begging. “You,” he breathed. “Please.”

It wasn’t just want, and it wasn’t even lust. It was need. Bone-deep and breathless need. Like his body had turned against him and the only thing keeping him grounded was Lando’s voice, Lando’s scent, Lando’s presence. He could’ve said a hundred other things. Touch me, help me, stay… But he didn’t. He just said you . And Lando almost broke.

Because that word, spoken in that wrecked little voice, with heat-slick skin and glassy eyes and so much trust —it shattered everything inside him.

Lando moved without thinking. Leaned in slow, careful, like approaching something holy. His hand found Oscar’s jaw, thumb brushing against flushed skin, and he whispered back like a vow. “I’m here,” he said. “You’ve got me. You have me.”

And he meant it. Every word. Not just for tonight. Not just for the heat. For as long as Oscar needed him.

Oscar didn’t just lean into Lando’s touch. He folded into it, like something soft collapsing under heat. Melting. 

His breath hitched as his eyes fluttered shut, and he reached out blindly, limbs sluggish with fever and need. One arm wrapped around Lando’s waist, trembling fingers fisting the back of his hoodie as he dragged him closer, like it still wasn’t enough.

Lando moved instantly, like he’d been waiting for permission he didn’t know he needed. He wrapped himself around Oscar without hesitation, curved their bodies together like they belonged that way. He dipped his head low and pressed his face into the curve of Oscar’s neck, right where scent lived strongest. He breathed him in like it was oxygen. Then he started to scent him, slow and deliberate drags of his nose against overheated skin.

Oscar whimpered, high-pitched and desperate. His other hand tangled into Lando’s hair with sudden urgency, pulling him closer, holding him there, pressing Lando’s face deeper into the side of his neck.

Lando‘s tongue slipped out, hot and wet, and dragged slowly over the swollen edge of Oscar’s scent gland. He tasted him. Claimed him. Worshipped him.

Oscar cried out, a soft, strangled sound escaped from his lips. “Lando,” he whined. “Omega… my omega.”

Lando moaned low in his throat, the sound involuntary. He pressed his mouth harder to Oscar’s neck, open and reverent, and sucked, slow and deep, like he was drinking him in. His hand tightened around Oscar’s waist. Like if he let go, Oscar might vanish.

It wasn’t just Oscar’s scent that undid Lando. Wasn’t just the taste of his skin, the heat of his body, the way his fingers clutched at him like Lando was the only thing keeping him from unraveling. 

It was the words.

Not just omega. My omega.

Because Oscar had never said anything like that before. Never claimed him. Never let himself want like that, out loud. And it cracked something open in Lando’s chest. Sharp and beautiful and terrifying.

Oscar moved like he couldn’t help it, like his body knew something his mind hadn’t caught up to yet. He shifted forward, hips rolling, and the moment his hard, leaking cock rubbed up against Lando’s, everything stopped and spiked at once. 

They both moaned, loud and wrecked, the sound punching out of their chests like it had been building for days, not hours.

Lando’s lips tore away from Oscar’s scent gland, flushed and wet and trembling. But he didn’t go far. He hovered, his breath ragged against Oscar’s cheek, eyes blown wide with something that looked an awful lot like awe. And then he kissed him. It wasn’t soft, wasn’t sweet. It was devastating.

Their mouths crashed together like they’d run out of ways to speak. Hot and open and messy, all tongue and teeth and heat, like Lando was trying to crawl inside him and Oscar was letting him.

Oscar gasped into the kiss, fingers digging into Lando’s back, dragging him closer, grinding up again with a soft, choked whine that said more, more, please .

But the kiss shattered the moment Oscar whimpered. Not from pleasure this time, but from pain. His body jerked, his mouth pulling away, and before Lando could ask, Oscar had rolled onto his back, face contorted with discomfort. His hand flew to his lower abdomen, pressing in like he could hold the pain still. His legs trembled, drawn up just slightly, as a harsh cramp twisted through him. “Hurts,” he whispered, voice so small, so broken it barely made it past his lips.

Lando slid closer, his hand moving to rest gently over Oscar’s, grounding it, then easing it away so he could touch. His palm pressed flat to the tense heat of Oscar’s belly, and he began to stroke, slow and gentle circles, soft enough not to overwhelm, firm enough to soothe. “It’s okay,” he murmured, voice low and rough-edged, thick with the remnants of arousal he hadn’t had time to let go of. But his touch was steady. His presence was still. “You’re in pre-heat,” he said softly, thumb grazing over Oscar’s skin. “It’ll pass.”

“What?” Oscar breathed, barely audible, his voice cracking under the weight of panic. His hands reached out, clinging to Lando’s like they were the only solid thing left in a world that suddenly felt like it was spinning too fast. His eyes, glassy with unshed tears, searched Lando’s face, desperate for something to hold onto.

Lando didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he gave him a small, warm smile, soft and sure. “Don’t be scared,” he said gently, squeezing Oscar’s hand. “We’ll get through this together, okay?”

All the signs had been there. The heat under his skin, the dull ache in his lower belly that never really went away, the way every touch lingered too long and every scent hit too hard. His own body had been trying to tell him. Screaming, really.

But Oscar hadn’t heard it. Not until Lando looked at him, and said the words out loud. Then it hit him like a punch to the chest.

Heat. He was going into heat.

He should’ve known. It should’ve been obvious. But it had been so long. Years since his first and only heat. Years of silence. Of numbness. Of waking up every morning and wondering if his body had just… given up on him.

And maybe it had. Or maybe he’d shut it down. Either way, he’d convinced himself it wasn’t coming back. That he didn’t need it. That he didn’t want it anyway. But now it was here. Crashing through him in waves he couldn’t stop, couldn’t control, couldn’t understand.

He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to be in this body anymore. Everything inside him felt too loud, too tight, too much. And still, he didn’t run. Because Lando was there. Oscar didn’t have a plan. He didn’t have answers. But he had Lando. 

“Don’t cry, baby,” Lando murmured, voice low and soothing, as his hand continued its slow, rhythmic movements over Oscar’s stomach. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Oscar’s bare shoulder, barely there, but warm and grounding. “It’ll pass, I promise,” he whispered against his skin. “You just have to hold on a little longer.”

Oscar hadn’t even realized he was crying until Lando said it. But now, with the words out in the open, he could feel the tears slipping quietly down his cheeks, unannounced and unstoppable. It wasn’t sobbing. It wasn’t dramatic. Just silent, aching release.

He turned his head slightly, nuzzling his nose into Lando’s cheek as if instinct would guide him back to safety. His breath hitched again as another cramp rolled through him, and he let out a soft, shaky whimper.

Lando kept touching him. Kept speaking in that soft, steady voice. Kept being there in a way Oscar had never known someone could be. And as Oscar breathed in Lando’s scent, familiar and calming, and felt the warmth of that palm grounding him through each slow circle, the edge began to soften.

The pain didn’t vanish. But it dulled. And for the first time since the fear had crept in, Oscar felt something else begin to take its place. 

He felt safe.

---

As the pain began to ease, something shifted. Subtle at first, but unmistakable. 

Oscar’s body stopped trembling from cramps and started moving differently. Restless, twitchy, needy. He began to roll onto his side, then his back, then back again, like he couldn’t quite get comfortable, like something under his skin was pulling him in every direction at once. He moved like a cat in heat. Stretching, curling, offering. His thighs parted lazily, hips tilting just enough to expose the soft curve of his stomach, the vulnerable line of his throat. His head tipped to the side, baring his neck without thinking, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

Lando saw it all. The way Oscar’s cock was pressing hard against the damp fabric of his underwear, the way his slick was seeping out more freely now, soaking the insides of his thighs, heavy and sweet.

The scent of it hit Lando like a wave. Thicker now, more potent. Sticky-sweet and intoxicating. There was no mistaking it anymore. The heat was taking hold.

And Lando watched him, held him, kissed him, as he began to unravel so slowly, so beautifully.

Oscar wasn’t the first omega Lando had seen like this. 

He could read the signs in his own body, sure. But he learned to read them in someone else’s too. He’d been through this before, with Charles and more times than he could count. He knew what to expect: the trembling, the begging, the way need could turn someone inside out.

But Oscar was different. Oscar wasn’t like Charles. He wasn’t like Lando.

When Charles slipped into heat, it was immediate, feral. He’d bury his face in Max’s scent gland like he couldn’t breathe without it, and within minutes he was moaning for Carlos’s knot, voice wrecked and shameless.

Lando was no different. When pre-heat hit him, it hit hard. The emptiness, the ache —he’d cried for it, begged for someone to fill it, desperate to be stretched open and taken.

But Oscar hadn’t done any of that. He hadn’t begged. He hadn’t even wanted to be touched. All he wanted was Lando. Not a knot. Not his cock. Not an alpha. Just Lando. His voice. His scent. His soft hands and quiet kisses. His presence.

And Lando watching him now, stretched out in the sheets, rolling like a restless cat, baring his neck and exposing his stomach, he knew. He’d made the right choice. The scent of Oscar’s slick was heavy in the air, thicker now, heady and dangerous. Sweet like honey, sharp like wine. He was so beautiful like this. Radiating heat and scent, vulnerable and soft. 

And Lando thanked the stars he hadn’t called Carlos or Max. Because even Max —stoic, self-controlled Max— would’ve broken. Carlos wouldn’t even have lasted five minutes.

Even Lando was holding on by a thread. With omega biology working in his favor, its evolutionary calm, that whispered softness woven into his instincts, he was unraveling fast. His cock was throbbing, painfully hard and slick at the tip, pressed tight against the fabric of his underwear. Every breath he took brought in more of Oscar’s scent, hot and dizzying, it wrapped around his brain like smoke, thick and inescapable.

Oscar was burning beside him, his body warm and twitchy, thighs parting without thought, his scent gland exposed and glistening. He was slick and flushed and wanting, even if he hadn’t said it out loud yet.

And Lando… fuck, Lando wanted to tear the world in half. Not out of lust, not just out of need. Out of the sheer instinctual madness that came with wanting to claim. Not touch. Not comfort. Claim.

He wanted to sink his teeth into Oscar’s neck and make him his. He wanted to fuck the scent of every other alpha out of Oscar’s skin, even if there had never been one. He wanted to fuck him so deep Oscar would never smell like anything but Lando again.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because Oscar wasn’t there yet. Not really.

He was rolling in the sheets, yes. Scenting and slicking, yes. But his eyes still held that fragile flicker of uncertainty.

And Lando saw it. So he gritted his teeth. He curled his fingers into the mattress. He kept his body still, even as it screamed at him to take. Because right now, Oscar didn’t need to be claimed. He needed to feel safe. And Lando would chain himself down with his own goddamn spine if that’s what it took to give it to him.

Oscar shifted, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated, until he was pressed against Lando again, chest to chest, breath to breath. He tucked his face into the curve of Lando’s neck like it was the only safe place left in the world, and Lando wrapped him up immediately, arms tight and protective. His fingers moved gently through Oscar’s damp strands, stroking along his scalp with a tender rhythm. 

When Oscar’s lips brushed over the sensitive skin just above Lando’s scent gland, Lando sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body tensing, heat rushing under his skin. “Bite me,” he whispered, voice barely a sound. Not a demand. Not a plea. Something in between.

Omegas couldn’t leave lasting mating marks, not like alphas could. But that wasn’t the point.

For Oscar, for someone who’d spent his whole life being told no, being denied even the smallest claim to comfort or connection, it would mean everything. Because he had never even had a nest of his own. Never been allowed to want, let alone take. Never been told you can have this. Or you can have me.

Lando guided him, slow and careful, hand sliding to the nape of his neck. His other arm tightened around Oscar’s waist. He tilted his head, exposing his throat fully. Offering himself. “Go on,” he murmured. “Claim your omega.”

Oscar whined, the sound helpless, overwhelmed. His tongue traced over Lando’s scent gland, soft and shaking. Hesitant. His breath came in short, ragged bursts. He was trembling. Not from fear, from the weight of being allowed. His teeth hovered, uncertain. But then Lando's breath hitched, and his grip tightened, and Oscar felt it.

So he bit. Hard. He sank his teeth in, just beside Max’s mating mark, with a force that made Lando groan deep in his chest.

Lando’s eyes fluttered closed, and something inside him came undone. Because it wasn’t just a bite. It was Oscar saying mine . It was Oscar finally taking. It was Oscar, broken open and burning, reaching for something and holding on.

Lando’s grip on Oscar loosened slightly, fingers faltering against damp skin as a wave of dizzy warmth rolled through him. His head felt light like he was floating, like the room had pulled away and left just this. Just Oscar. Just the feeling of being wanted in a way that had nothing to do with sex, or heat, or bare skin pressed together.

It was deeper than all of that. More intimate than any knot, any slicked-up body, any desperate rutting.

This was trust. This was Oscar choosing him.

Lando didn’t even realize it at first. Not until the warmth between his thighs became undeniable, slick gathering in slow, shameful waves like his body had stopped listening to his mind. Like he was the one in heat.

He dragged Oscar in, lips colliding with his in a kiss that wasn’t soft, wasn’t careful. It was needy. Their mouths opened against each other, gasping, trembling, the air between them thick with scent and want.

Then he tasted the metal, sharp and real. Oscar’s lips were smeared with the faintest trace of blood, and it painted Lando’s tongue, filled his mouth like the echo of something primal. He groaned, deep and involuntary, as if the taste alone undid him. His whole body pulsed with it. Not just arousal, but surrender.

It wasn’t the kiss. It wasn’t the slick. It wasn’t the way Oscar’s hands were still clutching at him. It was what it all meant.

Lando had never been marked like that before. Charles hadn’t marked him. Only Max and Carlos, in their alpha way. Simply claiming. Not like this, not with trust and trembling lips. It was messy. Desperate. Intimate in a very different way. And Lando wanted to drown in it.

Still, Lando didn’t push. Not once. He took only what Oscar gave, nothing more. And for a while, that was enough. The kiss, the closeness, the weight of Oscar in his arms.

But then Oscar moved. He swung one leg over Lando’s hips, straddling him with a kind of quiet urgency, like something inside him had snapped into place. The kiss deepened, turned hungrier, needier, as their bodies aligned, fabric-damp cocks pressing and dragging against each other.

Lando gasped into Oscar’s mouth. His hands found their way to Oscar’s waist, holding him there, grounding him. And when Oscar began to roll his hips just enough to chase the friction, Lando didn’t stop him. He just held on. Let him take what he needed.

When Oscar pulled away from the kiss and buried his face back into the crook of Lando’s neck, Lando tilted his head without hesitation, offering again. Oscar’s tongue moved over the spot he’d bitten earlier, licking gently as if to soothe it. At the same time, he continued to move. Subtle rolls of his hips, slow and instinctive, grinding down against Lando in quiet, needy motions. 

Lando didn’t speak. Didn’t tell him to stop or ask if he wanted more. He didn’t even suggest taking their briefs off. He just moved with him. Matched each push and pull. Let Oscar set the pace.

They were both too far gone, too dizzy with scent and heat and the crackling hum between their bodies. So it didn’t take long.

Oscar whined, quiet and broken, and his body trembled as he came, undone in the safety of Lando’s hands, breath catching against his neck. And when Oscar’s teeth found that same place again, sinking into the skin like he needed to anchor himself, Lando followed him with a high-pitched moan.

Lando kept holding him through both of their aftershocks, one hand smoothing over Oscar’s back, the other tangled in his hair. “My pretty omega,” he murmured against his temple. “You did so well for me. So beautiful.”

Oscar whined softly as his teeth slipped free from Lando’s neck, the sound caught somewhere between pleasure and vulnerability. His breath was shaky, chest still rising and falling like waves trying to calm after a storm.

And then Oscar collapsed against him, utterly boneless, draped over Lando like a heavy blanket, like he didn’t want even an inch of space between them. Lando wrapped his arms around him immediately. He held him, with his scent thick in the air and the echo of his bite still tingling on his neck.

---

After Lando had cleaned them both up, gentle and careful, they’d fallen asleep pressed together, skin to skin, heat to heat.

Oscar had kept shifting in his sleep, restless, but Lando followed every movement. Every time Oscar reached out, Lando was already there, arms pulling him close again, anchoring him without a word.

Now, hours later, Oscar stirred once more. 

Lando’s chest was pressed to his back, their legs tangled. He’d buried his nose in the curve of Oscar’s neck, right over his scent gland, and had drifted off with that sweet, intoxicating smell in his lungs. But the moment Oscar moved again, just a twitch and a breath too sharp, Lando blinked awake. “Baby?” he whispered, voice rough with sleep but soft with concern, already tightening his arms around him.

“Hurts,” Oscar mumbled, voice small and wrecked, barely cutting through the quiet.

Lando’s hand was already moving, sliding down from his shoulder, fingers aiming for his belly, thinking that maybe it was another cramp.

But Oscar whined, “Noo,” He caught Lando’s wrist, breath shaky as he dragged his hand lower. Past his stomach. Down to where he was hard, aching and leaking. “Here,” he whispered, guiding Lando’s palm over his cock.

Lando stilled for a second, then leaned in, pressing his mouth to the back of Oscar’s neck. His lips stayed there as he wrapped his hand around him, slow and steady. “Just here?” he asked, his voice soft. Because his slick was too thick in the air now, sweet and sharp.

Lando started moving his hand slowly, fingers dragging up the shaft, nice and steady, all the way to the tip. He let his thumb glide over the head, right over the slit, pressing down and rubbing in slow circles. 

And Oscar’s hips jerked, he let out a wrecked little sound, something between a gasp and a moan, like he couldn’t decide if it felt too good or too much.

Lando leaned in, voice low and warm against his skin. “Let me grab a knotting dildo, yeah?”

Oscar let out a soft whine, almost frustrated. “Don’t want knot,” he breathed, voice thin and shaky. Then quieter, “Just you.”

Lando kept stroking him, slow and steady, palm warm and slick with pre-cum. “Want me to fuck you, baby?” he murmured, voice low. “Or just like this?”

Oscar whined, torn between answers, hips twitching helplessly into Lando’s hand. Little gasps spilled from his lips, soft and high and desperate. He didn’t say anything. Just reached back blindly, fingers brushing along Lando’s thigh as he turned his head to look at him, eyes glassy and lips parted.

Lando got the message. He leaned in and kissed him slowly, never breaking rhythm. Still stroking. Still holding.

When they pulled apart, Oscar exhaled right into Lando’s mouth, a shaky and broken breath. “I’m gonna come,” he whimpered.

Lando kissed the corner of his lips, still holding him. “You can come, baby,” he whispered, and his hand picked up pace. Just enough to make Oscar’s hips jerk, just enough to make his breath catch in little, desperate gasps. Not rough. Not hurried. Just the perfect kind of pressure, dragging him closer. Enough to push him right to the edge, exactly where he needed to be.

As Lando kept his forehead pressed to Oscar’s temple, he felt the way Oscar’s whole body tensing, then unraveling all at once. A high-pitched whine tore out of him, sharp and aching, like it almost hurt to feel that much. He came hard into Lando’s hand, hips stuttering, breath catching.

Lando didn’t stop. He kept stroking him through it, slow and steady, like he knew exactly how to carry Oscar through every wave, every tremble. “Good, baby,” he whispered, voice barely audible over Oscar’s soft, wrecked sounds. “My pretty omega, always so good.”

Oscar was still trembling when the last of it left him, breaths catching in his throat like he didn’t know how to stop coming down. Lando eased his hand to a slow stop but didn’t let go, kept holding him, palm wrapped soft and steady, grounding him through the aftershocks.

For a few moments, the world narrowed to just the rise and fall of their breathing. Sticky skin. Damp sheets. The warmth between them that pulsed with something tender and unsaid.

Then— A sound from downstairs. The front door opening.

They both went still, the silence between them snapping taut in an instant. Lando’s eyes flicked toward the bedroom door, mind racing. He hadn’t checked the time, hadn’t even thought to. But it had to be late enough now. Late enough for one, or both of the alphas to be home.

Oscar didn’t speak. Just instinctively pressed back against Lando’s chest, like he could disappear into him.

They were supposed to be out for a work dinner after the office hours. Lando remembered. But now, even that dinner must’ve been over.

Lando gently pulled his hand away from Oscar and started to sit up, whispering, “I’ll be right back.”

Oscar whimpered in protest, reaching out toward him like he could stop him with just the stretch of his fingers. His eyes were wide and glassy, a silent don’t go written all over his face.

But Lando still stood. Because as much as it tore at him to leave Oscar like this, the thought of someone walking in was worse.

Lando wiped his hand hastily on one of the towels by the bed, heart pounding in his throat. He didn’t bother with underwear, just tugged on the first pair of shorts he could find, grabbed from where they lay crumpled on the floor. Then he slipped out, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him with a soft click.

He turned, and nearly collided with Max at the top of the stairs.

Max’s pupils were blown wide, jaw tense, the buttons on his white shirt straining slightly over the rise and fall of his chest. He looked like he’d just sprinted up the stairs, and maybe he had. The air was thick with Oscar’s scent, sweet and heady and impossible to ignore. If Lando could smell it out here, then Max had probably caught it from downstairs.

Before Max could get a word out, Lando stepped forward and grabbed his wrist. “Come with me,” he said quickly, voice low and urgent. He led him to the nearest room, Charles’s, and shut the door behind them.

“Lando,” Max’s voice was rough around the edges, confused but already laced with instinct. His eyes scanned Lando, lingering on the bare chest, the flushed skin, the scent still clinging to him like static. “What the fuck is going on?”

Lando took a breath, steadying himself. His hands came up to rest on Max’s arms. “Oscar’s in heat,” he said quietly. Straight to the point. No time to sugarcoat.

And just like that, the tension in the room shifted, thickening and tightening, heavy with something neither of them said aloud.

Max just stared at Lando at first. Eyes dark, jaw clenched, chest still rising fast. Then, after a pause that felt heavier than it should’ve, he nodded slowly. “Okay,” he murmured, voice low and tight with restraint. “What can I do? Tell me how I can help.”

Lando gave him a small, tired smile, one corner of his mouth lifting despite everything. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “He didn’t even want me to touch him at first. He wouldn’t let me bring a knotting toy. I have no idea how he’ll react to you.”

Max inhaled sharply through his nose and nodded again, slower this time. His hand came up, grasping Lando’s, grounding himself. With the other, he rubbed a hand over his face like he was trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will.

And Lando got it. Even in his omega calm, Lando felt wrecked. He could only imagine what it was doing to Max.

Then Max’s voice dropped lower, rougher. A confession dragged out of him without resistance. “He smells so fucking good.”

Lando looked up at him, eyes tired but steady. He squeezed Max’s hand gently and nodded. “I know,” he murmured. “Believe me, I know.”

"Just tell him then," Max said, stepping back, loosening his grip on Lando’s hand like it took effort. “Tell him I’m here. That I’d like to see him. I’ll wait by the door.”

Lando gave a small nod, then turned and slipped out without another word. He padded softly down the hall, then eased Oscar’s door open, just enough that Max would hear anything that mattered. Just enough for scent and sound to pass.

Oscar stirred the second Lando stepped back into the room. His head lifted from where he’d curled up tight, a soft, aching whimper escaping his throat. It was the kind of sound that went straight to Lando’s chest and squeezed. Like Oscar had been abandoned in those few minutes alone.

Lando moved fast, crawling up the bed and gathering him into his arms. Oscar clung to him immediately, arms looped around his neck, fingers tightening like Lando might disappear again. Lando held him close, kissed the side of his face.

But then Oscar froze. Went rigid in his embrace. His gaze had slipped past Lando’s shoulder, toward the doorway.

Lando’s voice dropped low and warm against the shell of his ear. “It’s okay, baby,” he murmured. “It’s just Max. You know Max, right?”

Oscar clung tighter, his fingers curling into Lando’s bare back as he buried his face in the curve of Lando’s neck. His breath was shaky, uneven. “Max,” he whispered, like the name alone held weight in his mouth.

“Yes, Max, baby,” Lando murmured softly, lips brushing against Oscar’s temple. “Just Max.”

But Oscar trembled harder. His panic prickled under his skin, surfacing in the way he dug himself closer, like he could disappear into Lando. “Alpha,” he breathed, the word laced with fear more than want.

Lando’s hand slid up into his hair, gentle and grounding. “Shh,” he soothed, voice a calming hum against Oscar’s ear. “It’s okay, baby. It’s just Max, okay? Just Max. Don’t be scared.”

Oscar didn’t answer at first. He just trembled, whined low in his throat, but then the name came again, broken and soft this time. “Max…”

“Yeah, it’s just Max,” Lando said gently. “Max just wants to be near you, okay? That’s all.” He pressed a slow kiss to the curve of Oscar’s neck, right where his scent clung warm and sweet. Then he nuzzled there, breathing him in like he needed it just as much. “You smell so good, baby,” he whispered, almost to himself. “He’ll just come close. That’s it. He won’t touch you. Not unless you want him to.”

Oscar went quiet, too quiet. Then the tremble in his body turned sharp, and suddenly he was crying. Really crying. His shoulders shook with it, like something had cracked wide open. 

Lando pulled back just enough to see his face, and his heart twisted. Oscar’s head had fallen back onto the pillow, and his hands had slipped from around Lando’s neck to his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Oscar sobbed, voice raw and tight. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Lando’s brows pulled together in confusion. He didn’t understand. He thought maybe Oscar was still scared, maybe Max’s scent had overwhelmed him. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Lando murmured, brushing gentle fingers across Oscar’s cheeks to wipe away his tears. “If you don’t want him here, he won’t come near. I promise.” He leaned in again, trying to soothe him with touch, with voice, with presence. “Don’t cry, baby. It’s okay.”

Oscar shook his head, a desperate, tiny movement. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, and then the tears came harder, racking and breathless sobs that shook his whole frame like he was trying to hold himself together but failing.

Lando felt his own eyes burn. The helpless kind of burn. He wrapped his arms tighter around Oscar, voice cracking as he asked, “Why are you sorry, baby?”

Oscar gasped, trying to speak through the hiccups that punched through his throat. “My scent,” he choked out. “I didn’t mean to—” The rest of the sentence dissolved into another wave of sobs. “I didn’t mean to, please. I’m sorry,” he begged.

Lando’s heart shattered clean in two. He leaned in, kissed Oscar’s temple, and held him like he could shield him. "Baby," he said, his voice soft and aching as he cupped Oscar’s face, confused and helpless. "It’s okay. You’re okay, I promise."

Oscar shook his head again, more desperately this time. "I’m not— I’m sorry," he choked out, a sharp, pain-laced whine tearing from his throat. "I’m not— I’m not a whore, please. I didn’t mean to—" His hands flew up to cover both sides of his neck like he could somehow hide his scent, hide himself, and he kept crying, broken and panicked. "I didn’t mean to—"

As tears finally slipped down Lando’s cheeks, he leaned in closer, voice cracking. "Baby, please…" he begged too, not knowing how else to reach him.

"I’m sorry," Oscar whispered again, small and shattered, like those were the only words he had left.

Lando lay down beside him, pulling Oscar gently into his arms. Oscar collapsed against him, clinging tightly, his face buried in the crook of Lando’s neck as his tears kept falling. "Shh, it’s okay," Lando whispered, pressing soft kisses into his hair, one hand soothing slow circles down his back. "You’re none of that. You’re our omega, okay? Our pretty, perfect omega. You’re safe."

Oscar kept crying, shaking sobs muffled against Lando’s neck. Every breath he took sounded like it hurt. And Lando held him through all of it, one hand curled protectively around Oscar’s back, the other stroking through his hair with steady, tender passes.

When Lando looked up, Max was still standing in the doorway. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red. He wasn’t crying but he was close. His chest rose and fell too fast, like holding himself together took effort.

Lando didn’t bother hiding his own tears. He let them fall. Because Oscar was breaking in his arms. Because the sound of him crying like that, so small and so wrecked, cracked something wide open in Lando’s chest. And how could Lando not fall apart with him?

Lando kept whispering to him soft things, soothing things. Words that didn’t have to mean much, not right now. Just a rhythm, a promise. “I’ve got you,” he murmured against Oscar’s ear. “You’re safe. I’m right here, baby.”

He felt it when Oscar’s sobs began to slow. When the shaking in his limbs faded into exhaustion. When the cries turned into small, hitched breaths. And then finally, silence.

Oscar had cried himself to sleep, right there in Lando’s arms.

Across the room, Max hadn’t moved. Not until he was sure. Then, with a quiet breath, he stepped back and gently pulled the door closed behind him. No words, no sound. Just quiet.

Lando didn’t move. He just held Oscar closer, pressing a kiss to his hairline, his hand still tracing soft circles along his spine.

He stayed like that, even as the room grew still. Even as his own tears dried on his cheeks. Because Oscar finally felt safe enough to fall asleep. And that was all that mattered.

Chapter 2

Charles slipped through the front door just before 4 a.m., the weight of the silence inside hitting him like a punch to the chest. It wasn’t just quiet. It was the kind of stillness that felt wrong, heavy with the residue of something cracked wide open. He hadn’t even made it to the bedroom yet, but he already knew. Max’s call had told him enough. His words come choked and broken, thick with guilt and something dangerously close to panic. Charles hadn’t needed more.

He had dropped everything the moment he hung up. Canceled Monaco plans, booked the first flight back, and made it home in a blur of worry. His chest had stayed tight the entire way, a steady thrum of panic pulsing just beneath his ribs. And now, finally, he was here, heart still racing and skin humming with unease.

After exchanging a few words with Carlos, who looked like he hadn't even tried to sleep and tense in the hallway, Charles went to the bathroom first. Stripped off the stale scent of airports and anxiety. The shower was quick, mechanical, but necessary. He towel-dried his hair, threw on something soft and scentless, and padded barefoot down the hall. Then he opened Lando’s bedroom door and stepped inside. When his gaze landed on the bed, everything inside him pulled taut.

Oscar was curled into Lando like letting go might steal the air from his lungs. And Lando was wrapped around him as if his only purpose in the world was to keep Oscar from falling apart. Their foreheads were nearly touching. Lando’s hand was splayed across Oscar’s back, protective even in sleep, like he hadn’t stopped holding on all night.

Charles dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, his eyes catching on Lando’s face. Even unconscious, he looked wrecked. His lips were parted. His brows were faintly drawn. There was something desperate in the way he held Oscar.

For a long moment, Charles just knelt there, letting the scent of the room settle around him. It was unmistakable. Heavy, sweet, and sharp at the edges. The scent of heat, thick and clinging. 

He had planned to send Carlos in first. Get Lando out quietly, give Oscar space, let them both reset. But Max’s voice still echoed in his head, low and shaken as he recounted the way Oscar had flinched at even his presence outside the door. How his scent had twisted into something close to fear. How he had cried himself to sleep, trembling in Lando’s arms. But that plan wouldn’t work. Not with Oscar still fractured. And not with Lando clinging so tightly.

Charles reached out and gently brushed his fingers over Lando’s cheek, trying to wake him without startling him. “Lando,” he whispered. “Wake up.”

Lando stirred with a soft, sleepy sound, something like a whimper caught in his throat. He turned toward Charles slightly, still holding Oscar tightly. When his eyes finally blinked open and met Charles’s, confusion flickered across his face. “Charles?” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

But Oscar clearly didn’t like that. As soon as Lando shifted even a fraction, Oscar whimpered in protest. He buried his face into the crook of Lando’s neck, a soft, aching sound slipping from his lips.

Charles ran his fingers through Lando’s hair, brushing it back with quiet affection. “Carlos is waiting for you,” he murmured. “You should get up.”

Lando’s whole body tensed. His brows pulled together, and his hand flexed against Oscar’s back. “What?” he mumbled, voice small and almost dazed. Then, softer, more broken: “No…”

“I’ll take care of him, okay?” Charles said, his voice warm and calm. “Go let Carlos take care of you for a bit. Then you can come back, I promise.”

Lando didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just held on tighter. So Charles leaned in, slow and close, and pressed a kiss to Lando’s cheek. “Just for a little while, chéri. Not for long,” he whispered. “Don’t you trust me?” 

Lando’s lips pushed into a pout, barely there but unmistakable. His eyes met Charles’s with the soft kind of defiance only exhaustion could breed. He didn’t say a word but he didn’t have to. Charles had known him too long, too well. He could read that face even in the dim light. And more than that, he could smell it.

Beneath the sweetness of Oscar’s heat and the heavy warmth of the nest, there was something else too. Slick, yes, but not Oscar’s alone. And the underlying edge of arousal, sharp and unmistakably Lando’s. 

Charles couldn’t see but he was sure that Lando was hard beneath his briefs. Of course he was. Wrapped around a heat-drunk omega all night, steeped in his scent. And if he stayed here much longer, Lando’s own cycle might trigger, slipping into heat earlier than expected.

He needed rest. Needed distance. Needed time to let his body cool down and reset before instinct tangled everything up too tightly.

Charles reached out again, brushed his knuckles softly along Lando’s jaw. “You’ve done enough,” he whispered. “You took care of our omega so well, baby. But let me take it from here, okay? You can come back again later, I promise.”

He leaned back and reached for Lando’s arm, then slid his hand slowly up to rest on his shoulder, guiding him to sit up. Lando didn’t fight this time, his body slightly trembling.

Oscar stirred behind them, a small noise catching in his throat, soft and searching. One arm slipped forward in his sleep, reaching toward where Lando had just been. His hand clutched empty air. A quiet, aching sound followed. And Lando faltered, leaning back toward the bed like he might curl up again. 

But Charles moved faster. He caught him mid-motion, arms curling around him with quiet certainty, and pulled him up before he could fall back in. Held him close. Anchored him to his chest. Lando’s forehead pressed against Charles’s collarbone like he couldn’t hold his own head up anymore.

They moved together slowly, one body guiding the other. Lando melted into the hold, his limbs heavy, bare feet dragging softly against the floor. When they reached the door, Charles opened it without letting go, holding Lando against him.

Carlos was already there. Without a word, he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Lando, and lifted him. Lando didn’t resist. He just tucked his face into Carlos’s neck, curling in.

Charles watched just long enough to see Lando’s shoulders drop. Then he turned back toward the room. The door clicked shut behind him. And the moment it did, Charles felt the change. Oscar had shifted. Not fully awake, but not fully asleep either. The space where Lando had been was empty now, cold in a way that wasn’t physical. His head turned, brows drawn, a whimper slipping out. One arm still reached out, fingers curling. Charles didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in a few soft steps, and moved toward him.

Charles lay down slowly, easing himself into the space Lando had just been, the warmth still lingering in the sheets. Oscar’s eyes fluttered open the moment the mattress shifted. Bleary, glazed with sleep, they found Charles. He didn’t say anything. He just reached out, and wrapped his arms around Charles. Then, quietly, almost desperately, he buried his face in the curve of Charles’s neck.

Charles exhaled slowly and let himself fall into the moment. He wrapped his arms around Oscar, one hand cradling the back of his head, fingers sliding gently into his hair. The other moved lower, settling between his shoulder blades before trailing down his spine in slow, steady strokes. Soothing. Grounding. 

Oscar’s breathing slowed, grew deeper, like the weight pressing down on him was finally starting to ease. But after a moment, he began nuzzling into Charles’s neck. Not urgent, not rushed, just soft, deliberate presses of his nose against skin, seeking comfort.

Charles tilted his head to the side, exposing the line of his throat without hesitation. An offering, quiet and unspoken. His hand slid to the back of Oscar’s neck, fingers pressing there in a gentle squeeze, encouraging him.

Oscar sighed against his skin, breath warm and shaky. One hand slid down to Charles’s waist, fingers clutching at the soft fabric of his shirt. His grip tightened as he kept scenting, slow and purposeful. “Where did Lando go…” he mumbled, the words muffled, whiny, heavy with sleep and something more tender underneath.

Charles didn’t answer right away. He just kept stroking Oscar’s back in those same slow, grounding lines, letting his touch speak first — you’re safe, you’re held, you’re not alone. Then, softly, “He’s with Carlos, but he’ll come back.”

Oscar let out a breath that was almost a pout. His fingers curled tighter at Charles’s waist, his face pressing in like he might disappear into him completely.

“He didn’t leave you. He’ll come back, I promise,” Charles added gently. And still, he kept holding him, until Oscar stopped trembling. Until that soft ache behind the question started to settle again.

Charles closed his eyes, letting the moment seep into his bones. Letting the scent of heat and longing wrap around them both. He didn’t rush it. Didn’t try to soothe it away. Just held Oscar there, steady and open, while those soft, desperate brushes of his nose painted something sacred into his skin.

When Oscar finally stilled, his body loose and breath warm against Charles’s throat, Charles held him a little tighter. Oscar drifted off soon after, still curled against Charles. Charles let his own eyes fall closed, breathing in the quiet sweetness of Oscar’s scent, less sharp now and softened by calm. And with one last, slow exhale, Charles gave in too, letting himself sink into the warmth, the fragile peace of the moment. Letting sleep take him.

---

Only a few hours of sleep had passed when restless whines stirred Charles awake. Oscar was shifting against him, small sounds escaping his throat, fragile and disoriented, uncomfortable in a way that made Charles immediately alert.

It took coaxing. Gentle words murmured against overheated skin. A slow hand brushing hair back from Oscar’s damp forehead. He didn’t force. Didn’t rush. Just waited, offered, soothed. But eventually, Oscar let him help. Let Charles guide him out of bed and into the bathroom, even if his steps were clumsy and his body trembled with every movement.

Charles was careful as he filled the tub with warm water and helped Oscar sink into it, his body folding in on itself as if he wanted to disappear beneath the surface. Charles didn’t let him. He knelt beside the tub and took his time, washing the sleep and sweat and everything else from Oscar’s skin like it was the most important task in the world.

He worked in silence, only the soft sounds of water and breath between them. He lathered Oscar’s hair, fingers gentle and slow. Rinsed the salt from his temples. Washed his chest, his arms, his back. And when he reached lower, where slick had dried along his thighs, where traces of release had crusted between his legs, Oscar flinched.

A flush crept up younger omega’s cheeks, and he drew his knees to his chest, folding in on himself as if the water could hide him. His legs clamped shut, arms wrapping loosely around them, turning his body into something small.

Charles’s hands stilled. 

This wasn’t the first time he had seen Oscar like this, naked and flushed. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched him either. Even if Oscar usually preferred Lando or Max in bed, Charles had spent a significant amount of time with him too.

But this was different. This wasn’t just heat. It was vulnerability carved raw. There was something glass-fragile behind Oscar’s eyes, something too quiet, too lost. Charles didn’t know what had clawed through his head during the worst of it. Didn’t know what images stuck. What touches felt safe. Which ones didn’t.

So he paused. Let the steam bead on his arms. Let the silence stretch. Then his hand drifted up, not to pull or pry, just to gently tuck a wet curl behind Oscar’s ear. His voice, when it came, was soft enough to fold into the warmth between them. “Want me to leave, baby?” he asked gently. No weight behind it. No ache. Just a hand held open, quietly, lovingly. He’d leave if Oscar needed space. He’d stay if Oscar asked him to.

Oscar’s eyes flicked up to meet his, glistening beneath the bathroom light, wide and uncertain, still carrying the weight of sleep and something softer, more fragile. They shimmered like they always did when he didn’t know how to ask for what he needed. Like he was afraid needing anything at all might be too much.

But he didn’t look away. He just shook his head. Barely. A whisper of movement. No, he didn’t want Charles to leave.

Charles felt something tighten and melt all at once in his chest. He breathed out slowly, offering his gentlest smile. The kind that said I’m not going anywhere. The kind that said you don’t have to explain.

Oscar blinked, like he was trying to hold that look in his hands. Then, after a beat, his voice came, soft and shy and heartbreakingly earnest. “Would you… get in too?” His gaze dipped toward the water, a flicker of vulnerability in the way his arms curled around his knees, like the question cost him something to say out loud. 

Charles’s heart pulled tight in his chest. But his smile didn’t waver. He reached for the hem of his shirt, already moving. He peeled off his clothes with quiet purpose, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound filling the space between them. When he finally stepped into the tub, the water lapped gently at his skin.

He eased in behind Oscar, movements slow and deliberate, like he didn’t want to spook the moment. Then his arms came around him. One looping firm and protective around his waist, the other guiding him gently back until Oscar was nestled fully against his chest.

Oscar melted into him like he’d been waiting for this all along. He folded into Charles, head tipping back to rest beneath his chin. One hand reached blindly for Charles’s wrist, found it, and held on tight. The other slid down, trailing over the skin of Charles’s thigh, fingers curling around the muscle there with quiet desperation.

Charles leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to the curve of Oscar’s neck. “Spread your legs for me a little, chéri,” he murmured, voice low, coaxing, full of warmth rather than demand.

Oscar shifted wordlessly, legs parting with a quiet sigh. Charles’s hands came to rest on his inner thighs, thumbs brushing the tender skin there. His touch was careful. He started with soft strokes, palms gliding over the length of Oscar’s thighs to soothe rather than stir. The remnants of slick had been rinsed away, but Charles’s hands lingered in the spaces where tension still clung. 

Charles adjusted his grip slightly, kneading with slow, gentle pressure. Not deep enough to hurt, just enough to release. He remembered how his own body ached in heat, and Oscar wasn’t any different. Especially now, after everything.

His thumbs worked in slow circles near the tops of Oscar’s thighs, coaxing the tightness out. Oscar sighed again, this time deeper, his head tipping back to rest more fully against Charles’s shoulder. And Charles kept going, fingers moving with quiet care.

“Better?” Charles’s voice was barely above a whisper, his thumbs still tracing slow, grounding circles into the tight muscles of Oscar’s thighs. Oscar let out a soft sound in response, something between a sigh and a hum, content and trusting. 

A small smile tugged at Charles’s lips as he leaned in, pressing them gently to the curve of Oscar’s neck. He kissed the scent gland with reverent tenderness, over and over, each one softer than the last. Then he paused there, inhaling deeply, breathing him in. And god, Max had been right. Oscar did smell beautiful. Not just good. Beautiful. 

“Anywhere else hurting, baby?” Charles asked softly, voice still a warm murmur against damp skin. He asked because he could feel the way Oscar’s hard cock brushed lightly against his wrist and fingers, not intentionally, but obviously there. 

Even if Charles hadn’t felt it, he would’ve known. Because Oscar’s scent had shifted, the warmth of heat laced now with something sweeter, deeper. The quiet, unmistakable curl of arousal. It unfolded slowly in the steam, twining through the air like smoke. 

Oscar didn’t answer right away. His breath stuttered in his chest, his fingers tightening just slightly around Charles’s thigh, and for a second, he looked like he might curl in on himself again. But he didn’t. He stayed where he was, slightly trembling.

Charles didn’t push. He just adjusted his grip gently, palms sliding back down Oscar’s thighs with deliberate calm, then returning to rest lightly over his hips. He pressed another kiss to the side of Oscar’s neck. Then another. And another. Until Oscar’s body started to relax again beneath his mouth, softening into the embrace instead of retreating from it.

Oscar didn’t answer Charles’s question. Not out loud. But the way he let his knees fall open, trembling but willing, and the way his hand left Charles’s thigh only to clutch at his arm instead, pulling him closer —that was answer enough.

Charles let his hand drift, slow and deliberate, until his fingers wrapped gently around Oscar’s cock. And the moment he touched him, Oscar gasped. Soft and startled, the sound caught on his lips like it had slipped out before he could stop it. His hips gave a small twitch in the water, instinctive and helpless. Charles didn’t rush. He didn’t tighten his grip. He just held him there, warm and steady.

Then he started to move. A slow, languid stroke, barely more than a glide. The water made everything easier, smoother. Oscar whimpered. The sound spilled from his lips before he could stop it, raw and high and too honest. He bit his lip, like he could hide it, like he could lock it down. But the next stroke undid him. And the one after that. Sweet, breathy noises began to tumble out of him, soft and desperate, rising with every pass of Charles’s hand.

It didn’t take long. Oscar’s whole body tensed, thighs trembling beneath Charles’s hands, breath catching on every exhale like his chest couldn’t hold it all in. His fingers clutched tighter at Charles’s thigh, nails digging in just a little. His head fell back against Charles’s shoulder, lips parted, jaw slack with the effort of holding himself together.

Charles kept stroking him. Slow, rhythmic, patient, like he was drawing the climax out of him gently, lovingly, with no rush to the finish.

And then Oscar broke. A loud, high-pitched whine tore from his throat, echoing against the bathroom tiles as he came. His body arched in the water, hips stuttering helplessly, and Charles held him through it. His arm around Oscar’s waist anchoring him, his other hand still moving in soft, grounding strokes even as slick release spilled over his fingers.

Oscar whimpered as the aftershocks hit, little breathless noises escaping his lips, too overwhelmed to stop them. His body twitched once, then twice, then collapsed fully against Charles’s chest, boneless and spent, shaking with the effort of having let go.

Charles pressed his lips to Oscar’s temple, a tender murmur brushing against his damp skin. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered, soft like praise. 

But his hand didn’t stop. Because Oscar hadn’t softened. He was still hard, pulsing in Charles’s grip, his body humming with tension just beneath the surface. There was a tremble in his thighs, a tightness in his belly. Oscar was still on edge, his body humming with the restless energy of heat not yet fully bloomed. 

Charles didn’t say anything. He just kept his strokes slow, deliberate, his hand slick from the water and the remnants of release. He could feel the way Oscar’s cock twitched at every pass. He didn’t expect him to come down easily. Not today. Maybe not for a while.

Because Charles knew what this was. Knew the signs of a body crawling its way out of pre-heat, inch by aching inch. He knew they were only at the beginning, the part where everything felt too much and not enough at once. Where pleasure blurred into pressure, and every touch left you wanting more even as it overwhelmed you.

When Oscar whined loudly and wrapped his own hand around his thigh, the sound tore out of him like something too big for his chest. Charles kept stroking him with the same slow, steady rhythm. His other hand moved lower. With soft precision, his fingers traced down Oscar’s thigh, pausing just briefly near the crease. Then his thumb found the sensitive skin just beneath, brushing along the perineum with a slow, testing touch. He stroked there carefully, not rushing.

Oscar gasped, his body jerking slightly, hips giving a helpless twitch and Charles circled the spot with his thumb in soft, deliberate motions, feeling the way Oscar’s body responded to every touch.

“We’re not done baby, are we?” Charles murmured. 

Oscar didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The way he shifted just slightly in Charles’s lap, the way his legs fell open wider under the water, it said everything.

Charles massaged the soft, sensitive spot with care. At first, his touch was featherlight, more of a caress than pressure. Just enough to soothe, to warm the nerves beneath his thumb. But as the pace of his strokes on Oscar’s cock began to quicken, so did the rhythm of his other hand, stimulating his prostate from the outside. His fingers pressed a little firmer against the tender skin, movements growing more purposeful, more insistent.

Oscar’s moans climbed with him. Each sound spilled louder, more desperate, until it echoed against the bathroom walls. His hand clutched at Charles’s wrist, nails biting into his skin.

Charles leaned in, voice low, his breath brushing hot against Oscar’s ear. “Feels good?”

Before Oscar could even try to answer, Charles’s mouth moved lower, lips finding the scent gland at the crook of his neck. He brushed his teeth gently across the swollen skin. Oscar cried out. Not just a moan. A full-bodied sound, helpless and high and unguarded, torn straight from his throat like it hurt to hold in.

It didn’t take long before Oscar tensed up again, every muscle pulled tight like a wire stretched to the edge of breaking. His breath hitched, sharp and uneven, and then he came with a loud, wrecked moan, almost a cry, raw and high and shaking.

Even if the water blurred everything, Charles was sure of it. Slick was pouring from the younger omega, thick and warm and messy, no longer subtle but spilling from his body like a tide breaking loose. The sweetest scent was everywhere.

Charles held him, stroked him through it, grounding each tremble with steady hands and softer murmurs. And when Oscar finally began to settle, his body slackening, breath evening out, even though he was still half-hard, Charles pressed one last kiss to his temple and gently reached for the edge of the tub.

They moved slowly, quietly. No rush, no words. Just the soft sound of water dripping from their bodies, the warmth of towels wrapped around skin flushed and oversensitive. Charles helped Oscar dry off, wrapped him up in one of the softer towels, then helped him get dressed.

When they stepped out of the bathroom, the scent hit them first. Lando was in the room, his presence unmistakable, warm, familiar, threaded with the subtle, anxious notes. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was there, stitched into the air like the ghost. 

He had changed the sheets. Fresh ones were tucked neatly around the mattress, the nest re-fluffed and re-layered with extra care. And when Charles’s gaze swept over it, he saw the little things. The quiet, intimate touches only Lando would think to include. The blue blanket Oscar always curled up with on the couch. Folded and placed right near the center. And beside it, tucked near the pillows, Charles’s plush bear, the one that had lived on his bed for years, worn soft from time and habit.

Charles stared for a moment, and something in his chest ached sweetly. Lando hadn’t made this nest just for himself or just for Oscar. He’d made it for all three of them.

“What a pretty nest,” Charles murmured, smiling, with that quiet affection tucked into his voice. He guided Oscar toward the bed, steadying him when his knees wobbled, letting him lean as much as he needed.

Lando glanced up from where he was adjusting one of the pillows, his fingers still smoothing the fabric like it might matter. At Charles’s praise, his cheeks flushed, just faintly, but unmistakably. That soft pink bloom Charles loved catching on him.

Charles guided Oscar to the bed, steady and sure, and Oscar followed without resistance. The moment he reached the nest, he collapsed into it with a quiet, shuddering sigh. He curled in on himself, limbs folding soft into the blankets, his skin still damp and flushed. He nuzzled into the center like he was sinking into something sacred. The nest seemed to reach up around him, all that warmth, all that softness. And he melted. Fully, visibly. Like tension was draining from him in waves.

He rolled onto his side, dragging one of the overstuffed pillows toward him with a slow, needy sound. His cheek pressed into the fabric, rubbing lazily against it as a soft, aching murmur slipped from his lips. “Lando…” Just his name. Whined. Barely formed. But heavy with everything.

Lando didn’t even answer. Didn’t need to. He was already there, moving fast and careful. He crawled into the nest behind Oscar, arms slipping around him in one fluid motion, wrapping him up tight. His hands flattened against Oscar’s stomach and chest, anchoring him with touch. His mouth found the curve of Oscar’s neck without hesitation. And he buried himself there. His nose pressed to the skin just below the scent gland, breathing him in deep, nuzzling.

Oscar let out a sound at that. Not quite a moan, but close. His body melted back into Lando’s, hips pushing gently into the curve of him. His fingers curled around the edge of the pillow as Lando’s breath ghosted over the back of his neck.

Charles’s eyes drifted toward the bedside table, where a big plate sat. Mini sandwiches, each one wrapped, stacked with quiet intent. Max. The kind of detail only Max would bother with, careful and tender. Always thoughtful, always preparing. Charles smiled, a soft curl of his lips. But now, the sandwiches were long ignored.

The two younger omegas were tangled in the nest, wrapped around each other like gravity had shifted and pulled them inward. The rest of the world —hunger, time, anything beyond this bed— didn’t exist anymore.

Charles stood at the edge for a beat longer, adjusting one of the pillows without thinking, smoothing the fabric more out of habit than necessity. But when he glanced up, meeting Oscar’s gaze. He was staring at Charles. Brows drawn together, lips pressed in a pout that bordered on annoyed. No, indignant. His eyes held a quiet demand, pointed and utterly impossible to ignore.

Charles tilted his head, confused for half a second, until Oscar reached out expectantly. Like Charles had committed a personal offense by still being outside the nest.

Realization hit Charles all at once, and warmth bloomed in his chest. Of course. Oscar wasn’t angry. He was waiting. And very clearly displeased with the delay.

Charles’s smile deepened, fond and crooked. He set the pillow aside and moved slowly, sinking into the nest. Oscar’s hand found him the moment he was close enough. He pulled him in, curled toward him, and pressed his face to the side of Charles’s neck with a soft, breathy sigh. His nose nuzzled into the skin just beneath Charles’s jaw, rubbing there, scenting him.

Charles let out a low, content hum and wrapped an arm around him, pulling Oscar flush against his chest. His other hand slid naturally across Lando’s waist until all three of them were knotted together in warmth and skin and scent.

They stayed tangled together in the nest, breath syncing slow, bodies pressed tight. The scenting had turned instinctive, deeper than comfort now. Lando’s nose was tucked into the curve of Oscar’s neck, breathing him in like it was the only thing tethering him to himself, while Charles cradled him from the front, lips brushing Oscar’s temple every so often in quiet reverence.

Oscar melted between them, boneless and warm, hands curled in soft fabric, sighing with each drag of breath against his skin.

But then it changed. A sound broke loose from his throat, hoarse and strained, a whimper too raw to mistake. It wasn’t a moan. It was pain, laced with something deep and sharp, the kind of sound that carved right through the quiet.

Lando’s hand, already resting on Oscar’s belly, shifted lower. His touch gentled instantly, fingers tracing soft, deliberate strokes just above the dip of his pelvis. His palm splayed wide, grounding. “Where does it hurt?” he asked, voice low and careful, almost a murmur. But his tone held weight, concern wrapped in heat.

Oscar didn’t answer. But his body did. His hand clutched at Charles’s waist, fingers tightening until nails dragged against bare skin. Sharp enough to mark. Sharp enough to make Charles hiss quietly through his teeth, but he didn’t pull away. He only held him closer, anchoring him through the tension.

Lando’s nose dragged slowly along the line of Oscar’s neck, his breath hot against flushed skin, lips brushing just under his scent gland. “Where, baby?” he whispered again, softer this time. Almost coaxing. Almost begging. 

Oscar’s breath hitched. He didn’t speak, couldn’t. But the tremble in his body said enough.

“Come on,” Lando murmured, nuzzling into that sensitive space behind Oscar’s ear. “Tell me where it hurts.”

Oscar slowly tilted his head back, pulling himself out from where he’d been hiding in the hollow of Charles’s neck. His breath was shaky, lips parted, face flushed with the kind of heat that came from fighting too long against what his body demanded.

He slightly turned toward Lando, eyes glassy and pleading. Lando cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing tenderly along his jaw before leaning down to kiss his cheek.

And then Oscar spoke. “Inside,” he whispered, voice rough and frayed, like the words were tearing their way out of his throat. “Please… inside. Now.”

The syllables came slow, broken, like each one was dragged from deep inside him. His lips barely moved, but the plea in his voice was unmistakable. Raw. Wrecked. Desperate.

But he didn’t need to say more. Because the two older omegas understood him instantly. Not just the words, but everything behind them.

Oscar was giving in. No more fighting the burn between his thighs. No more curling up and hoping it would pass. No more gentle touches that tried to soothe. He needed more now. Needed to be filled, stretched. He was surrendering to the ache. The heat. The maddening, unbearable emptiness inside him.

Charles swallowed hard, the sound thick in his throat. His lips parted like he might say something, but no words came. He stayed quiet, still, eyes locked on the two omegas in front of him.

Lando didn’t stop nuzzling. His mouth dragged along Oscar’s flushed cheek, slow and purposeful. His voice dropped lower, soft and sinfully sweet. “Want me to fuck your pretty little hole, baby?” The words slipped out like silk, filthy and tender all at once.

Oscar’s response was immediate. A high-pitched, broken whine, so eager it was almost humiliating. His hips jerked forward without meaning to, seeking, begging. His fingers clutched at Charles’s skin like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Lando smirked, just the slightest curl of his mouth. “Is that what you want?” he murmured, his hand sliding lower, trailing down Oscar’s chest. His fingers brushed across one nipple under his t-shirt, then the other. “Want me to fuck you full, hm?”

Oscar gasped, loud and desperate. And his whole body shuddered. His eyes squeezed shut, face contorting like he was already overwhelmed just from the suggestion of it. His thighs tensed, hips twitching.

Charles watched him come apart. Watched the way Oscar's breath stuttered, the way his face flushed deeper, the way his thighs pressed together like it could ease something that only got worse with every second. He watched the fantasy in Oscar’s mind play out across his expression, every filthy word Lando whispered painting vivid pictures behind his eyes.

“Yes, please,” Oscar whined, begging, voice wrecked, pathetic and beautiful. “Please...”

“Okay, baby,” Lando whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of Oscar’s ear. His hand skimmed slowly down Oscar’s side, fingertips dragging over fabric. “Let’s get you out of your clothes.”

As Lando began to tug Oscar’s shirt upward, Oscar let out an impatient and frustrated whine. He shoved at his underwear with shaky hands, pushing it halfway down his thighs, just enough to bare himself. His hips rocked back, pressing his ass into Lando’s lap with a needy little grind that made the message painfully clear, offering himself without hesitation, without patience.

“Now. Please,” Oscar begged, the words strained and wrecked, teetering on the edge of desperation.

Charles and Lando both understood. Oscar didn’t want them fumbling with his clothes, didn’t want the slow peeling away of fabric, the gentleness that usually came with it. He didn’t want to be undressed. He wanted to be fucked. Like, right now.

So Lando mirrored him, pushing his own underwear down just enough, cock springing free and already slick with pre-cum at the tip. His hand wrapped around it once, a quick stroke to center himself, and then he leaned in, lips brushing the curve of Oscar’s neck before he pressed a soft kiss there.

Oscar was already open, already dripping. His hole dripping slick, flushed and twitching, pliant and ready. He didn’t need fingers. He didn’t need prep.

Lando lined himself up, and in one slow, devastatingly smooth stroke, he sank into him. All the way. There was no resistance. Just slick warmth, stretching around him, pulling him deeper.

Oscar’s body welcomed him, swallowed him whole like it had been waiting for this exact stretch. His back arched, a soft, broken moan spilling from his lips as he melted forward into the nest, finally, finally full.

Lando let out a guttural sound, deep and rough, dragging his teeth along Oscar’s shoulder as his hips pressed flush. His cock throbbed inside him, snug and perfect, and for a second, he couldn’t breathe.

Because he’d needed this too. Since yesterday. Since before that. Since Oscar had first looked at him with those heat-dazed eyes.

Lando didn’t move yet. He stayed buried deep, chest pressed to Oscar’s back, breath hot against his skin. Then he leaned in slowly, and nuzzled into Oscar’s cheek again with a softness that contradicted the burn between them. His nose brushed the edge of his jaw, lips just barely grazing flushed skin. “My omega,” he whispered, the words barely more than breath.

His hands slid under Oscar’s shirt, palms gliding up the warm plane of his torso. He mapped every inch of skin with a kind of reverent hunger — fingers tracing over ribs, the curve of his waist, the soft peaks of his nipples. Then he wrapped his arms around him fully, pulling him closer, tighter, until there was no space left between them.

Then he rolled his hips. Just barely. A slow grind that didn’t pull back or thrust forward. Just enough to shift his cock inside Oscar, enough to create a delicious, aching friction that dragged right along the most sensitive places. Just enough for Oscar to feel the weight of him and the stretch.

It wasn’t much. But it was more than enough.

Oscar whined, high and broken, a needy sound that burst out of him like he couldn’t stop it even if he tried. His body twitched in Lando’s arms, helpless against the pressure building inside him. Lando echoed him, his own moan catching in his throat, drawn out of him like a reflex. It wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t composed. It was pure reaction, body and breath and desire humming right beneath his skin.

The bedroom filled it. Two omegas, locked together, their soft, pretty noises tangled in the still air. The bedroom filled with it. Sweet, filthy harmony.

When Lando finally started to move, with slow thrusts rolling through his hips. Oscar gasped, the sound torn from his throat like it had claws. His body jolted forward slightly with every deep push. He let out a ragged gasp and reached blindly for Charles. His fingers curled into Charles’s shirt, tugging at the fabric with clumsy urgency. It wasn’t forceful, just insistent, with a quiet desperation.

Charles was already close, their legs tangled, their arms brushing. But Oscar wanted him closer. So with a quiet shift of his weight, Charles leaned in until his chest brushed Oscar’s, until their breaths mingled. Oscar tilted his face up, lips parted, pupils blown wide with heat, and reached again, this time for his mouth.

Charles met him there. Their lips crashed in a kiss that was anything but soft. It was hungry, urgent, wet. Oscar kissed him like he was starving, like Lando’s cock inside him wasn’t enough, like he needed to be filled at both ends. And Charles gave it to him, opening up, pulling him deeper, their tongues sliding slow, filthy, sweet.

All the while, Lando kept fucking into him from behind. Slow, deliberate thrusts that dragged deep and hit home, rocking Oscar forward again and again into Charles’s mouth. Each roll of Lando’s hips shoved another moan out of him.

And then Oscar broke. He tore his lips from Charles’s with a gasp, the sound raw and high and helpless. His chest was heaving, pupils blown wide, spit-slick lips parted and trembling. “Y-you too,” he whined, voice splintering. “Please… please, you too.” The words came out cracked and breathless, wrecked by Lando’s rhythm. He reached for Charles again, fingers clinging to fabric. “Please.”

Charles froze. For a moment, he just stared, breath caught in his throat. Oscar’s voice still rang in the air, cracked and breathless, that desperate little please.

Across from him, Lando’s thrusts had slowed to a near-stop, hips hovering in place, cock still buried deep inside Oscar’s slick heat. His chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths. His eyes found Charles’s and their eyes met over Oscar’s shoulder.

Charles didn’t move. He couldn’t. Not because he didn’t want to. God, he did. The sight of Oscar, stretched open, begging, slick and trembling between them, was enough to make his whole body burn.

But because Charles hadn’t fucked anyone in years. Not since Lando’s first heat with the pack. He had done it once. Only once. Years ago. And even that had been… different. 

Back then, Lando had been new to the pack. Raw and unsteady, caught in a heat that hit harder than anyone had expected. And when Lando had begged for him, cried for his cock, Charles hadn’t been able to say no. He was already helpless and wrecked from the scent of him. He had given in.

Even then, Max had been with them. Calm, steady, guiding Charles through it when his hands had shaken and he hadn’t known where to put them. Steadying Charles with a hand on his back, whispering instructions against his ear while Lando sobbed beneath them. Charles hadn’t known what he was doing. Hadn’t felt like he could even trust his body to do what was asked. But Max had helped. Had carried half the weight.

And now, all these years later, Max wasn’t here.

But it was happening again. Just like before. Just like when Lando had fallen apart with heat and begged for something Charles didn’t think he could give. But Lando had needed him. Had begged for him. And Charles hadn’t been able to turn away.

Now, Oscar was doing the same. He looked wrecked. Slicked and stretched, still stuffed full of Lando’s cock, lips kiss-bitten and trembling. And begging. Not with words anymore. With eyes. With the helpless twitch of his thighs. With every broken breath that shook in his chest.

And just like before, Charles gave in. He found himself pushing his briefs down, hands shaky, breath caught somewhere between panic and surrender. His cock was already rock hard. His whole body was hot, trembling.

Meanwhile Lando leaned forward, still buried deep inside Oscar, his hand smoothing along Oscar’s side as he bent toward his ear. “You need to help him, baby,” he whispered, his hand splayed wide over Oscar’s stomach, holding him steady as he fucked into him slowly. “You need to help your omega fuck you.”

Oscar let out a tiny, wrecked sound in response, a needy whine that vibrated against Lando’s chest. He nodded, fast and eager, his body already shifting, already reaching for Charles. And then he climbed on top of him.

It happened so naturally, so desperately, that Charles didn’t have time to think. One moment Oscar was pressed against Lando’s chest, the next he was straddling Charles’s hips, thighs slick and shaking, eyes heavy-lidded with want. Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and before he could even react, Lando followed. He moved behind Oscar with quiet, predatory grace, settling in close, his chest brushing Oscar’s back. Now they were both on top of Charles. Two slick, flushed, trembling omegas, one sandwiched between the other, pressing him down into the nest.

Charles was overwhelmed. Deliriously so.

The heat of it. The weight. The way Oscar’s thighs trembled around his hips, the way Lando’s presence loomed behind him. It was all too much. But it was perfect.

His hands found Oscar’s waist instinctively, fingers digging in. Their cocks brushed. Slick to slick, tip to tip. And both of them moaned at once. Sharp, sweet, involuntary. Oscar’s breath hitched. Charles’s head fell back with a gasp.

“Empty,” Oscar whined, voice trembling, aching with loss. Lando had slipped out of him, and his body felt the absence like pain.

Lando was right there, already moving, already reaching. He reached down, his hands sliding over Oscar’s waist, right over Charles’s. Big, warm palms curled around him, anchoring him. His thumbs stroked tender circles into the sweat-slick skin at the edge of his pelvis, grounding, soothing. “I know,” he murmured.

Charles felt it then, the brush of Lando’s hand against his cock. Fingers wrapping around the base, adjusting him, guiding him. His one hand on Oscar’s waist, the other wrapped around Charles, lining him up with Oscar’s desperate, dripping hole.

“Go on, baby,” Lando whispered against Oscar’s ear, kissing the back of his neck. “Take him.”

And Oscar did. He sank down. 

It was slow, torturously slow. His body trembled as the head of Charles’s cock pressed against him. His slick, already open hole swallowed Charles’s cock inch by aching inch.

Charles’s head dropped back, lips parting around a moan he didn’t even recognize as his own. Oscar’s body trembled above him, thighs twitching, breath caught between a gasp and a sob. Oscar moaned, high and sweet and wrecked. Lando hummed softly behind him, still holding him.

Oscar began to move, slow and uncertain at first, rising experimentally on his knees before sinking back down again. And even that slight motion had Charles gasping. His cock was fully seated inside Oscar, and the drag of slick, warm pressure around him made his hips stutter, a deep, wrecked moan tearing from his throat. Oscar let out a sound too, high and aching, like the stretch was already unraveling him from the inside out. 

Then Lando moved behind him, slow and deliberate, placing a steadying hand between Oscar’s shoulder blades. With gentle pressure, he pushed. Oscar followed the command instantly, folding forward, chest brushing against Charles’s as he laid down over him. His cheek found the crook of Charles’s neck, nose burrowing in instinctively. He began scenting without even thinking, rubbing his face against the gland just below Charles’s jaw. Charles wrapped his arms around him without hesitation, holding him close, grounding him, even as his own body trembled beneath the heat.

And then they both felt it. Oscar jolted. Charles stiffened. 

Lando’s finger had slid alongside Charles’s cock, pushing slowly into Oscar’s slicked, stretched hole, fitting into the tight space left between Charles and the edge of Oscar’s body. He entered easily, too easily, Oscar’s body practically sucking him in.

When Oscar let out a high, shivery moan, his arms tightening around Charles’s neck, Lando didn’t stop. A second finger joined the first, pressing in with a firm curl. He began to move them together, opening Oscar even more, fucking him open around Charles’s cock.

Oscar whimpered, voice breaking into something close to a sob. His fingers dug into Charles’s nape, his face buried in Charles’s neck as he let out another moan. Soft, wet, and completely wrecked. Like the stretch hurt in the best way.

“Fuck,” Charles breathed, overwhelmed by the squeeze, by the heat, by the way Oscar clung to him like he’d fall apart otherwise.

A moment later Lando slid a third finger inside, pushing it deep alongside the others, and Charles’s cock. The stretch now obscene, thick and overwhelming. Oscar gasped, his whole body twitching, thighs trembling against Charles’s sides.

Lando leaned in close, his voice a rough whisper against Oscar’s back. “You ready, baby?”

Oscar just pressed his mouth to Charles’s neck, lips parted and breath shuddering, and let out a sound. A high, desperate whimper, full of need and consent.

Lando withdrew his fingers slowly, slick and glistening, and shifted. Charles felt the heat of him, the way the mattress dipped, the quiet sounds of Lando aligning himself. And then he pushed in, slow and careful. The tip of his cock nudged against Oscar’s already filled hole, and with one deep, smooth thrust, Lando began to sink in beside Charles, stretching Oscar wide around both of them.

Oscar cried out, sharp and wrecked, his voice echoing in the room. Charles groaned beneath him, overwhelmed by the way it felt to be inside him, to feel Lando’s cock rubbing alongside his own with slick heat between them. And Lando’s own breath stuttered as he bottomed out, hips pressing flush, chest tight.

Neither Lando nor Charles had time to catch their breath. Oscar was already moving. Impatient, wrecked, and so desperately full, he began to roll his hips. Not hard, not fast, but enough. Just enough to create that unbearable friction, to make all three of them groan in unison. The sensation was blinding: tight heat, slick pressure, cocks pressed together inside him, rubbing in a rhythm that sent shivers down their spines.

All three of them moaned. Low, ragged, completely undone.

Charles’s fingers dug into Oscar’s hips, breath shuddering in his chest, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure crashed over him. Lando cursed behind them, his teeth gritted, hands flexing. Oscar didn’t stop. His body rocked in slow, grinding circles. Not frantic, but hungry. Wet heat. Velvet pressure. Everything at once.

Lando’s one hand flattened between Oscar’s shoulder blades and pressed down. Oscar folded with a whimper, collapsing onto Charles’s chest again, cheek pressed against his throat, thighs trembling.

And then Lando started to move. He pulled back, slow but deep, dragging his cock against Charles’s with obscene friction, then slammed back in, hard enough to make Oscar’s whole body jolt. Oscar cried out, voice high and shattered, his hands fisting into Charles’s shoulders as he clung to him like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Lando set the rhythm. Deep thrusts that pushed both cocks into Oscar at once, over and over, until the air was thick with slick, heat, and the sweet, desperate sounds of three omegas coming completely undone.

And Oscar took every inch of it, moaning into Charles’s skin, hips caught in that delicious stretch, stretched around both of them, trembling and open and ruined in the most perfect way.

Oscar was the first to come. It hit him like a wave breaking too fast. No warning, no buildup, just a sudden full-body jolt. His back arched, muscles locking tight, and then he shattered with a cry that sounded halfway between a sob and a moan. His hole clenched around both cocks, pulsing with every wave of release, slick gushing between his thighs as he trembled through it.

The squeeze ripped loud, wrecked sounds from both of the older omegas —a strangled curse from Lando, a drawn-out groan from deep in Charles’s chest. 

Charles gasped, fingers trailing up Oscar’s back, curling into the sweat-damp hair at the base of his neck. His voice broke as he choked out the warning, low and strained. “I’m close,” he breathed.

Oscar was still twitching, the aftershocks making his body shiver uncontrollably. Then, barely audible, in the smallest, most broken voice, he gasped out against Charles’s throat, “In me.”

Charles stilled. Not from hesitation, but from the weight of it. He could feel Oscar's lips moving against his skin, feel the way his chest hitched with every gasp. And then the wetness. Not sweat. Tears. Oscar was crying. Silent, warm tears slipping down his cheeks, soaking into the skin where their bodies pressed. 

“Please,” he sobbed, barely able to speak. “In me, please.”

Charles’s heart twisted, his cock throbbing painfully inside Oscar’s still-clenching heat. There was nothing dirty about the way Oscar begged, only need. Pure and broken and devastating. Like he didn’t just want to be filled. He needed it.

Lando’s hips started to move faster. The thrusts deeper and sharper now, hunger taking over gentleness. He leaned forward, chest pressing Oscar’s back, his body blanketing him completely. He caged Oscar between his arms and Charles’s body, breath hot against his ear, the rhythm pounding through all three of them.

One hand slipped down between them, sliding into the slick, fever-warm space between Oscar’s trembling belly and the weight of Charles’s body. His fingers pressed flat to Oscar’s lower stomach, just above where both their cocks were buried deep inside him, rubbing slow, heavy circles over the skin.

Then he leaned in, lips brushing Oscar’s ear. “You’d look so pretty with a pup in here,” he whispered.

Oscar let out a sound, high and keening, and his whole body snapped tight, hole clenching around them with brutal force. The idea of it, the weight of it, the filthy, impossible fantasy of being bred by his omega, shattered something in him. It didn’t matter that the odds were low, didn’t matter that omegas breeding omegas was rare. 

He whined, loud and wrecked, back arching as he clenched around them. Lando’s hand stayed firm on his belly as Oscar’s hole fluttered and squeezed, milking them both as he came again, harder this time. His cock twitched where it was pressed between his stomach and Charles’s, sticky release spilling over Lando’s fingers, over their stomachs, as he sobbed through the stimulation.

Lando didn’t stop. He held Oscar’s belly tighter, rubbing him there like he could feel the fantasy beneath his palm, like he could will it into reality. Oscar sobbed into Charles’s neck, arms locked tight around him, body still spasming from the stretch and the orgasm and the weight of both cocks still deep inside him.

Charles followed almost immediately. The moment Oscar clenched down again, still spasming around them, still slick and desperate and impossibly tight, Charles’s body gave out beneath him. His breath caught in his throat, back arching as his hips jerked upward, chasing that final thrust with instinct more than control.

His entire body tensed, every muscle pulling taut, and then he came. A choked, high moan tore from his throat as he spilled deep inside Oscar, cock pulsing hard, over and over, thick warmth flooding him. Oscar whimpered above him, his body still twitching, squeezing around Charles’s cock like it was trying to keep every drop inside.

And Lando kept thrusting. He kept moving, his thrusts slower now but just as deep, dragging Charles through the aftershocks, pushing him deeper into the tight heat that refused to let go. Oscar’s body milked him for everything, the pressure unbearable, addictive, perfect. Charles gasped against Oscar’s neck, fingers digging into his hips as he kept coming, hard and messy.

A few moments later, Lando came too. His breath hitched, a deep, broken moan escaping his throat as his rhythm faltered, hips stuttering, cock twitching hard inside the already stuffed heat of Oscar’s body. He buried himself to the hilt with one final, desperate thrust, spilling into him with a whine. His release mixed with Charles’s, hot and thick, pushing mess deeper inside Oscar until it was dripping out around them, wet and obscene.

Lando’s hips kept rolling through it, slow, involuntary movements as his body chased every last wave of pleasure. And then he stilled, still buried deep, still holding Oscar tight, his chest pressed flush to Oscar’s back, his breath coming in ragged, open-mouthed gasps.

But even then, he wasn’t done. A minute passed, maybe two. The air was heavy with sweat, scent, and sex. Oscar was limp between them, trembling, completely ruined. Charles’s hands still gripped his waist like he couldn’t bear to let go. Then Lando pulled back just slightly, only to slam forward again, one final deep thrust that drove into them with enough force to make all three of them cry out at once.

Oscar sobbed. Charles cursed. Lando groaned low, satisfied and wrecked. And Lando stayed there, buried deep in the mess he and Charles had made.

The room had gone quiet for a moment. And then, the silence that settled over them —thick, heavy, and trembling with aftershocks— was broken by Oscar’s voice. Small. Whimpering. “It’s leaking out,” he said, voice barely a breath, pitched high with exhaustion and panic. “Please…” He sounded ruined. Pleading. His body gave a faint, involuntary clench around them, as if trying to hold in what was already beginning to slip out.

Charles inhaled sharply beneath him, chest still rising in ragged gasps. He was trembling under the weight of them both, skin slick, brain fogged, every nerve ending still humming. But he moved, reaching up with one hand to tangle his fingers gently into Oscar’s hair, stroking slowly and tenderly through the damp strands. 

Oscar was trembling, lips pressed to Charles’s throat, tears drying on his cheeks. And then Lando shifted slightly, not pulling out, not even moving much, just enough to press his hips forward again, sealing himself deeper into the heat between them. 

His hand slid across Oscar’s belly again, palm broad and warm, fingers stroking the soft skin just above his womb with a possessive gentleness. “I’ll plug you nicely,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of Oscar’s ear, voice warm and wrecked. “Don’t worry, baby.”

Oscar let out a soft, broken sound, more breath than voice, as his body gave another tremble around them. 

Lando shifted slowly, pushing himself upright. But he didn’t pull out. His cock stayed buried deep inside Oscar’s slick, wrecked heat, still nestled against Charles’s mess. He reached one arm out toward the headboard, the drawer creaking open under his hand. A quiet rustle followed as he sifted through the contents, while Oscar whimpered softly beneath him, still stretched wide, still trembling.

Then Lando found the plug. He held it for a moment, the cool silicone warm quickly in his hand, and then shifted back. Slowly, deliberately, his hips eased away, dragging his cock out of Oscar’s oversensitive body. Inch by inch, Oscar’s hole stretched and clung, reluctant to let him go. When the thick head finally slipped free, Oscar gasped, a choked and broken sound that sounded almost like panic.

But Lando was already there.One hand slid around Oscar’s waist, the other steadying his hip. He guided him upward, just enough for Charles to slide free too, a second wet sound echoing through the room as Oscar’s body tried desperately to hold onto them.

Oscar whimpered, legs shaking, slick dripping from between his thighs. And before he could even form a protest, before he could whine , Lando pressed the plug to his stretched, leaking hole and pushed.

It slid in with ease. Too easy. His hole was ruined for anything smaller now, soft and open and glistening. The toy filled him snugly, sealing in the flood of cum from both omegas, locking it in place. “There,” he murmured, his voice deep and husky, lips brushing Oscar’s shoulder blades. 

Oscar let out a sob. Not from pain, but from the intensity of it all. His body shook, arms collapsing beneath him as he melted onto Charles’s chest, every nerve ending burning and satisfied and completely undone.

And he just lay there, plugged full with both of them, held in place by steady hands and the weight of being safe.

Notes:

Please don't forget to leave a comment. ♡

Chapter 3

Notes:

From here on, I’ll be noting which pairing is front and center in each chapter's smut (if there is one). And this one’s about Max/Oscar with Lando tagging along. Have fun reading!

Charles had gone down to the kitchen to drop off the now-empty sandwich plate and the drained water bottles. He grabbed fresh ones from the fridge. Two bottles of electrolyte drinks, some other drinks and a few cold waters. Just as he was closing the fridge door, the front door clicked open behind him.

Carlos stepped in with arms full of grocery bags, wind-blown hair and a sheen of sweat on his brow. The second he spotted Charles, he froze, lips curling into a grin. "Hola, cariño," he drawled, letting the bags drop to the floor with a heavy thud. "Kinda shocking you're still able to walk."

Charles rolled his eyes as he shut the fridge. He turned, rolled his eyes, and shut the fridge door with his hip. He set two coconut waters down on the counter with a pointed clink. "Well, that’s because I wasn’t the one getting fucked," he muttered under his breath. Carlos’s eyes widened, and Charles caught the look just in time to roll his eyes again. "Where’s Max?" he asked flatly.

Carlos strolled toward the center island, resting a hand against the marble as he answered, "Training in the backyard."

Charles frowned. "Why backyard?"

Carlos made a face like the question itself was absurd. "Do you know what this house smells like?" he shot back, lifting his right hand for emphasis. "My wrist actually hurts from jerking off."

Charles let out a sharp laugh as he picked up the tray loaded with drinks. "Maybe you two should fuck each other then," he said, mock sweet, the edge of cruelty in his voice far too pretty. 

“Ouch,” Carlos said, pressing a hand to his heart with theatrical offense. “Cruel.”

Charles only laughed, turning toward the stairs without breaking stride. Carlos trailed after him, a beat behind, their silence stretching comfortably between them on the way up.

But once they reached the top of the stairs, Carlos reached out, fingers curling gently around Charles’s arm, stopping him mid-step. “Did Oscar say anything?” he asked quietly. “About last night?”

Charles turned to him slowly, the edge of his smirk fading into something softer, more thoughtful. His eyes flicked over Carlos’s face before he answered. “No,” he said finally. “Maybe he doesn’t even remember. I’m not sure. His head’s still swimming in heat.”

Carlos nodded slowly, lips pressing together like he was swallowing something that didn’t want to stay down. “I brought chocolate, and some snacks,” he said. “I’ll leave it by the door later. Just… don’t forget to grab it, okay?”

Charles’s lips tugged upward. Something in him warmed at the thought. But of course, he couldn’t resist, “Maybe try not to breathe too much when you do.”

Carlos made a wounded noise, like he might actually be offended, if not for the smile threatening the corners of his mouth. “I’m serious. My wrist hurts. You omegas are killing me,” he muttered. Then, quieter, as his eyes dropped to Charles’s shirt: “At least give me your shirt.”

Charles huffed a laugh, already halfway amused. “So you can keep jerking off while sniffing my shirt?” Carlos rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. Charles’s smile only grew. “Go away, Carlos.”

Carlos stepped closer anyway, not enough to push, but enough to linger. “A kiss, then?”

Charles frowned like the question itself was dangerous. “No. Your scent might scare Oscar.”

“Just a little one,” Carlos pleaded, voice low and sweet like he thought it might change Charles’s mind.

Charles’s gaze softened, but he shook his head. “Go away,” he said again, this time gentler, more like a smile than a shove. He turned, hand on the doorknob now, but looked back one last time. “I love you,” he murmured. “But go away.”

He was just about to close the door behind him when Carlos’s voice slipped through the narrow space, soft, unguarded, and aching with something deeper than teasing. “I love you too.”

---

Oscar stirred with a breathy, broken hum. He rubbed his cheek against the warm plane of Lando’s bare chest, nuzzling like a cat seeking comfort. The sheets rustled with the subtle movement, and beside him, 

Charles quietly set his book down on the nightstand. His attention was already on Oscar. The way his lashes fluttered, the way his body curled instinctively toward the heat beside him. 

When Charles reached out and ran his fingers through Oscar’s messy strands, Oscar let out a low, pleased sound. He blinked open, slow and glassy-eyed, and turned his head toward Charles. Their gazes met, but Oscar didn’t hold it. He turned back to Lando almost immediately. His hand slid up, fingertips tracing Lando’s ribs, then smoothing over the curve of his chest like he needed the confirmation. Like he needed to feel the rise and fall there, to remind himself Lando was still real, still there.

Then he burrowed back into him, face pressed to the skin just beneath Lando’s collarbone. Charles watched him melt all over again and almost thought he’d drift off once more. But then, “Where’s Max?” Oscar asked.

His voice was hoarse, thin, still soaked in sleep. It came with a needy whine, high and aching, and a restless rub of his cheek against Lando’s chest. He pushed upward, barely, enough to drag the tip of his nose along the side of Lando’s throat, brushing his scent glands with quiet desperation. “I want Max,” he murmured, muffled and aching, pressing his face deeper into the crook of Lando’s neck.

The motion, and the sounds stirred Lando from sleep. “Hm?” he mumbled, sleep still thick in his voice, but his body reacted faster than his mind. His arm tightened around Oscar’s waist, protective and instinctive.

Charles’s voice was the one that answered, low and gentle, his fingers still stroking slowly through Oscar’s hair.  “You want Max in bed with you, baby?” he asked softly, voice laced with affection. “I can go get him if you want.”

Oscar didn’t answer right away. Still scenting Lando’s neck, he made a vague, wordless sound, a half-hummed murmur lost in the skin he was nestled against. Then, after a pause, he tried, “I want…” But the words dissolved into a whimper, unfinished and aching. His body trembled with that low, humming want that hadn’t left him since the heat began.

Lando blinked away the last traces of sleep, shifting just slightly to kiss the top of Oscar’s head. “Yeah, baby?” he asked, his voice a rough-edged whisper. “What do you want?”

Oscar whined. “I want Max.”

Charles was already moving, slipping out of bed in one smooth motion, bare feet hitting the cool floor. He bent down, pressed a kiss to Oscar’s temple, then straightened and met Lando’s eyes. “I’ll go get him,” he murmured.

Lando gave a small nod, sleepy but grateful, and lifted his hand. As Charles’s fingers left Oscar’s hair, Lando’s took their place without missing a beat, sliding into the soft strands, slow and grounding. His touch was instinctive, soothing.

Oscar didn’t even seem to notice the shift. His mouth was already at Lando’s neck again, breathing him in, chasing warmth and safety.

---

Charles had been gone longer than Lando expected.

Oscar hadn’t moved much at first. He’d stayed curled into Lando, nose buried against the place where his scent ran warmest. But slowly, quietly, the stillness had begun to unravel. His fingers twitched against Lando’s ribs. His thighs tensed and relaxed in uneven rhythm. His nose kept brushing the same spot over and over, rubbing into the soft skin beneath Lando’s jaw like it wasn’t enough. 

Lando’s hand stayed steady in his hair, stroking with slow, grounding passes, but he could feel the restlessness blooming beneath Oscar’s skin. The way his body began to push closer, then pull back, hips giving the smallest rolls.

Oscar whimpered, high and soft at first. Barely a sound. Then another. Louder this time. Thinner. Laced with something frustrated. The noise caught in his throat, followed by a restless, unhappy whine that made Lando’s heart pull tight in his chest. 

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, hand slipping lower to trace gentle lines along Oscar’s spine. “It’s okay.”

But Oscar didn’t settle. His fingers flexed against Lando’s skin, then fisted into the sheets. His breath was fast now, uneven. Each whimper dragged higher in pitch. “I want Max,” he whined again, voice pitched high and thin like it hurt to say it. It wasn’t a demand, not even a plea. It was pain. 

The sound of it clung to the air, too soft for the weight it carried. And then, Lando felt it, warm and wet against his throat. Slow at first. Then again. Again.

Tears. Oscar was crying. Not shaking, not sobbing, just quietly falling apart.

Lando’s whole body went still. His hand froze halfway down Oscar’s back before curling tight around him, pulling him in like he could wrap himself around the ache. His other hand found the back of Oscar’s head and held him there, face pressed into the crook of his neck, where it was safe.

“Baby,” Lando whispered, voice barely holding itself together. It came out like a breath, like begging. “Don’t cry.”

But Oscar did. Quiet and aching, each little sniffle pressed into Lando’s skin like it might disappear if he just buried himself deep enough.

Lando shut his eyes tight and kissed the top of his head, hand still stroking his strands in slow, trembling passes. “Why are you crying?” he whispered. 

Oscar wept, soft and broken. “He didn’t come to me,” he sobbed, the words muffled against Lando’s skin. They came out fractured, soaked in tears, more breath than voice. “I upset him.”

Lando’s heart cracked clean down the middle. Not from the words themselves, but from the way Oscar said them. “Baby,” he whispered, his voice rough and wrecked.

Oscar clung to him tighter, fingers curling into Lando’s skin like he was trying to anchor himself against a tide only he could feel. His body shook with the effort of keeping quiet, but the pain still slipped out, one trembling breath at a time. “He is mad,” Oscar cried, lips brushing Lando’s neck. “He is mad. He’s not coming.”

Lando pulled him even closer, if that was possible. One hand cradled the back of Oscar’s head, the other wrapped protectively around his waist. “No, no, no,” he murmured, again and again, soft as a lullaby, like the rhythm might calm him. “He’s not mad, baby. He’s not.”

But Oscar just shook his head, face still hidden. “He’s mad,” he whispered again, broken and sure. “He’s mad at me.”

Lando pressed his lips to Oscar’s temple, kissing him again and again. “He is not, baby. I promise.”

Lando’s words didn’t calm him. He kept crying quietly. His breath hitching in small, fragile sobs that made his whole body tremble. And with each one, he pressed himself tighter into Lando, like he was trying to disappear inside him.

Lando held him. One hand still cupping the back of Oscar’s head, the other curled around his waist, fingers clutching fabric and skin like a lifeline. He kept whispering into his ear— it’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. You’re not alone. But none of it reached deep enough.

Oscar was still shaking. Still crying. Still convinced Max wasn’t coming.

And then finally, the door creaked open. Slow and careful. Lando lifted his head just slightly, just enough to see. Max.

Hair damp and curling at the ends, shirt clinging faintly to skin that still carried the warmth of steam. He stepped inside like the room might shatter beneath his feet.

Charles had found him mid-shower. And afterward, when Max had stepped out, Charles had pulled him close, pressed their bodies together, and scented him. A softening layer meant to dull the edge of Max’s natural alpha presence. Meant to make Max safe. Because they both remembered what had happened the last time.

And before Max had climbed the stairs, Charles had whispered strict instructions into his ear. No talk about Oscar’s scent. No talk about how good he smells. And no mention of knots. Because Oscar had flinched the last time either of those things had come up. No need to spook him furthermore.

Max stepped further into the room, his gaze locked on the shape curled in Lando’s arms. Trembling, whimpering, crying soft against Lando’s chest. “Oscar?” he called, barely more than a breath.

The reaction was instant.

Oscar pulled away from where he’d been hiding against Lando’s chest, turning toward the sound, and lifted his head. His cheeks were wet. Eyes swollen. His gaze found the doorway, searching. Finding.

Max’s body moved before his mind could catch up, feet crossing the room in instinctive strides. He knew better. You didn’t enter a nest unless the omegas let you. You waited for an invitation, a sign, a nod.

But all of that fell away the second Oscar reached for him. Arms lifting slowly. Hands trembling mid-air, unsure but open. And Max couldn’t not go to him.

He stepped to the edge of the bed, dropped to his knees, and leaned in. His hands found the sheets first, then Oscar. He reached over him, and wrapped his arms around him.

Oscar turned his face into Max’s chest as he came closer, tears still wet on his cheeks. His chest hitched once, and he let out a breath that sounded like it had been waiting hours to escape.

Max hovered over him, arms cradling either side of him, head bowed so close their foreheads nearly touched. And then Oscar moved. His legs, still curled loosely beneath the blanket, shifted. He parted them with a quiet, instinctive motion, thighs falling open just enough to make space.

And Max understood. Without a word, he moved between them, sliding in gently until his body was nestled right between Oscar’s legs, chest to chest. 

Oscar let out a soft, broken sound as Max gathered him close, one arm sliding beneath his back, the other over his waist, holding him like a shield around something sacred.

And Max stayed there. Wrapped between his legs, body draped over his chest, forehead resting against Oscar’s hair.

Max waited. Waited for the flinch. For the panic. For Oscar to twist away from him like he had before. Overwhelmed by scent, by presence.

But it didn’t come. Instead, the trembling eased. The sobs, once ragged and sharp, softened into shallow breaths, then into silence. His arms tightened around Max, not in fear, but with need. With trust. He clung harder, fingers fisting into Max’s shirt, and pulled him closer. Like he wanted the weight of him now, wanted the warmth pressed full to his chest. And a tiny sound slipped from his lips. A murmur, almost a hum. Content and dazed.

Max’s heart stuttered. He nearly froze. But not with fear. With awe.

The alpha inside him rumbled with something close to satisfaction. Relief. The sound that came from Max’s chest wasn’t quite a purr, but it was close. A low, instinctive vibration that hummed right between them, too deep to hide.

Oscar heard it. And instead of recoiling, he melted. He tucked himself tighter into Max’s body, nudging his face into the side of his neck, nose dragging gently across the soft skin there. He scented him slowly, gently, rubbing in with the kind of unthinking intimacy that only came with trust. His breath hitched, but this time not with sadness. With something quieter. Peace.

And then, he found it. Not just Max. But Charles too. The faint, steady trace of Charles’s scent, lingering on Max’s skin, tucked into the edge of his throat. Familiar. Soothing. 

Oscar breathed in, long and slow. Then let out a soft, contented hum. “Hi,” he whispered, his voice still raw from tears but now laced with something unmistakable. Happiness.

Just that. Just hi . But Max felt it like a sunrise.

He smiled before he even realized it, lips pulling soft and warm as he dipped his head. His lips brushed against the crown of Oscar’s curls. Then he leaned in further, and let his lips find that delicate spot just behind Oscar’s ear, where skin met softness. He kissed him there, slow and gentle, letting it linger. His hand moved next, slipping up into Oscar’s hair, fingers threading through the tousled strands with reverence. He stroked him tenderly. “Hi, beautiful,” he murmured against his skin.

Oscar’s hands moved slowly across Max’s back, fingertips dragging along the fabric of his shirt like he needed the texture to ground him. His voice, when it came, was barely there. “You’re not mad?” he whispered. So quiet and small. So careful. Like he already thought he knew the answer, and it would hurt.

Max stilled. Then moved with gentleness, pulling back just enough to see him. He rose onto his elbows, bracing on either side of Oscar’s head, keeping his body close, surrounding him without pressing in. His eyes found Oscar’s red-rimmed and glassy eyes, and held them. With one hand, he kept stroking through Oscar’s hair, fingers slow and careful, threading through the strands with instinctive tenderness. The other lifted to his cheek, thumb brushing away the damp trails left behind by tears. He held his face like something precious.

“Why would I be mad?” Max asked softly, voice quiet but sure. Like there was no version of the world where that made sense. His thumb moved again, featherlight across Oscar’s cheekbone. 

Oscar just let out a soft, broken whine in response, eyelids fluttering shut slowly. Then he leaned into the touch, pressing his cheek deeper into Max’s palm.

From his other side, Lando’s voice came, soft and smiling. “I told you, didn’t I?”

Oscar’s eyes blinked open, pulled by the sound like a magnet. He turned his head slowly toward Lando, lids heavy, face still kissed red from earlier tears.

And that’s when Lando shifted. Just slightly. Just enough to let the mattress dip. He was moving carefully, respectfully, starting to slip away from the nest. Giving Oscar and Max space, the kind he thought they might need.

But Oscar moved faster. One trembling hand reached out, fingers stretching across the space between them, barely brushing Lando’s wrist. “Noo,” he whined. “Don’t go.”

It wasn’t a demand. It was plea. Raw, honest and incredibly small. The kind of sound that came from someone still figuring out they were allowed to ask for things, and still terrified the answer might be no.

Lando stilled immediately. His eyes softened as he looked down at Oscar. Still wrapped in Max’s arms, but now reaching for him, too. And slowly, he eased back into the nest, until his body curled once more around Oscar’s side. His palm found Oscar’s neck, gentle and warm. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, barely more than breath.

Oscar’s legs lifted slowly, curling around Max’s waist where he still rested between them. At the same time, his hand reached out toward Lando, finding the wrist of the hand still cradling his neck. Fingers curled around it gently. And then his other hand traveled the full length of Max’s back in a slow, reverent sweep, trailing warmth. From shoulder blades to spine, from spine to the nape of his neck. His fingertips found Max’s skin just beneath the collar of his shirt and stayed there, curling at the base of his skull, soft and steady. Holding both of them.

Max exhaled like he’d been waiting for that exact moment. His mouth was pressed against the curve of Oscar’s scent gland, and now his nose nudged gently at the skin just beneath it, rubbing in slow, grounding motions. Nuzzling. Scenting. Reassuring.

Oscar breathed in. Then let out a sound from deep in his chest, a soft and vibrating hum that rose into the space between them like music. Purring. Warm, unselfconscious, content.

Lando felt it ripple through him. Felt the vibration beneath his hand, against his chest. He pressed closer, nestling in behind Oscar’s back, lips brushing the curve of his shoulder, just to be near the sound of it. 

Max hummed too, instinctive and low. And shifted gently to make space. He slid even closer, his body curving to Oscar’s side as he tucked himself in along the opposite edge of the nest.

Oscar lay between them now, one leg hooked around Max’s waist, one hand on Lando’s wrist, the other buried in Max’s hair. Surrounded. Held. 

The soft vibration of his purring began to slow, stretching into long, steady breaths. And little by little, his body softened, the last of the tension unwinding from his limbs, from his chest, from the furrow in his brow. Until finally, with a quiet exhale and one last nuzzle into Max’s neck, Oscar drifted back into sleep.

---

Oscar was still curled between them, limbs loose in sleep, head tucked against Max’s chest. One hand gripped Lando’s tightly, even in unconsciousness. The three of them were tangled together, bare legs knotted beneath the blankets, bodies warm and close.

Max stared at the ceiling for a moment, blinking slowly. Then, without looking away, he murmured, “You fucked him with Charles?” His brows lifted slightly as he looked over Oscar’s shoulder at Lando, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing yet. “At the same time?” he asked again. His hand drifted absently along Oscar’s spine.

Lando’s lips curled into a smirk, smug and completely unrepentant. “We fucked him and plugged him,” he said, voice low but laced with mischief. “Nice and full.”

Max blinked slowly again. “You plugged him?” he echoed, like the words themselves offended him on a personal level. Lando just grinned wider, deliberately cocky now, watching Max’s expression shift from disbelief to betrayal. 

Max looked down at Oscar’s sleeping face. Pink-cheeked, lips soft, lashes resting gently on flushed skin. Then he looked back at Lando. “And I wasn’t there to watch?” he whispered harshly. “That’s really cruel of you.” He shook his head, and whispered again, “Don’t you love me anymore?”

Lando laughed under his breath, “When did you get this dramatic?” he murmured, voice low with fondness.

Max turned to look at him fully now, brow furrowed, lips pressing into something between a pout and a glare. “I hate you.”

Lando rolled his eyes, the smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No, you don’t,” he said, soft and amused.

Max let out a quiet, dramatic sigh, the kind he usually reserved for Lando being insufferable, but the tension had already started to bleed out of his shoulders. He didn’t argue this time. Instead, he shifted just slightly and reached out with his foot, brushing it gently against Lando’s shin. A slow, warm press. 

After a while, Oscar shifted with a soft little sigh, rolling onto his back, his body still warm and pliant between them. One arm remained draped over Max’s stomach, the other barely brushing Lando’s ribs. 

Lando turned his head, gaze lingering for a beat too long. “Max,” he murmured, quiet but pointed.

Max glanced at him lazily, fingertips tracing gentle circles into Oscar’s skin. “What?”

Lando’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I can smell you getting aroused.”

Max blinked, then exhaled through his nose. Not in frustration, more like he was embarrassed to have been caught. He glanced down at Oscar’s sleeping face, then back up at Lando, lips curving in a small, guilty smile. “Well,” he mumbled, his voice low and warm, “maybe you shouldn’t have told me you plugged him.”

There was no heat behind the words. Just a kind of quiet longing. A you-did-something-beautiful-and-I-wasn’t-there ache.

Lando’s lips twitched into a slow, satisfied smile, sinfully smug. “You can’t stop thinking about it, don’t you?”

Max’s jaw tensed, eyes narrowing. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

“And you’re hard,” Lando whispered back, teasing.

Max gave Lando a look across the bed, don’t push it written clear in the furrow of his brow. Lando tilted his head with the ghost of a smile, the barest suggestion of mischief still lingering in his eyes. But he didn’t say anything else.

Because just then, Oscar stirred. A restless shift. His fingers twitched first, then his body rolled slightly, shoulders drawing in like something in his dream had tugged at him. And then, with barely a sound, his hand reached out and grabbed hold of the hem of Lando’s shirt, curling it into a small, tight fist. Like he needed something solid to hold. 

Oscar stirred again just a moment later. Then he turned his head slightly, cheek brushing the pillow, hair mussed from sleep. And just before his eyes found Max’s, a soft whine slipped between his parted lips. Barely a sound. Just a fragile little noise, still half-caught in sleep.

Max smiled, tender and soft. He reached out, fingers moving carefully, slowly, skimming over warm skin until his palm cupped Oscar’s cheek. “Hi, baby,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along the bone just beneath Oscar’s eye. “Did we wake you up?”

Oscar didn’t speak. Just blinked up at him, eyes still glassy from sleep, the faintest crease in his brow like he was still sorting out dream from reality. His hand was still fisted in Lando’s shirt. Still holding. 

Max leaned in, not close enough to kiss, just enough to feel the heat of Oscar’s breath against his lips. Close enough to remember the taste of him. His thumb stroked Oscar’s cheek again.

Oscar shifted again, his breath catching faintly as he moved. Then, slowly, he leaned forward. Not all the way, just enough for his lips to brush against Max’s. Just a ghost of a touch. Barely contact. “Max,” he murmured, voice cracked and small. But the words dissolved on his tongue, swallowed by another soft whine.

Max’s chest tightened, the sound curling around his ribs like a hand. He leaned in gently, resting their foreheads together, their noses brushing. “Yeah?” he whispered, coaxing. Gentle. Encouraging. “What is it, baby?”

“Can you…” he tried again, the words barely more than a breath, fraying before they ever formed. His hand slid up to the back of Max’s neck, fingers curling there as if instinct might finish the sentence for him. He tugged gently, pulling Max down, and pressed his nose against the rough line of his jaw in a soft, searching nudge.

“I can, baby,” Max whispered back, voice warm. “Whatever you need. Just tell me.”

Oscar let out a soft, high whine and pulled back just far enough to lick over his own lips, uncertain, his gaze dropping helplessly to Max’s mouth.

Max’s lips curved tenderly. “Did you want me to kiss you?” 

The only answer was another needy little whine, and that was enough. Max smiled, and then closed the distance, pressing his mouth to Oscar’s.

Oscar melted the second their lips touched. His fingers tangled in Max’s hair, desperate, pulling him closer, closer, like there was no such thing as too close. His lips parted almost instantly, yielding and open, accepting the slow slide of Max’s tongue with a shiver that went straight through him. Max groaned low in his chest, and angled the kiss deeper, letting Oscar guide him with that desperate pull. Oscar whimpered into his mouth, pliant and eager, every line of him softening, every instinct in him folding toward alpha’s presence.

Max didn’t break the kiss. He just shifted forward, bracing a knee between Oscar’s thighs and pressing in until their bodies lined up, chest to chest. Oscar made a sound into his mouth, high and urgent, and dragged him closer, arms tight around his neck until there was nothing between them but heat and the thin barrier of their shirts.

Max propped himself on one hand, careful not to crush him, but the other slid low, fingers sneaking beneath the hem of Oscar’s t-shirt. His palm met bare skin, hot and fever-warm, and he pushed higher, slow and sure, until his hand was splayed over Oscar’s belly. He stroked there, lazy circles over soft, sensitive skin, feeling every stuttered breath while their mouths stayed locked together.

Oscar arched up into it, hips rolling without thought, and Max groaned low into his mouth. The kiss turned hungry, messy. Open mouths, wet tongues, the kind that blurred breathing into something optional. 

It broke only when a strained little sound slipped out of Oscar’s throat, a whimper that was more pain than pleasure. Max pulled back just enough to breathe against his lips, his hand never leaving that fever-hot skin. His palm kept stroking slow circles over Oscar’s belly. “You’re warmer than usual,” he murmured. He could feel the heat radiating off him, feel the hard press of Oscar’s cock against his thigh. Every twitch of his hips was frantic, helpless, and Max knew he had to help him. Help him in any way he wants.

Oscar shook his head weakly, lips pressed tight together, pain flickering across his face.

“Baby,” Max murmured, brushing his nose along Oscar’s cheek before dipping lower. His mouth found the warm curve of Oscar’s neck, lips pressing slow against his scent gland. He breathed him in there, deep and greedy. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered against his skin, voice low and coaxing. “Let me make you come, hm?”

Oscar hooked his arms around Max’s neck like he was afraid to let him go, breath shivering as a broken “please” slipped out.

Max answered with a low, rough hum, the sound vibrating against Oscar’s throat. He didn’t rush. He stayed there, kissing lazily along the line of his neck, then down to the delicate dip of his collarbone, his mouth lingering like he had all the time in the world.

By the time his lips closed around Oscar’s Adam’s apple, sucking softly and dragging teeth over that tender bump, Oscar was already coming undone, small and desperate sounds spilling out of him. His hands slid up without thinking, threading deep into Max’s hair, holding on tight. Even when Max started to move lower, kissing his way down, Oscar’s grip never eased. His fingers stayed tangled in those strands, keeping him close.

Max slid lower, pushing Oscar’s shirt up to his chest as he went. He pressed his mouth to the soft swell of his belly. It wasn’t obvious to the eye, that subtle fullness. But Max knew this body. He’d kissed it enough times to notice the smallest change.

The thought hit him all over again: Oscar plugged, holding the weight of two omegas’ cum inside him. 

The sound that slipped from Max’s throat was low, involuntary, as he kissed him there. Again and again, down over the faint curve of his belly and lower, to the sensitive skin just beneath it, leaving slow, lingering heat everywhere his lips touched.

Each kiss left Oscar looser, softer, his body turning pliant under Max’s mouth until he could only manage a broken little, “Max… please.”

Max lifted his head at that, and his gaze caught on Lando.Right there beside Oscar, watching. Lando’s teeth worried at his bottom lip, his eyes glassy, dragging between Oscar’s flushed face and Max’s hands like he couldn’t decide where to look. 

A slow, filthy grin curled across Max’s lips. He pushed up just enough to hook his fingers into the waistband of Oscar’s briefs, dragging them down inch by inch, savoring every shiver, before pulling them free of his legs and tossing them aside without even looking.

Warm palms slid up the insides of Oscar’s thighs, parting them with easy pressure. “Open your legs for me, baby,” Max said, voice low, coaxing and full of promise. “Let me see.”

The words drew soft, helpless sounds from both of the omegas. Oscar whined, desperate, obeying instantly as his thighs fell open for him. And from beside him came a different sound. Lando’s low, frustrated whine, half protest, half want.

“Oh, fuck you,” Lando muttered, breathless and sulky. “You want to eat him out, don’t you?” His voice cracked on it, closer to a moan than an accusation. A beat later, he added under his breath, like it hurt, “Why the fuck didn’t I think of that first?”

Max dragged his tongue over his lips, eyes dropping to the gleam of blue between Oscar’s thighs. “At least,” he said, voice a low drag of amusement, “I’m letting you watch.”

Lando’s answer came as a noise, half protest and half a needy, frustrated whine that did nothing to hide how badly he wanted it.

Max ignored him for now, eyes never leaving Oscar. One hand kept petting slow up and down the inside of his thigh, warm and steady, while the other dropped lower. His fingers brushed the base of the plug and pressed, slow and deliberate, pushing it in just a fraction deeper. Oscar’s whole body jolted with it, a sharp and broken sound tearing out of him. One hand clawed at the sheets, the other shot up, threading into Max’s hair, gripping tight again.

Max pressed his thumb to the base of the plug again, rolling it just slightly, slow circles that made the toy shift inside. Then he pushed, deep enough to make Oscar cry out, sharp and wrecked, his hips jerking up off the bed. He worked the plug with careful, unhurried motions, rocking it in tiny movements until Oscar was trembling, his voice breaking into helpless little sounds.

When Max finally hooked his fingers around the end and began to pull, it was agonizingly slow. The plug dragged against slick, sensitive walls on the way out, and Oscar’s mouth fell open on a sob, his legs shaking.

The toy slipped free with a wet pop, slick coating Max’s fingers. He didn’t even glance at it before letting it drop somewhere on the bed. And without giving Oscar a chance to catch his breath, Max hooked both of Oscar’s trembling legs and lifted them up, draping them over his shoulders. The position left Oscar helpless, exposed, laid out for Max with nowhere to hide.

Max bent forward, close enough for his breath to fan hot over swollen, slick skin. “Fuck, baby,” he murmured, and then he sank in, mouth open and greedy.

He started slow, his tongue dragging up from the very base, licking up every drop of slick and cum leaking out of him, following the trail all the way back to where it spilled from him. The taste hit his tongue and a low, guttural sound broke out of him, rough and hungry.

And then he stopped holding back. Max buried his face between Oscar’s thighs and fucked him with his tongue, deep and relentless, pushing past every twitch and cry. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room as he worked him open, tongue driving in over and over until Oscar was sobbing, his hips jerking helplessly off the bed. His fingers knotted in Max’s hair, pulling hard, like he didn’t know if he wanted to get away or pin him there forever.

Max pushed his tongue deep into the soft, stretched heat left behind by the plug, fucking that loosened hole with steady, filthy strokes. Oscar’s cries, sharp at first, had gone quiet, reduced to soft and broken whimpers. And that was when another sound bled through, low and wet. The slick drag of mouths, the soft, ruined noises spilling out between them filled Max’s ears, tangled up with Oscar’s high, broken little whines.

He tightened his grip on the thigh hooked over his shoulder, holding Oscar open, and sucked harder, greedier. Slick and come coated his tongue, the taste of three omegas thick and sweet, and he groaned against him, hungry for more. And with every swallow, every whimper and wet kiss that filled the room, Max could feel himself getting even harder.

He only went harder, tongue driving deeper, mouth sealing over omega’s hole like he wanted to swallow every last drop. One hand held Oscar open, the other sliding up, ready to wrap around his cock, but he collided with someone else’s fingers.

He jerked his gaze upward and found Lando already there, hand fisted around Oscar’s length, his mouth locked over Oscar’s lips in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. Through the corner of his eye, Lando cut Max a look, sharp and brows drawn tight, like he was saying: At least leave me this, you greedy bastard.

Max’s mouth curved against slick skin, a crooked, understanding grin. He withdrew his hand without a fight, sliding it back down to grip Oscar’s hip instead, using it to pull him open wider. Then he went back to work with his tongue, doubling down, merciless, while Lando took over Oscar’s dripping cock above.

Oscar was a mess between them. His spine arched clean off the mattress, mouth falling open against Lando’s kiss. One hand clawed through Max’s curls, the other fisted in Lando’s hair, clinging like he couldn’t choose which way to fall.

Lando whispered something hot against his lips —nonsense, coaxing, pure hunger— while Max groaned into him, the sound reverberating deep enough to make Oscar sob aloud. And then it hit him all at once. His whole body locked tight, trembling as pleasure slammed into him. A broken, high sound tore from his throat as he spilled hot into Lando’s hand, hips jerking helplessly. And at the same time, sweet slick gushed from his hole in warm, messy waves, coating Max’s mouth, his tongue, everything.

Max didn’t stop, licking and sucking through every pulse of Oscar’s orgasm, holding him there until his body gave out. Only when Oscar’s legs started trembling violently, whines climbing higher and higher in pitch, did Max finally pull his mouth away from the slick mess between his thighs.

He eased Oscar’s legs down carefully, placing them on either side, and watched as Oscar sucked in a deep breath, head tipping back against the pillows while he fought to get his breath back.

Max barely had a chance to look up before he was grabbed. Lando’s fist curled tight into the front of his shirt, yanking him down. And then Lando’s mouth was on his, hungry, devouring.

This wasn’t a kiss so much as a bite, all hunger and heat. Lando was after the taste of Oscar still slick on Max’s tongue. He licked into his mouth like he meant to steal it all, then dragged his lips down over Max’s chin, cleaning the sweet, sticky slick that had run there.

The moment Max realized what Lando was doing, he caught him by the nape and dragged him back into another kiss, rougher this time, his own tongue pushing into Lando’s mouth, giving him every last trace of Oscar that was still on him.

A shaky hand found its way into Max’s arm, tugging weakly, small but insistent. Max broke the kiss, lips dragging over Lando’s once more before he pulled back, breath hot, his eyes already dropping to where Oscar lay sprawled out beneath him.

He let out a quiet tch , the corner of his mouth curling. “Two needy omegas,” he drawled, voice thick with mock pity. His gaze slid to Lando. “And one of them isn’t even in heat.”

Lando huffed, eyes rolling as his head thudded back onto the pillow. “Fuck off,” he muttered, but the flush creeping high across his cheeks betrayed him completely.

Max’s smirk softened into something warmer as his gaze dropped back to Oscar. Oscar’s chest was still rising and falling too fast, breath stuttering as he blinked up at Max through glassy, wet eyes. His cock lay half-hard against his own stomach, streaked with his own release, skin flushed and messy.

Max wrapped his hand slowly around Oscar’s slick cock, fingers closing with an easy, sure grip. Oscar’s breath caught; a thin, broken whine slipped past his lips as his eyes fluttered shut and his head fell back against the pillow. Max started to stroke him, unhurried, his palm sliding easily over the wet, messy heat. Every slow drag of his hand had Oscar twitching, breath catching in his throat as his hips shifted helplessly into the touch.

When Oscar’s legs fell open even wider, and Max’s hand slid up to grip the soft inside of his thigh, fingers pressing in, keeping him right there. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” he asked, voice low and rough. The word knot sat right on the edge of his tongue, tempting, but Charles’s earlier words echoed in his head and he swallowed it back, leaving it unsaid.

Oscar shook his head, but his lips parted on a silent cry, hips lifting, rocking helplessly into Max’s fist. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold still, chasing every stroke even as he tried to deny it. It didn’t take long before a sharp, broken whine tore out of him, high and loud, and he spilled again, messy over Max’s hand and across his own belly.

After a few moments late, Max’s hand finally slowed, easing him down from the high. Oscar dragged in a deep, shaky breath, his chest rising and falling as he blinked his eyes open again. Wet lashes stuck together, glassy eyes searching until they found Max.

“Okay, baby,” Max murmured, his voice soft, almost tender, as his thumb brushed over a streak of slick on Oscar’s hip. “Let’s get you cleaned up then.”

Notes:

I recently made a X account for AO3. You can find my profile here . Come say hi if you’d like to interact!

And please don't forget to comment. ♡

Chapter 4

Notes:

As I mentioned last chapter, just dropping a quick heads-up before this one too. This chapter is Max-less. The focus is mostly Oscar/Carlos, but Charles and Lando are very much there. Especially Charles.

Hope you enjoy. ♡

By the next morning, Oscar had finally made it out of his room and down to the breakfast table. The moment he sat down, though, it was obvious to everyone. The air around him was still thick with the sweetness of heat, clinging to him like a second skin. But compared to the last few days, he was definitely better. Clearer. More present. Like his head had finally come up for air.

Still, it was obvious this heat had no plans of letting him go anytime soon. His body was strung tight, restless to the point of aching. Because it hadn’t gotten what it wanted most, the one thing that would have settled the storm: a knot. And years without a heat, hormones thrown out of balance… there was no way this was going to burn out easy.

At the table, Oscar was nibbling on the edge of a chocolate croissant, while Lando, with a tablet propped up between them, kept sketching the game character he’d been working on. At some point, Oscar had simply leaned in, cheek against Lando’s shoulder, watching the lines form under his hand with quiet, drowsy interest.

Across from them, Carlos sat stiff as a board. And Charles, by contrast, was the picture of ease. He sipped his coffee, idly working his way through breakfast, and every so often cut a glance at the two younger omegas curled together. And the smirk that tugged at his mouth made it obvious how much Carlos’s twitchy, restless energy amused him.

Yesterday, while Max had taken the younger omegas under his wing, Charles had taken pity on Carlos and spent the night in his bed, under him. But sitting here now, with a heat-drunk omega barely a few feet away, Carlos looked anything but calm. The sweet, heavy scent clinging to the air was clearly getting to him.

The longer they sat there, the heavier Carlos’s scent became. Thick with arousal, curling through the room in slow, unavoidable waves. And Charles, who had started the morning all effortless poise, lost some of that ease. His shoulders tightened, his gaze cutting to Oscar again and again, watching every shift in his expression like he was waiting for the moment it all became too much.

But Oscar didn’t flinch. Didn’t retreat. Every so often his eyes flicked toward Carlos, then Charles. A quick glance that never lingered, before drifting back to where Lando’s hand moved over the tablet. And there he stayed calm and cheek on Lando’s shoulder, watching Lando’s hand move across the tablet.

“No,” Oscar murmured, rubbing his cheek lazily against Lando’s shoulder. “Red was better.”

Lando tore his eyes from the tablet to stare at him like he’d just committed blasphemy. “What? No way. Pink is obviously better.”

Oscar only jutted his lips out in a small, stubborn pout. “Make it red.”

“Shut up,” Lando shot back, but there was nothing sharp in it. Sweet, fond, teasing. “What do you even know? It’s my character.”

Oscar kept rubbing his cheek against Lando’s shoulder, slow and persistent like a cat marking its spot. “Make it red,” he whined, dragging the words out, soft and stubborn all at once.

Lando couldn’t help but laugh, tilting his head just enough to catch Oscar’s pout before throwing it right back at him. “Shut up,” he whined back, dragging it out in the same stubborn, sing‑song tone, like he was mocking him and melting at the same time. 

But when Oscar just kept staring up at him, all wide brown doe eyes and a stubborn little pout that refused to budge, Lando groaned, dragging a hand down his face before muttering, “Fine.” Then, with a few quick flicks of his pen, he changed the character’s hair to red exactly the way Oscar wanted.

From across the table, Charles had been quietly entertained, watching the two younger omegas wrapped up in their own little world. After a moment he flicked his eyes to his watch, then over to Carlos. “Don’t you need to leave?” he asked.

It took a second, but Carlos finally tore his eyes away from the omegas and looked at Charles, blinking like he’d just been dragged out of a trance. “What time is it?” he asked, dazed.

Charles’s smile only deepened at how lost he looked. “Almost nine,” he said.

“Fuck,” Carlos swore, shooting out of his chair so fast it scraped against the floor. He was already halfway to the door, muttering “fuck, fuck,” under his breath as he jogged out of the kitchen.

Charles laughed under his breath at Carlos’s frantic exit. Lando, barely lifting his head, threw a quick glance over after him and then went right back to his drawing. 

Oscar, though, his eyes lingered on the doorway long after Carlos had gone. There was a faint crease between his brows, lips pressed together, the kind of look that gave him away even when he didn’t say a word. He watched the empty space like he wasn’t quite ready to let it be empty, a small, unhappy shadow crossing his face as if he hadn’t wanted the alpha to leave at all.

Charles noticed the look a heartbeat too late. The way Oscar’s gaze clung to the empty doorway, soft and a little lost. He set his fork down with a quiet clink, pushed back his chair, and stood in one smooth motion. “Carlos!” he called out, already striding out of the kitchen, his voice carrying down the hall as he went after him.

Charles caught up with him in the entryway, where Carlos was standing in front of the mirror as he straightened his tie.

“Yes, cariño?” Carlos said without looking back, his eyes still on his reflection.

Charles stepped in close, their eyes meeting in the mirror. “Do you have anything urgent today?”

Carlos’s brows pulled together. “Why?”

Charles’s voice dropped. “Oscar,” he said quietly. “The second you walked out, he just… sat there, staring after you. Like some sad little kitten. I don’t think he wanted you to leave, but he doesn’t know how to say it. He was already upset this morning when he couldn’t find Max.”

Carlos’s eyes softened as he held Charles’s gaze in the mirror for a few quiet seconds. Then, without a word, his fingers moved, loosening his tie this time, tugging it free and turning to face Charles fully. A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “Turns out, I don’t have anything that urgent after all.”

Charles laughed under his breath as he caught Carlos by the arm, spinning him back around and tugging him toward the kitchen. “Don’t overwhelm him, though,” he warned. “Keep your distance unless he asks for you.”

Carlos rolled his eyes, letting himself be dragged. “I know,” he muttered. “You don’t have to hover like some anxious mother hen.”

Charles rolled his eyes at him, but whatever sharp retort he’d been about to throw back faded the second they stepped into the kitchen. Because there, curled up close, was Oscar, pressing his face into Lando’s neck, nose dragging restlessly over the skin as he scented him, soft and desperate, like he couldn’t get enough.

Carlos shrugged out of his jacket and dropped into the chair across from them, Charles sliding in beside him a moment later.

Lando’s hand was already cradled at the back of Oscar’s neck, fingers stroking through his hair as he bent close, voice low and coaxing against his ear. “Shuld we get back to bed?”

Oscar didn’t answer, just tightened the arm he already had looped around Lando’s waist and buried his face deeper into the warm curve of his neck. He breathed him in, like he was trying to fill his lungs with nothing but Lando. And Lando let him, his fingers combing through Oscar’s hair in slow, soothing strokes, content to hold him there.

“Come on,” Lando coaxed softly. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Not bed,” Oscar mumbled against his neck, voice muffled and small.

“Okay,” Lando said. “Then how about we watch a movie instead?” When Oscar gave the smallest shake of his head, Lando’s fingers threaded gently through his hair again. “What do you wanna watch?”

“You pick,” Oscar murmured, the words soft and small.

Not long after, they drifted into the living room. Oscar curled up on the couch, making himself up small, wrapped tight in his blue blanket until only the top of his head peeked out. He tucked his knees in close, a little cocoon of warmth. While Carlos disappeared upstairs to change, Charles said something about an online meeting before retreating to his study. And Lando stood in front of the TV, remote in hand, scrolling through options with that little furrow between his brows, determined to find something good.

“Just pick one,” Oscar whined from the couch, his voice muffled under the blanket.

“Okayyy,” Lando hummed back, dragging the word out, eyes still glued to the screen as he flicked through options.

When Carlos had come back downstairs, crossed the room and dropped into one of the armchairs, Oscar’s eyes left Lando and landed on him instantly, brows knitting into a frown as he glared at the alpha. 

Carlos stretched out lazily, arms hooked over the back of the chair, only to freeze the moment he noticed the look aimed his way. It didn’t take him long to figure out what that pout was about. He bit down on his bottom lip, fighting a grin, and pushed himself up. Without saying a word, he crossed over and sank into the couch right beside Oscar this time.

The change was immediate. Oscar’s scowl eased, and when he tipped his head to rest it against Carlos’s chest, Carlos couldn’t stop the smile that broke across his face. He looped an arm around the omega, pulling him in close.

Across the room, Lando finally settled on a movie and spun around, tossing the remote onto the coffee table before dropping onto the other side of Oscar. He leaned in until his head rested against Oscar’s shoulder, eyes already fixed on the screen as the three of them settled in together, a tangle of quiet comfort while the movie started to play.

---

When Oscar woke, he wasn’t on the couch anymore. At some point between the blur of end credits and the weight of sleep dragging him under, someone must have carried him upstairs. Because now he was back in Lando’s bed, wrapped up in the familiar safety of his nest.

What woke him wasn’t the light or the quiet. It was the mess. Slick clung to his skin, soaking through his underwear, warm as it slid down the insides of his thighs. And then the cramp hit, twisting in his belly, pulling a sharp breath from his chest as he blinked himself awake.

And it was so hot. Everything was too hot. His skin felt like it was burning from the inside out. Desperate to get out of it, he grabbed at the hem of his T-shirt, trying to peel it off, but another cramp clawed up his belly so hard it stole the air from his lungs and dragged a pained, broken sound out of him. His fingers knotted tighter in the fabric as he rolled onto his back, breath catching, a desperate little whine slipping past his lips.

“Let me help, bebé.”

When the low and careful voice cut through the haze, Oscar’s eyes fluttered open. He turned his head to the side, finding Carlos watching him.

Oscar gave the smallest nod, and Carlos moved in. One hand slid to the small of Oscar’s back, while the other caught the hem of his shirt. He peeled it upward slowly, guiding him through the motion until the cling of fabric gave way and Oscar was free, breath catching as the cool air eased his overheated skin.

“This too,” Oscar murmured, tugging weakly at the damp underwear clinging uncomfortably to his hips. 

Carlos moved in again, kneeling close, bracing his knees on either side of Oscar’s legs as his fingers hooked into the waistband of his underwear. Oscar lifted his hips obediently, letting him slide the soaked fabric down. Carlos eased it past his thighs, then guiding each ankle out in turn, careful and unhurried until the underwear was tossed aside.

Oscar didn’t close his legs after; instead, he let them fall open, draped loosely over Carlos’s thighs in silent trust. Carlos’s hands came to rest on his skin, palms warm as they slid up the length of his thighs, fingers curling to stroke along the soft muscle there. His thumbs brushed the slick-damp skin of Oscar’s inner thighs.

Carlos’s hands worked slow over his thighs, and Oscar felt himself melting under the touch, muscles going loose even as the ache in his belly kept tightening. Another cramp twisted through him, sharp enough to drag a breathless, “Hurts,” from his lips as his head tipped back against the pillows.

Carlos bent down without a word, pressing his mouth to the soft skin of Oscar’s stomach, lips warm against the spot that kept clenching. “Here?” he asked quietly, voice low, while his fingers never stopped stroking along the insides of Oscar’s thighs.

Oscar answered with a soft, needy little whine, sweet and high in his throat. His fingers slid up into the hair at the nape of Carlos’s neck, curling there as he tugged him closer, urging him upward. And Carlos went willingly, no resistance at all, letting himself be pulled until their mouths met. The kiss landed slow but hungry.

The drag of Carlos’s clothed cock against Oscar’s slick, sensitive length tore matching sounds from both their throats. Low, raw, and helpless. Oscar’s lips parted on instinct, and Carlos’s tongue slid into his mouth like it belonged there, slow and claiming.

Carlos cupped Oscar’s cheek, deepening the kiss, so lost in it that neither of them heard the door open, or noticed the extra presence in the room, until a voice cut through. 

“God,” Charles muttered with disbelief and the slightest edge of fond teasing. “I leave for, what, ten minutes?”

Oscar broke the kiss, panting a little as he pulled back just enough to breathe, enough to glance toward Charles through the haze. Carlos didn’t go far. His mouth wandered lower, tracing a slow path down the column of Oscar’s throat until it found his scent gland. He pressed a soft kiss there, reverent, before burying his nose against it, inhaling deep as he began to scent him, slowly and deliberately.

The noise that spilled from Oscar then, half-whine and half-broken gasp, was helpless. His head tipped back on instinct, baring more of his neck, glassy and dazed eyes finding Charles. 

“Charles,” Oscar breathed, the word barely more than a whisper as he glanced up at him from beneath heavy lashes.

“Yes, baby?” Charles murmured back, leaning in to brush his sweat‑damp curls away from his forehead, fingertips lingering against hot skin.

Oscar’s heat-blurred mind fumbled for words, but nothing coherent would come. His lashes fluttered shut, a breathless, broken whine catching in his throat as his hand slid into Carlos’s hair, curling tight, pushing him closer, pressing him down into the curve of his neck. And all that made it past his lips was a thin, wrecked little whine, “Please…”

When Carlos dragged his teeth over the side of Oscar’s neck, it tore a louder sound from Oscar, a sharp and broken cry. And then, high-pitched and desperate, “Alpha,” he whined, the word coming out like a plea.

Carlos answered with a guttural noise of his own, low and rough in his chest, before sealing his mouth over the spot he’d just grazed. He sucked hard, leaving heat blooming under his lips.

It was Charles, still stroking gentle fingers through Oscar’s damp hair, who bent close to murmur, “You want alpha’s knot, baby?”

Tears pricked at the corners of Oscar’s eyes, the rush of heat and need blurring everything. But the moment the word knot reached him, he jerked his head in a small, frantic shake, the sound that left him breaking on a sob. “Nooo,” he begged, the protest cracked and pained. “No, please…”

Carlos lifted his head from the crook of Oscar’s neck in a rush, pulling back just enough to catch his face in one hand. His fingers curved under Oscar’s jaw gently, and tilted his chin so their eyes met. “No knot, bebé,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out soft and sure. “I promise. No knot.”

The panic that had flared sharp in Oscar’s eyes flickered, then began to ease, the wildness softening as Carlos held him there. “Just want to sit?” Carlos murmured, softer now, coaxing. “Sit on my cock and let me make you feel full? Make it better, hm?”

Oscar’s lips pulled into a small pout, but after a moment he gave the tiniest nod. Carlos’s expression broke into something more tender. He leaned in and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to those pursed lips before pulling back. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you up in my lap.”

With Carlos guiding him, Oscar moved like a pliant doll, letting himself be lifted and settled into place. In a few careful shifts, Carlos ended up leaning back against the headboard with Oscar straddling his lap, light and trembling in his arms. His one hand slid up to cradle the back of Oscar’s neck, gently urging him down toward the warm of his throat. And over Oscar’s shoulder, he lifted his gaze. “Charles,” he called, “go find Lando, okay?”

Charles made a sad, wounded noise in return, and it pulled Oscar’s dazed eyes toward him. Charles couldn’t look away. His gaze clung to Oscar, heavy with regret, until Carlos’s voice cut through again, firmer this time. 

“Charles.”

That finally pulled his eyes to Carlos. And when it did, Carlos’s voice gentled, low and steady, like he was offering him an out. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Go.”

---

"I was the one who warned Carlos, and then I fucking said it myself. God, I’m so stupid. You should’ve seen his face… he looked so sad. I wanna rip my tongue out for putting that look there. And I want to kill whoever made him that scared to begin with." Charles spoke with a quiet, aching sort of regret, his voice barely holding together.

Lando didn’t say anything at first. He was sitting close beside him on the couch, one leg pulled up, body angled toward Charles. He’d been gently playing with Charles’s hair the entire time, fingers curling through the soft strands with affection.

When Charles finally stopped talking and let out a soft, miserable whine, Lando leaned in and gently swept his fingers back through the curls at Charles’s temple. “It’s okay,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over Charles’s cheek. “You’re allowed to fuck up sometimes, too.” He paused, eyes searching Charles’s face, then added, even softer, “Oscar loves you. You think he’s gonna stop over one word? He’s not made of glass, Charles. He is stronger than he shows and you know it. And he sure as hell isn’t stop loving you over a knot .”

The way he said it, soft and teasing, made something loosen in Charles’s chest. Like maybe he could breathe again. “I’m still stupid,” Charles mumbled, voice small as he let out a miserable little sound.

Lando gave him a small, crooked smile. “Sometimes,” he said lightly, just enough tease to earn the eye roll he knew was coming. And when it did, when Charles’s eyes flicked up in mock offense, Lando’s smile turned softer. “It’s okay,” he repeated, gentler this time, his fingers still threading through Charles’s hair. “He didn’t even cry when you said it, did he? So it’s okay.” He leaned in a little, pressing his knee against Charles’ and his forehead nearly brushing his. “We’ll go see him together in a bit, yeah?”

When Charles gave a small, resigned nod, Lando leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to his cheek. His hand drifted from Charles’s hair down to the nape of his neck, and then he let his forehead fall against Charles’s shoulder, resting there. 

Charles exhaled slowly, and brought his hand up to Lando’s head. His fingers slipped into the mess of soft curls, cradling him gently. He bent down, kissed the top of his head. “Tired?” he murmured. 

Lando nodded faintly against his shoulder. “A little,” he whispered. “Feels like I’m about to go into heat too.”

Charles kept stroking his fingers gently through Lando’s curls. “Maybe,” he started softly, hesitating for just a second. “Maybe you should take a little space?”

Lando didn’t move, but Charles felt the small shift in his breath against his shoulder.

“I think Oscar’s bite might’ve knocked your balance a bit,” Charles continued, voice barely more than a hum now. “You’ve been running hot ever since.”

“I’m okay,” Lando whispered, his voice barely audible as he murmured it into the crook of Charles’s neck.

The words were quiet, almost like a reflex. Something he said more to reassure than to convince. But the way he pressed in closer, the way his fingers curled Charles’s side and breath warm against his skin, told a different story.

“Lando,” Charles tried, his voice gentle, careful.

But Lando pulled back just enough to stop him. His eyes met Charles’s, and he didn’t let him speak. “I can’t leave him right now,” he said, voice slightly shaking. He swallowed hard, jaw clenched. “If I go into heat, then fine. I don’t give a fuck.”

Charles just looked at him, eyes soft and sad, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t try to talk him down. Because deep down, he knew that he couldn’t drag Lando away from Oscar, not now. Not ever, really.

He’d known that from the beginning. From the moment Lando first brought Oscar home, all wide eyes and broken edges. Some part of Lando had wrapped around him and never let go. He’d always been too protective. Too fierce. Too much. But it was also the reason Oscar had stayed. The reason he’d survived long enough to let any of them in.

So Charles just nodded, barely, and let the silence stretch between them for a while.

---

Oscar was somewhere far away, caught in that soft, feverish haze where nothing hurt and everything felt too much. Time had almost lost all meaning for him.

He was split open around Carlos’s cock, slightly trembling and pliant, every thought long gone, floating somewhere far above his body. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t. There was only heat and softness and the steady anchor of Carlos beneath him.

His nose was tucked into the curve of Carlos’s neck, lips brushing warm skin as he breathed him in like instinct. Slow, steady inhales, over and over, like Carlos’s scent was the only thing keeping him from dissolving completely. A soft, constant purr vibrated in his chest, rumbling faintly against Carlos’s skin. And if it weren’t for the steady drip of pre-cum spilling Carlos’s stomach and along with the warm, wet mess of slick leaking from Oscar’s hole, coating Carlos’s crotch and thighs, Carlos would almost think he was asleep. 

Carlos, on the other hand, was excruciatingly aware of just how long he’d been buried inside Oscar’s tight, desperate heat. Almost two hours now.

Under normal circumstances, he never would’ve lasted this long. Not when Oscar was squeezing around him wet and pulsing and perfect, like his body was begging to be knotted with every helpless clench. Carlos could feel it, all of it. The way Oscar’s slick kept dripping down his thighs, the way his hole fluttered around him every time he shifted, like his body didn’t know how to stop needing.

But this wasn’t just any heat, and Oscar wasn’t just any omega.

He was more fragile than ever. Soft. Unguarded. Dazed and gone somewhere deep. And that vulnerability gripped Carlos tighter than any instinct ever could.

So he held himself back. Didn’t thrust. Didn’t knot. Didn’t let himself snap. He just kept himself there, buried and burning, letting the weight of him soothe rather than take. Because right now, comforting Oscar mattered more than chasing his own release.

Carlos’s fingers moved in a slow, unhurried rhythm, stroking down Oscar’s back, carding gently through his curls. He was so focused on the weight of Oscar in his arms, the steady rise and fall of his breath, that the soft click of the door felt almost distant. But he looked up.

Lando stepped in, quiet and cautious, with Charles just behind him. Oscar stirred at the faint shift in the air, making the softest noise as he shifted, nuzzling his nose deeper into Carlos’s neck. He didn’t tense. Didn’t pull away. Just melted in closer.

Lando was the first to climb onto the bed, moving quietly, like he didn’t want to break whatever fragile peace hung in the air. He settled beside Carlos’s leg, right next to Oscar, and reached out with slow fingers to brush the strands away from Oscar’s face. He combed them gently back, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. 

Oscar stirred at the touch, turning his face toward Lando as he rested his cheek against Carlos’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open, hazy and half-lidded, and when they found Lando’s face, something in him softened even more. Lando smiled. Then he heard the soft, steady purring rumbling up from Oscar’s chest, low and content and completely involuntary. 

“Oh, baby,” Lando whispered, voice dipping into something sweet and teasing. “Are you purring?” he asked, brushing his knuckles along Oscar’s jaw. “You like alpha’s cock that much, huh?”

Oscar let out a whine as he closed his eyes again, this time nuzzling his forehead into the curve of Carlos’s shoulder. The sound was needy, content, utterly unguarded, and it made Lando grin wider, pure affection flickering in his expression.

Behind them, when Charles finally moved and climbed onto the bed slowly, deliberately, Lando turned toward him with a quiet smile. “C’mon,” he said, voice coaxing.

Charles took a deep breath before crawling forward. He slid in behind Oscar, settling with his legs on either side of Carlos’s thighs, straddling him. 

Carlos went completely still beneath them, holding his breath. The weight of two omegas pressed against him, warm and pliant and slick, was almost too much. He gritted his teeth and held still, refusing to give in to the way his body begged to move. And Charles caught it. He glanced down at him with a knowing little smirk. But he didn’t tease. He turned his focus back to Oscar.

His hands came up, resting on Oscar’s shoulders before sliding down in soft, measured strokes. His thumbs brushed the back of Oscar’s neck, palms gliding along the curve of his arms. Soothing. And Oscar reacted instantly. He shifted with a soft, breathy noise, pulling back from Carlos’s neck and pressing himself into Charles’s chest behind him. His spine curved with instinct, and he whined again, sweeter this time. Meanwhile Carlos didn’t dare move. Didn’t speak. His hands remained steady, cradling Oscar’s waist.

Charles’s hands slid forward, gliding under Carlos’s where they still rested firm around Oscar’s waist. His fingers grazed over heated skin, then drifted lower, curling around Oscar’s belly, which rose and fell in shaky, uneven breaths. And then lower still.

He brushed over the bulge where Carlos’s cock pressed up from inside, thick and deep and stretching Oscar so perfectly that the heat practically pulsed through his skin. The moment Charles’s hand ghosted over it, Oscar let out a sharp, broken whine. And Charles felt it too, the way the tight fullness shifted beneath his palm. He exhaled shakily, a soft sound slipping past his own lips, caught somewhere between awe and need.

He couldn’t help himself. His hand slid down, wrapping around Oscar’s dripping cock, flushed angry-red at the tip. He gave a slow, careful stroke, thumb brushing just beneath the head. And Oscar shattered.

His reaction was immediate. His back arched, a gasp punched from his lungs, and then he was coming hard. Thick, desperate spurts of cum spilled over Carlos’s stomach, his own trembling skin, and Charles’s hand. His entire body jerked with the force of it, and as he clenched around Carlos’s cock, tight and involuntary. Carlos groaned, deep and helpless, the sound ripped straight from his chest.

Oscar whimpered through it all, breath catching and trembling with aftershocks. Meanwhile Charles kept his hand moving in slow, steady pulls, milking every last wave from him. He bent forward, lips brushing against Oscar’s damp neck, and moaned softly against his skin. The sound was reverent. Intimate. Like watching Oscar come undone had knocked the breath from his lungs, too. 

Carlos’s hips shifted. Barely, unintentionally. But it was enough. Just enough to press deeper, to fuck up into Oscar with a slow, helpless grind that he didn’t mean but couldn’t stop.

They both made a sound at the same time. Oscar let out a sharp, gasping whine, caught somewhere between surprise and pleasure. Carlos groaned low in his throat, the sensation of sinking that fraction deeper making his breath catch, eyes fluttering shut as his hands tightened reflexively around Oscar’s waist.

“Fuck, fuck, sorry,” he choked out, eyes squeezing shut, trying to lock himself back into control even as his body begged to take. “Shit, I didn’t mean to,”

He exhaled shakily, forcing his eyes open again, and when he looked down to find Oscar staring back at him. Eyes half-lidded, lips parted, dazed. And he nearly lost it all over again.

Carlos swallowed hard. “Let’s get you up,” he said, voice wrecked around the edges, but trying. He shifted beneath Oscar, hands gently guiding, even as every part of him screamed to stay buried. “If we don’t,” he breathed, trailing off as he bit down on the rest of the sentence — or else I’m gonna knot you — before it could slip out. He pressed his lips together, jaw tense, and tried again, softer this time. “Let’s get you up, bebé. C’mon.”

Oscar’s arms suddenly reached up and locked around Carlos’s neck, holding on tight as a loud, choked protest tore out of him. “Nooo,” he whined, voice cracking with panic.

Carlos sucked in a sharp breath as Oscar clenched around him hard, body locking down like he was trying to trap him there, keep him inside with nothing but instinct and desperation. His hand swept down Oscar’s back, trembling, trying to ground him, soothe him as he groaned. “Baby, please.”

Oscar’s grip only tightened, arms wound like a vice around Carlos’s shoulders. “Nooo,” he cried again, louder this time, the word trembling on a sob. His whole body started to shake, and then he was burying his face in Carlos’s neck, rubbing, scenting, panicked and trembling and lost. His breath hitched. And then the tears came. “No, no, please, don’t,”

Carlos’s heart shattered in his chest. He drew in a deep breath, wrapped his arms around Oscar protectively, and cradled the back of his neck with a firm, steady hand. “Okay,” he whispered, voice low and soothing against Oscar’s ear. “Okay, baby. I won’t pull out. I won’t. Don’t cry, it’s okay, I’m here.”

But Oscar just kept crying, kept rubbing his nose against Carlos’s skin like scent alone could keep him safe. Like losing contact would ruin him. And all Carlos could do was hold him tighter, whispering whatever came to mind, anything to keep him from falling apart. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, lips pressed to Oscar’s temple. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m not leaving.”

Charles moved in closer, pressing his chest to Oscar’s back, molding himself to the curve of him as if trying to wrap himself around him entirely. His hands slid along Oscar’s sides, tracing the trembling lines of his body in quiet reassurance. Then he leaned in and his lips found the dip where Oscar’s shoulder met his neck, and he kissed him there, again and again. His mouth moved up slowly, kissing along the sharp edge of Oscar’s jaw, the space beneath his ear, the delicate line between shoulder and throat. “Shhh,” he whispered, between kisses. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

Lando moved closer too, eyes wide and aching at the sight of him. He reached out and wiped Oscar’s tear-streaked cheeks with the softest touch. Then he threaded his fingers into Oscar’s hair and started stroking.

Carlos still held Oscar tight, arms wrapped securely around his waist, anchoring them both. He pressed his lips to the side of Oscar’s head and kept his voice low, steady, murmuring the only thing he could offer right now, “I won’t pull out. I won’t. I promise.”

And Oscar —shaking, sobbing, scenting— was held from every side. Hands smoothing down his back. Lips kissing his tears away. Fingers combing through his hair. Surrounded. Loved. 

He didn’t have to ask them to stay. They already had.

Notes:

Don't forget to leave a comment please. ♡

Chapter 5

Notes:

Sooo… I genuinely wasn’t planning on writing Alpha/Alpha smut, but… I don't know, my hand slipped or something?? Because I suddenly found myself writing Max/Carlos. Which means, as you can probably guess, this chapter contains some Max/Carlos smut. (A blow job to be specific.) But there’s also Lando/Oscar smut, with Max tagging along. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Long after Charles slipped out to answer the door, Oscar still hadn’t moved.

He’d woken nearly one hour ago, still wrapped around Carlos’s chest, still stuffed full of his cock, with two warm omegas tucked in close, scenting him soft in their sleep. But even after waking, he hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t shifted. Hadn’t eaten. The only thing that had passed his lips since morning was water, forced between them through a straw, and even that had taken effort. 

His heat was clearly fading, anyone could smell it. The sharp sweetness in the air was dulling, softening. But that didn’t mean Oscar was any easier to reason with. He wasn’t crying anymore, but his eyes were glassy, lips swollen, body limp. The kind of quiet that came after a storm, not peace but exhaustion. And still, even with the ache easing and the fire in his veins beginning to cool, Oscar remained stubbornly unreachable. Too soft to fight, too wrecked to speak, too deep in it to let go.

And still buried inside him, Carlos hadn’t dared to move either.

But then Oscar mumbled, barely more than a whisper, “My legs…”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even directed at anyone. But it was enough. Lando, who’d been drifting in and out of sleep beside him, blinked awake almost instantly. Carlos, who’d been lying unnaturally still, mind half-dissociated, snapped back into focus like someone had yanked him into the room. 

Carlos’s fingers were in Oscar’s hair in a second, gentle and threading slow. “Your legs hurt?” he asked softly.

Oscar made a small sad sound, something between a hum and a nod. His cheek stayed pressed to Carlos’s shoulder, skin warm and sticky against it, and his eyes barely opened. He looked wrecked. Wrung out. But so heartbreakingly beautiful, soft and pliant.

Carlos didn’t ask again. He already knew the answer. Oscar wouldn’t want to move. He’d asked at least three times before, and each time had been met with a barely-there shake of the head, a quiet whimper, or just silence. So instead, Carlos shifted just enough to slip his hands down, palms wrapping gently around Oscar’s thighs. He started to knead the muscles there with slow, careful pressure, thumbs dragging along the tight, overworked flesh with practiced ease.

Oscar let out a soft, pleased noise, something warm and sleepy, and nuzzled his nose into the crook of Carlos’s neck in response. His lips ghosted over Carlos’s collarbone, not quite a kiss, but close enough to make something inside Carlos twist. And Carlos just kept working his hands in slow, patient circles, reverent with every touch. 

Lando shifted closer, as he reached up to gently squeeze the base of Oscar’s neck, just the way he knew Oscar liked. His thumb moved in slow, grounding strokes, and almost immediately, Oscar started purring again, a soft, content rumble against Carlos’ skin.

“Let’s get up and eat something,” he whispered, thumb rubbing gentle circles into that tender spot at the nape of his neck. “Hmm?”

Oscar didn’t even lift his head. Just let out the softest, most pathetic little whine, muffled into Carlos’s shoulder. “Noo…”

Lando huffed a small laugh and leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to Oscar’s temple before echoing the same tone right back at him. “Baby,” he whined back, perfectly matching Oscar’s pitch like he was mocking him, but with too much fondness for it to sting.

Oscar wriggled a little, making a quiet noise of protest that was way too soft to mean anything serious, and Lando just smiled, already knowing he’d lost this round too.

But then the door creaked open. Max stepped inside, hair damp, the scent of fresh soap and steam trailing behind him. He didn’t say a word, just padded quietly around the bed. He moved around the edge of the bed, bare feet silent against the floor, and slid in on Carlos’s other side. Slow, careful, like he didn’t want to disrupt the cocoon of heat and sleep that clung to the sheets.

Oscar stirred, blinking slowly, the shift in weight and the clean, unmistakably Max scent pulling him back from whatever soft haze he’d been drifting in. His head turned, cheek dragging slightly against Carlos’s skin, and when his eyes opened, they found Max.

Max eased back against the headboard beside Carlos, mirroring his posture. He reached out with one hand, brushing his fingers gently across Oscar’s cheek, thumb tracing the curve like he was touching something precious. “Hi, baby,” he murmured, smiling softly. “How was your day?”

It was the same question he asked every evening, no matter what the day had been. Whether Oscar had been out, or wrecked, or curled up exactly like this. 

Oscar let out a quiet little whine in response, high-pitched and breathy, the kind he only made when he was too content to form words. He was still purring, still boneless between them, still pressing into Carlos like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space. But his lips curled faintly, like the sound of Max’s voice had lit something warm inside him.

Oscar didn’t answer, but Carlos did. “Day spent with his pretty ass parked on my cock all day,” he said, tone smug and lazy, hands still kneading slow circles into Oscar’s thighs. “Wasn’t it?”

Oscar whined again, louder this time, but didn’t deny it. Just pressed his face deeper into Carlos’s shoulder in a shy way.

Max chuckled under his breath, the sound low and fond. “Guess that counts as a full schedule,” he said, thumb brushing once more across Oscar’s cheek.

Lando curled in closer on Carlos’s other side, tucking himself beneath his arm. His hand never stopped moving, still rubbing slow, soothing circles into the back of Oscar’s neck, tracing the curve of his shoulder, his spine. Then, in a voice barely more than a breath, sleepy and a little needy, Lando murmured, “I want a cock in my pretty ass too.”

Carlos hummed at that, deep and low like he was already considering it. Max turned his head slightly, one brow arching with that slow, familiar smirk. But it was Oscar who reacted first.

His breath caught, felt it like a jolt beneath his skin. He could see it before he even meant to: Lando spread out, eyes glassy, back arched, taking it so well. Needy and aching and good.

Oscar whimpered. A soft, broken little thing that spilled from his throat without warning. Almost involuntarily, his hips gave the smallest twitch, the barest shift against Carlos’s lap. And Carlos let out a low, surprised moan at the movement. His hand flexed on Oscar’s thigh, like he was holding on to keep from reacting more.

Oscar turned his face into Carlos’s neck like he could hide the way his hips twitched from the thought alone. But Max saw it and he chuckled, his fingers brushing lightly along Oscar’s jaw, coaxing his gaze back up. “Oh, you liked that,” he said, voice all teasing affection. “You want to watch him like that?” He leaned in just a little closer, “Me fucking his pretty ass? Or Carlos? Or… you’d rather fuck him yourself?”

Oscar let out a louder whine this time, high and utterly wrecked, like Max’s words had reached someplace too deep, too hot. His hips twitched again, desperate and aching, and he buried his face deeper into Carlos’s neck, like he could hide from what was rising in him.

Max didn’t let him. He caught Oscar’s chin between his fingers and tilted his face up, firm but gentle, until Oscar was looking right at him with his eyes wide, pupils blown, lips parted in something between need and disbelief.

“Come on, baby. Don’t get all shy now,” Max said, voice low and coaxing, thumb brushing across Oscar’s bottom lip. He leaned in, just enough for his nose to nudge Oscar’s, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I’d love to see you fuck him,” he murmured, like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever said. “Will you show us, hm? Show us how good you fuck your omega?”

Two matching high-pitched whines rose into the air. Soft, broken, and nearly identical. Ripped from the throats of both omegas like they couldn’t help it.

Oscar was the first to move.

He reached for Max with a trembling hand, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline, and pulled him in until their mouths met. The kiss landed messy, wet, all lips and breath and heat, and Max didn’t hesitate for even a second. He sat up, cupping Oscar’s face in one hand, and kissed him deep.

Oscar melted into it. Into him. And beneath all of it, his hips rolled. Just a little. Just enough to drag his body over Carlos’s cock still buried deep inside him. The friction made him gasp into Max’s mouth, made his spine arc without meaning to. Carlos’s breath hitched because of that, and he tightened his grip around Oscar’s waist.

Meanwhile Lando’s hand had slipped from Oscar’s neck in the chaos, now clinging tight to Carlos’s arm, knuckles white where they gripped. His breathing was shallow, mouth parted, eyes flicking between the kiss and the hands and the bodies surrounding the nest like he couldn’t decide where to look, what to feel, who to beg for first.

When Max and Oscar finally pulled apart, it was with a soft, wet sound, lips dragging, breath catching between them. Oscar’s mouth was pink and swollen, slick with spit, his eyes dazed and dark and aching.

Max didn’t move far. He stayed close, lips hovering just a breath away, voice dipping low and warm. “You want it?” he whispered, eyes locked on Oscar’s. “Want to hear how pretty he sounds with your cock inside him?” He leaned in, nose brushing Oscar’s cheek, lips ghosting over the corner of his mouth. “Or maybe,” he continued, voice sliding lower, sweeter, filthier, “you want us to help? Open him up for you. Hold him down with you. Make him beg.”

Oscar whimpered, high and desperate, and pulled his hand away from Carlos’s chest, reaching blindly between his legs to wrap shaky fingers around his dripping cock.

But Carlos was faster. He caught Oscar’s wrist, pushed his hand aside, and took hold of him himself, fingers curling tight around the slick shaft, squeezing the base hard enough to make Oscar cry out. 

“Don’t you want to come inside him, bebé?” Carlos rasped, voice like gravel, like it was scraping straight out of his chest. “Make a mess in his pretty hole?”

Oscar whined, higher this time, and rolled his hips down without thinking, chasing friction, chasing anything. His cock dragged across Carlos’s stomach, leaving a slick trail behind, and the movement made them both groan. Oscar, breathy and overwhelmed; Carlos, low and guttural like it punched the air from his lungs.

Still whining, Oscar turned, pulling away from Max’s hands, lips, scent, and his body shifting toward the other side of the bed. Toward Lando.

And Lando was already there, already moving, his legs falling open, thighs parting in invitation as Oscar shifted between them. He reached out with both hands, steadying Oscar gently, guiding him into place. 

Oscar slipped between Lando’s legs, nestling down until he was pressed in close, chest to chest, cock twitching between them, hot and slick and aching. And Lando exhaled shakily, hands firm on Oscar’s waist now, holding him close.

Behind them, Carlos let out a broken, “Fuck,” the sudden emptiness of Oscar’s heat making his whole body jolt. His eyes squeezed shut, like he could block out the loss, the ache, but it didn’t help. The phantom heat clung to him, maddening and thick. He dragged his hand down, wrapping it around his own cock that still soaked with omega’s slick, still flushed, still throbbing. And he squeezed, just to stay sane.

He held it together for a moment. Barely. Then he opened his eyes again, eyes flicking towards Max. But Max was already sliding behind the omegas, hands moving with purpose. He was going to be busy, obviously. Then he rasped out, “Where the fuck is Charles?” It came out more like a moan than a question.

Max shifted behind Oscar, rising onto his knees and settled in close. Chest to Oscar’s back, hands sliding along his waist. Then he looked right at Carlos, and grinned. Wide. Filthy. Smug. “Better grip tight,” he said with a wink, tone featherlight, mocking.

Carlos let out a guttural sound, half-groan, half-growl, head tipping back, fist tightening around his cock. His eyes stayed locked on Max’s, burning with frustration, with arousal. 

Max only laughed, low and delighted, like Carlos wasn’t sitting there unraveled, slick on his skin, cock in his hand, and nothing to fuck. And it only made Calos harder.

Max let his words hang there, the echo of his grin still twisting sharp in Carlos’s chest. But his attention was already turning back. Back to the trembling, flushed body pressed against him. Oscar. He dipped his head, lips brushing the curve of Oscar’s shoulder, his voice dropping to something softer now. “Go on, baby,” he murmured, and slid his hands down, wrapping gently around Oscar’s wrists.

He guided them forward slowly, until Oscar’s fingers met the waistband of Lando’s briefs. Oscar exhaled shakily, then slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, dragging it down inch by inch. Lando arched for him without a word, hips lifting, thighs falling open in silent offering. 

And then Max’s hands joined Oscar’s, their fingers brushing as they worked together to slide the fabric down, past Lando’s thighs, past his knees, down to his ankles. 

Oscar sat back on his knees, staring, his breath caught somewhere between awe and hunger. Behind him, Max’s palms stayed warm on his waist, steadying him. And Max’s hands slid down over Oscar’s hips, slow and steady. Not rushing him, just guiding. 

It wasn’t the first time Oscar would fuck Lando. But tonight felt different. He was quieter. Less sure. Floating in that hazy space between too much and not enough, caught somewhere between heat and hesitation. Max knew it. And he didn’t push. He handled.

Max glanced down at the other omega spread beneath them. Lando, chest rising and falling in shallow, hungry breaths. His eyes flicked up, glassy and wild, looking from Max to Oscar like he didn’t know where to land. His thighs were parted, skin flushed, the space between his legs already slick and glistening. He hadn’t said a word, but he’d been soaking in Oscar’s scent for hours. Carlos’s arousal, too. The tension had been curling in him like a slow fever.

Max’s hand slipped lower, down between Oscar’s thighs, brushing the inside gently, teasing the soft skin there until Oscar trembled. Then lower still. He wrapped his fingers around Oscar’s cock and gave one slow stroke, just enough to make Oscar gasp. His thumb dragged along the head, smearing precum moe, and he smiled at the way Oscar’s hips bucked helplessly into his hand. 

Then he shifted, fingers guiding Oscar’s hips now. Lining him up. “He’s already wet for you,” he murmured, leaning in, mouth brushing Oscar’s ear. Then a kiss, slow and unhurried, pressed to the curve of Oscar’s neck. “Come on, don’t make him wait. And don’t hold back. Let me hear how pretty you both sound.”

Oscar’s breath caught, chest stuttering as Max’s words settled in his spine. He reached for Lando, hands settling on his hips. He held him there, gently, thumbs brushing over flushed skin slick with sweat and slick and want. And Lando parted his legs a little wider, soft and obedient, his body already trembling. He didn’t say a word, but the way he tilted his hips up, the way he offered was louder than begging.

Oscar’s hips shifted forward, guided by Max’s hands, his cock dragging slick along the crease of Lando’s ass. Lando whined. And Oscar answered with a soft whimper of his own. Then, slow, so slow, he pushed in. The head of his cock caught, then sank through slick heat, inch by inch, until the stretch pulled a full-body whine from Lando’s chest.

Lando’s back arched, lips parted, hands fisting into the sheets. Oscar made a sound too, choked and broken, his fingers tightening on Lando’s hips.

Behind him, Max groaned like the sight of it had knocked the breath out of him. He pressed one hand flat against the small of Oscar’s back, steadying him, holding him down, grounding him with touch and presence. And Carlos’s voice cracked through the air too. He cursed under his breath as he watched them. His cock still in his hand, still aching, still untouched.

Oscar kept sinking. Deeper and deeper, until he was fully sheathed in Lando’s tight heat, both of them whining softly into the space between them. 

Max leaned in again, mouth brushing his neck, “That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that.” And his hands stayed firm on Oscar’s waist, guiding him through each slow movement, pulling him back until only the head of his cock remained inside, then pressing him forward again, burying him back into Lando’s heat.

Oscar whined with every push, high and shaky. Lando answered with his own soft, wrecked sounds. Both of them caught somewhere between too much and not enough . The air between them was thick with heat. With the slow drag of cock from slick, the quiet, wet sound of him pushing back in, and the shaky exhales that filled every second between.

Lando’s hands slid up, curling around the back of Oscar’s neck. He tugged him down until their mouths met. Messy, eager, heat and teeth and spit. And Max’s hands fell away from Oscar’s waist, letting him move on his own now. Eventually Oscar found his rhythm, slow and deep rolls of his hips, each thrust sinking him fully back into Lando before pulling away again, only to push back harder. They kissed through it, lips parting, breathing into each other, every moan swallowed between them as Oscar kept fucking him.

“Max,” Carlos groaned, low and rough, like it scraped its way out of his chest. Max turned his head lazily, dragging his gaze from the scene in front of him to Carlos, sprawled back, hand wrapped tight around his cock still and breathing ragged.

The corner of Max’s mouth curved into something dangerous. A smirk that was all sharp edges and filthy amusement, like he already knew exactly what Carlos wanted.

Carlos’s eyes narrowed, his voice breaking somewhere between a warning and a plea as he said it again, “Max...”

Max finally spoke, his smirk deepening as his gaze locked on him. “You want a hand?” he asked mockingly sweet. “Then you’re gonna have to ask nice.” When Carlos let out a low growl, Max only arched a brow, completely unbothered. “Nicer.”

Carlos’s nostrils flared, but before he could speak again, Max’s attention slid back to the omegas. To Lando and Odcar, still moving together, still gasping into each other’s mouths, the air thick with the sound of it.

Max’s voice dropped low, dripping with mockery. “Boys… should I give Carlos a hand, or make him watch?”

Lando let out a needy whine into Oscar’s mouth, but Oscar didn’t stop kissing him. If anything, he deepened it, one hand cupping the back of Lando’s head, holding him there, kissing him harder while his hips drove deeper.

Max’s smile stretched wider, playful and cruel in equal measure. “Guess that’s a no?”

Carlos groaned from across the bed, the sound low, rough, and aching. Max only chuckled under his breath, eyes glinting like this was all a game he was winning. And he reached forward, his hands sliding around Lando’s thighs. In one smooth motion, he pushed, folding him nearly in half, knees pressed tight toward his chest.

Lando gasped, the new angle making Oscar sink deeper, stretch him wider. His whine climbed higher. Breathless, beautiful, and wrecked. Until it broke into something between a moan and a cry.

Max closed the space between them, pressing forward until his chest was flush against Oscar’s back, his heat soaking through skin already slick with sweat. His mouth dipped to Oscar’s ear, breath hot, voice a low, dirty purr. “Fuck him harder, baby.”

Oscar’s moan cracked open at the press of Max’s body over his, other hand sliding up to cradle Lando’s face, thumb brushing his cheek. He kissed him deeper, hips snapping forward harder, each thrust sharper until the pleasure ripped through him. His sounds spilled into Lando’s mouth, almost a sob as he came deep inside him.

Their kiss dissolved into gasps, mouths still close enough to taste each other’s air. But Max didn’t let him still. His hands tightened on Oscar’s waist, rocking him through it, guiding every aftershock into another thrust, keeping him moving inside Lando.

Lando’s fingers threaded into Oscar’s hair, holding him close as his own breath hitched and broke into high, choked whines, almost crying. Until he came untouched, the heat spilling thick between their bellies.

Oscar kept fucking him through both their orgasms, Max’s strength driving him forward, their bodies moving together while slick and cum poured from Lando’s hole, running over his thighs, soaking the sheets beneath them. The mess coated them both, clinging to their skin, hot and sticky.

After a short while, Oscar was still buried deep when his body finally gave in, folding forward until his weight draped over Lando completely. Lando welcomed his weight, arms loose around him, soaking in the warmth like a blanket, their shaky breaths ghosting over each other’s skin in the quiet that followed.

Max lingered for a moment, watching them, watching the way slick still dripped between them, the slow tremble in their limbs, before finally pulling back from Oscar’s back. His body eased away, and when he looked over, his grin curled.

Carlos looked wrecked, jaw tight, eyes dark and turned to him, every line of his body screaming need. 

Max crossed the small distance without hurry, but Carlos didn’t wait. His legs fell open in invitation, dragging Max into the space between them. Then Max settled on his knees between them this time, and reached down. His hand wrapped around Carlos’s cock. Rock hard, dripping, pulsing against his palm. And he stroked once, slow and deliberate, his thumb smearing the precum over flushed skin. Carlos let out a low and guttural sound at the movement, half relief and half frustration.

Carlos’s hand came up, fingers curling gently but firmly around Max’s jaw, tilting his face down toward him. “Your mouth, cariño,” he managed, like the words had to be dragged out of him.

Max leaned in until their breaths mingled, eyes locked on Carlos’s. His voice dropped to a hot, taunting whisper, laced with mockery, “Say please.”

Carlos’s eyes slid shut, his chest expanding with a slow, deliberate inhale, as if he could breathe his frustration into calm. His grip on Max’s jaw tightened instead, thumb pressing harder against the line of his chin. When his eyes opened again, there was nothing patient left in them. “Please,” he said, hoarse and unsteady, but surrendering all the same.

Max chuckled under his breath, “You could’ve waited for Charles, you know,” he murmured, though he still shifted back, giving himself room to move.

Carlos drew in a long, steady breath, his eyes locked on Max.

 “I like it when you’re on your knees for me,” he said, voice roughened with want. “Been too long.”

That pulled a grin from Max, slow and full of promise. His fingers curled tighter around Carlos’s cock, just enough to make him twitch, before he bent forward and took him into his mouth in one smooth, unhesitating motion.

Carlos’s moan tore free instantly. Loud, raw, the kind that vibrated in his chest. His hand slid into Max’s hair, fingers spreading through the soft strands. He didn’t pull, didn’t push. Max might’ve been younger, but Carlos never forgot he was an alpha too. 

The first slow pull of Max’s mouth made Carlos’s head tip back, a raw curse slipping free. His tongue traced deliberately along the thick vein underneath before curling around the head, teasing the edge just long enough to make Carlos’s thighs tense, then sinking back down, deeper this time, until heat and wet surrounded him.

Carlos’s fingers slid deeper into Max’s hair, tightening slightly. He didn’t dare push. Max’s pace was too precise: slow enough to drive him mad, skilled enough to pull a sound from his chest every time he bottomed out.

A low hum rumbled in Max’s throat, the vibration shooting straight through Carlos’s spine and making his hips twitch. When Max pulled back, it was unhurried, his lips dragging along sensitive skin until they slipped free, a string of spit still connecting them.

His eyes lifted then, catching Carlos’s. And there was no submission there. Just heat. Challenge. That smug curl at the corner of his mouth that said I know exactly what I’m doing to you.

“Fuck,” Carlos groaned, the word torn out of him before he could stop it.

Then Max swallowed him down again, deeper this time, until Carlos’s breath stuttered and his fingers flexed in his hair, fighting the urge to hold him there.

Carlos had been on the edge for hours, every muscle tight, every nerve stretched thin. It hit him all at once, his breath catching, his hips jerking, before a loud, guttural moan tore out of him. “Coming,” he warned, between his shaky breaths.

Max didn’t pull back. If anything, he leaned in more, a low hum vibrating around him as his mouth sealed tighter. His tongue pressed just right under the head, and then he sucked, harder at the right over the swollen tip.

And that was it. Carlos’s groan fractured into something helpless, his whole body locking up before the first hot pulse spilled down Max’s throat. Max took it all, swallowing around him, each wave wringing another broken sound from Carlos’s chest.

Max didn’t ease off. He kept working him through it, sucking greedily until Carlos’s thighs trembled and his breath stuttered, until the aftershocks were almost too much to take. Only then did he pull back, slow and unhurried, his lips dragging over oversensitive skin before letting him go with a wet, quiet pop.

Max sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face. “I should make you wait more often.” he murmured as he turned his head and his gaze caught Oscar watching.

Oscar was still sprawled over Lando’s chest, breathing uneven, lips parted. His eyes were fixed on Max, wide with something caught between stunned disbelief and raw hunger. 

Sure, he’d seen Max and Carlos hug and kiss before. But this was way different. This was the first time he’d seen one alpha on his knees for another… and not just any alpha. This was Max. The kind of alpha who never bowed, never broke, who filled a room just by stepping into it. The kind of alpha Oscar would’ve sworn no one could put on their knees. And yet, he’d done it. Calm, controlled, and looking like he owned every second of it.

No wonder Oscar couldn’t look away. 

Max shifted closer, sliding an arm around Carlos and resting against his chest. Carlos made a faint noise at the feel of his softening cock brushing against Max’s clothes but didn’t say a word.

Max’s gaze stayed on Oscar, his smile slow, curling at the edges. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough with leftover arousal. “I’m still hard.”

Carlos’s chest shook with a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling against Max’s cheek, while Oscar buried his face into the curve of Lando’s neck, hiding from the weight of Max’s gaze. That only made Max’s grin widen, sharp with amusement at the omega’s sudden shyness.

And then the door opened. Charles stepped in, muttering a sharp, “Merde,” as he tossed his phone onto the vanity by the mirror. His eyes swept the room once, taking in the mess, the heat still hanging in the air. “I missed everything, didn't I?”

---

Max disappeared with Charles, their fingers twined, and they were gone long enough for Carlos to be left with the aftermath. So he ran the bath, warm and just the right side of soothing, and eased both omegas in. While they soaked and let the water wash away the mess, he stripped the bed, changing the damp sheets for fresh ones.

When Lando padded out of the bathroom, his hair damp and his skin flushed from the heat, his brows pinched faintly at the sight of the nest disturbed. But exhaustion dulled the protest on his tongue. Without a word, he climbed back into bed beside Oscar, the two curling into each other like they were picking up where they’d left off.

Now, as Carlos retreated to his own room for an online meeting, the omegas stayed tangled in the quiet. Oscar’s fingers traced over the faint indentations along Lando’s neck, the marks softening against his skin. “It’s fading,” he murmured, sad and almost mournful.

Lando’s fingers drifted through Oscar’s hair in slow, idle strokes, nails barely grazing his scalp. “When my next heat comes, you can bite me again,” he murmured back. “Marks can stay longer that way.”

Oscar’s fingertips kept drifting over the faint marks on Lando’s throat, tracing them like he could will them to stay. “I can?” he asked, hesitating. “Bite you again, I mean?”

Lando turned his head slowly, a warm smile tugging at his lips. “You can, baby.” He watched for a moment, watched the way Oscar’s cheeks colored just enough, the way his gaze darted away, while his hand kept combing gently through his hair. “Feeling better?” he asked after a beat. 

Oscar rubbed his cheek against Lando’s shoulder, a quiet, “Yeah,” slipping from his lips.

Lando’s arm curled tighter around him. “Want to talk?”

Oscar pressed in closer, tucking himself against Lando’s chest like he could disappear there. “Not now,” he whispered.

Lando’s fingers kept their slow, easy path through Oscar’s hair, nails grazing lightly against his scalp. “What if I talk?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar didn’t answer at first. The pause stretched, filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing and the steady thump of Lando’s heart under his ear. Then, softly, “Okay,” he whispered.

Lando took a slow breath. “I want to tell you about my old pack,” he said, voice low, careful, but sure.

Oscar’s eyes slipped shut, and he mirrored the breath. He already knew bits and pieces, fragments from overheard conversations or things the others had let slip, but he’d never asked outright anything about their past.

Of course he’d wondered. How could he not? But asking meant opening a door. And once it was open, they could step through it, ask him about his past.

He knew they wouldn’t push if he said no. He knew that. But he also knew himself, how the guilt would creep in, how the weight of not giving something back would sit in his chest.

So he hadn’t asked. And he hadn’t told.

Oscar knew exactly why Lando wanted to tell him now. He was making space, laying his own vulnerabilities bare so Oscar might feel safe enough to do the same. It was his way of saying you can trust me , without pushing, without demanding.

It was so very Lando. And it was exactly why Oscar loved him in the very first place.

“Okay,” Oscar whispered again.

“You know Max,” Lando began. “Fewtrell, I mean. Not our Max,” he added with a faint smile.

Oscar hummed in acknowledgment. Of course he knew. Oscar met Lando for the first time at his bar, after all.

“We were childhood friends. Five of us,” Lando went on. “Pietra came later, but she and Max mated almost two years before my first heat, so… she was already kind of family by then.”

He exhaled slowly, his voice dipping into something quieter. “When my first heat came, I wanted to spend it with them. With my pack. Not that we’d even decided to be a pack officially yet, but it just… kinda happened. They were my family. Who else would I have wanted to spend my first heat with?”

Lando’s words flowed like he was half here, half pulled under by the memory. “And then… during my heat, second day or maybe third, I don’t even remember, I wanted to fuck one of the omegas in the pack. Because we loved each other, all of us did. So I wanted to be with every one of them. But one of the alphas… he wouldn’t let me. Told me I was an omega, like the word itself meant I couldn’t fuck anyone. Like I wasn’t capable. I shouldn’t be capable.”

He let out a short, bitter laugh, one without a shred of humor. “And then they started acting like I was some kind of freak. Even with my head all heat-drunk, I could feel their stares, the change in their voices, the way their touches shifted.” And as he spoke, the words seemed to pull him back to that time, the heat and the sting of it curling around him again. “My heat just… stopped. Just like that. Barely the third day and it was gone, when it should’ve lasted a full week at least. My omega basically turned its back on me. Lke it rejected me. One second I was there, burning, and the next… it was like I’d slipped right out of my own body.”

Oscar exhaled softly, the sound almost lost against Lando’s skin, but the weight of it said enough. The ache in Lando’s words pressed too close, too familiar. He nuzzled his cheek into Lando’s chest, seeking the steady beat beneath, but his lips had drawn into a small pout and his eyes stung with tears that hadn’t yet fallen.

Because he’d felt it too. Exactly that. Until just a few days ago, until his own heat had returned, he’d been carrying the same hollow ache, the same gnawing absence inside him.

Lando pressed a small kiss into Oscar’s hair, letting the warmth linger before taking a slow breath and continuing. “After that… nothing. No heat. Not for almost a year. Bit by bit, I started drifting away from the others. And then, our Max told me I should just leave the pack.

Since my heat had shut down so suddenly, I’d never let anyone bite me, so I stayed unmarked. But even then, I didn’t want to go. I’d grown up with them and they were the only pack I’d ever known. The thought of being alone scared the hell out of me.”

He swallowed, his jaw tightening, but his hand never stopped its slow, steady path through Oscar’s hair. “Max just looked at me and said I already was. Because I wasn’t even joining the alphas’ ruts anymore… None of them wanted me.”

Oscar couldn’t even wrap his head around the idea of someone not wanting Lando. It was ridiculous. Who in their right mind wouldn’t? And yet, somehow, these people had pulled it off. They’d made him feel unwanted. Unchosen.

His arms tightened around Lando’s waist, protective without meaning to. “When was this?” he asked, the edge in his voice sharper than he intended.

The bite in Oscar’s tone made Lando’s lips twitch into a small, amused smile. “I was almost twenty-three back then… so, what? Like four years ago?”

Oscar made a low, thoughtful hum, tilting his head to nuzzle into Lando’s chest like a cat again, dragging in his scent. “Mm. Late bloomer, then,” he murmured. “Go on.”

Lando chuckled softly, the sound rumbling under Oscar’s ear. “Yeah… I was a late bloomer.” He paused just long enough to pull in a slow breath. “As you can probably guess, I listened to Max. I left the pack. He said I could crash with him and his pack for a while. I barely knew Carlos or Charles back then, but I sure as hell didn’t want to go back to my parents. So I stayed. At least until I could find a place of my own.”

Lando’s gaze went distant for a moment, silence stretching between them. Then, slowly, a wide smile tugged at his mouth, spilling into his voice as he began again. “They kind of… seduced me, you know? Pulled me right into their orbit, lured me into their relationship, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And somewhere along the way, I fell for them. Like very hard. They loved me back, too. But even as the weeks turned into months and I was still under their roof, I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. I wasn’t as brave as you.” A low, self-mocking chuckle slipped past his lips. “I spent months holed up in the guest room, pretending it was temporary. And then, I guess they saw the mess in me and decided to match my freak.”

Oscar’s hand drifted over Lando’s ribs, his palm warm against the curve of bone, slow and steady like he was memorizing the shape of him. “You were the one who protected me,” he murmured. “You were the brave one, not me. You let a stranger walk into your home, into your family.”

Lando’s smile deepened, something tender sparking in his eyes. “And you took my hand even when you didn’t need to. You could’ve handled yourself, but you let me in anyway. You told me you wanted to stay, to be one of us. I was never like that. After my pack, I was terrified of love… of safety. But you,” his voice gentled, almost in awe, “you were brave enough to accept love. To be loved. And to love back.”

A few warm drops slipped from Oscar’s lashes, landing on Lando’s chest, and he sniffled softly. Lando glanced down, surprise flickering across his face as he took in the sight of him tucked so close. “Are you crying?” he asked, voice a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

Oscar shut his eyes, his voice muffled as he murmured, “Hormones.” He’d already cried enough during his heat. What were a few more tears now?

Lando’s laugh was low and warm, and his hand came up to cradle Oscar’s cheek, thumb brushing gently to catch the dampness there. “Want me to keep going?”

Oscar sniffled again, but his answer came in a whisper. “Yeah.”

Lando’s smile didn’t fade as he went on, his voice taking on a warmer, almost nostalgic lilt. “Before then, I’d never seen two alphas as close as Carlos and Max. Normally, alphas in a pack can’t share the omegas, sometimes not even the betas, but they were different. I remember being genuinely shocked the first time I caught them napping together without Charles. At first, I thought they were only tolerating each other because of him… but no. What they had was their own.”

His expression softened, a hint of fondness shaping his words. “And Charles… Charles never once looked at me like I was something strange. He was always open, always kind. You’d think it might’ve been hard for him to accept me, especially after living so long with two alphas, but it wasn’t. Not once did he hesitate. There was never a moment when Charles didn’t open his arms to me.”

“Max might’ve been the first to invite me in,” Lando continued, “but the first one I fell for was Charles.”

Oscar’s lips curved, the agreement slipping in without thought. Max and Carlos, for all their warmth, still carried that stubborn, unshakable alpha edge. But Charles… Charles was different. Gentle in a way that sank under your skin. He had this uncanny ability to make you feel seen, like you weren’t just tolerated but valued. Like the space you took up in the world was entirely yours by right.

“I think I realized I loved Max and Carlos too the moment it hit me that… I never flinched around them. Not once. It sounds like nothing, right? Just a small thing. But I’d spent so long in my old pack instinctively shrinking back from the alphas, especially after my heat, I didn’t even notice I was doing it until it stopped. I thought that was just how it was supposed to be. Alphas were meant to be intimidating, and omegas were meant to be small, a little scared sometimes. That was normal. Natural.” He paused, almost as if the weight of that truth settled heavier now that he’d spoken it out loud. “And sure, Carlos and Max can be intimidating, when they want to be. But they never made me feel that way. Never made me feel small in that awful way that makes you want to curl in on yourself and disappear. With them, I felt safe. Protected. Even when I didn’t need it. Especially because… it was never protection from them.”

Oscar drew in another deep breath, letting Lando’s words settle in his chest, heavy and warm all at once. He stayed quiet, sifting through them, and Lando didn’t rush him. He just waited in the silence, patient.

“Was it… too much all at once?” Lando asked eventually, his voice gentle.

“No,” Oscar murmured, his tone soft but sure. He was just thinking. About how their stories could be so different and yet mirror each other in ways that made his chest ache. The words he wanted kept slipping away, so he reached for the only ones that felt right. “I love you.”

Lando’s arm tightened instantly, pulling him in until Oscar was swallowed by his warmth. A wide, unguarded smile lit his face as he pressed it into Oscar’s hair. “I love you too, my baby.”

Notes:

Please don't leave before leaving a comment. ♡

Chapter 6

Notes:

This chapter has a little bit of Oscar/Lando smut, and the chapter is mostly centered around them, with Max tagging along towards the end. No Carlos or Charles this time, sorry! Hope you enjoy. ♡

Once the heat had burned itself out, Oscar drifted back into that familiar quiet. But this time, the quiet felt heavier, deeper. Almost like he’d taken a step too far into silence and wasn’t sure how to find his way back.

The next day, while everyone else seemed to fall back into their usual routines as if nothing had happened, Oscar curled up on the couch in front of the TV, his blue blanket cocooning him. A movie played on the screen, but he wasn’t really watching. His eyes were there, but his mind was miles away.

He remembered everything.

The heat might have left him floating, half-high and half-drunk on the haze of it. But it hadn’t stolen a single memory. Maybe it would’ve been kinder if it had, if it had blurred like too much wine, leaving him with nothing but fragments and feelings. But no. Every detail was still there, vivid and unyielding.

He remembered Lando laying his heart and body bare, just to make him feel safe. The way Max’s face had twisted with pain when the panic attack hit. And he remembered how none of them had asked questions afterward. No probing, no prying. Just an unspoken agreement to keep him steady, to orbit him until he found his footing again. He remembered Charles’ kindness. Carlos’ patience, uncharacteristic and deliberate, like he’d set aside his own nature for Oscar’s sake.

They moved in sync, never pushing. Every gesture preceded by a gentle do you want this? And when Oscar didn’t answer, they didn’t pull away. They just watched him with that soft focus, reading the tiniest shifts in his expression, the smallest changes in his breathing.

They gave him nothing but gentleness. Nothing but a love so steady, so unselfish, that Oscar wasn’t sure whether to hold onto it, or fall apart completely under the weight of it.

And last night, Lando… After laying his past bare, he hadn’t asked for anything in return. He hadn’t pushed. He’d simply gathered Oscar into his arms and held him there, until the slow pull of sleep claimed him.

Sometime in the quiet dark, when Oscar had rolled onto his other side, he’d felt Charles there too. Solid, warm, a wordless comfort pressed against his back. 

By morning, they were both gone. But their scents clung to the nest, threaded deep into the blankets and pillows, wrapping around him like something alive. A phantom embrace. A promise that even in their absence, he was safe. That he was still theirs.

“Still not hungry, Osc?”

Lando’s voice drifted in from the doorway, his head appearing around the frame like he’d been watching for a moment to slip in. And Oscar startled, eyes snapping toward him as if yanked out of a half-dream.

That morning, Lando had tried to coax him into breakfast, but Oscar downed a glass of milk and retreated, curling back into his blanket. And now… the answer hasn't changed still. “No,” he mumbled, his gaze skittering away almost as soon as it met Lando’s.

The embarrassment was stupid, pointless. He knew that. But it still bloomed hot in his chest, a shy heat that painted his cheeks pink. Not the sharp, gut-twisting shame he was used to, but something softer, quieter. The kind that made him feel small in a way that wasn’t unpleasant.

Oscar could feel Lando’s gaze lingering on him, warm and steady, like it was trying to read him without prying. It stayed there for a beat longer than it needed to, long enough for Oscar’s fingers to twitch against the blanket. Then Lando huffed out a quiet, fond little laugh under his breath, the kind that curled at the edges, and slipped back into his office without another word.

Oscar pulled the blanket over his head, tucking himself into the dim, muffled quiet beneath it. The room was empty, but he stayed hidden anyway, letting the soft press of fabric turn the world into nothing more than his own slow breathing. And for a moment, he thought about the nest.

Charles had made it for him that morning before leaving, carefully arranging it in Oscar’s bed like he’d already known Oscar might feel unsettled today. He’d told him, in that gentle, certain way of his, that he could curl up in it whenever he wanted.

And, Oscar wanted it. Wanted to crawl inside, to press himself into the warmth until nothing could reach him. But at the same time… he didn’t want to be alone.

During his heat, even with the cramps twisting in his stomach and the panic attacks and the tears, he’d felt them. Every hand, every glance, every drop of love they’d poured into him. And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that safe. That whole. Not since he was fourteen.

He wanted them to know. All the things they hadn’t asked, couldn’t ask, but wondered. Oscar wanted to tell them. For the first time, he wanted to spill everything, bare every raw and trembling piece of himself, give them every shard of his vulnerability. Like right now.

But they were all busy. Carlos was at the company, Max had said this morning he’d be tied up with a sale, Charles had gone to the fashion house to meet with a designer whose name Oscar couldn’t even pronounce, and Lando was shut away in his office, buried in meetings about the game his team was developing.

Everyone had their work. Everyone’s life was moving forward on its own track.

And Oscar wasn’t even working anymore. Not since the night Lando had pulled him out of Max Fewtrell’s bar like he was something worth saving. Not since Lando had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into his chest like he was something worth keeping.

From that night forward, Oscar hadn’t gone back. He’d stayed here, in this house, in this strange, fragile safety, trying to stitch himself back together in small, clumsy ways. Lando had told him he didn’t need to work for as long as he needed. No deadlines, no pressure.

That first night, when Lando had brought him to this house, he’d held him close, lips brushing against Oscar’s hair as he said, half in jest, “If you want, I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” But Oscar had known deep down that he wasn’t joking. Not really. And the rest of the pack had backed him without hesitation. No questions. No judgment.

So Oscar had stayed. Stayed at home. For months now, he’d been here with Lando. Lando, who should have been in the office of the company he’d built from the ground up, had started working from home instead. Just so Oscar wouldn’t have to sit in an empty house, alone with the silence.

Until now, Oscar had been drifting. Caught somewhere in the middle, suspended between the person he used to be and the one he hadn’t figured out yet. He didn’t work. He didn’t push forward. He just… floated, trying to find himself without even realizing how much of himself he’d already lost. It wasn’t until his heat that he understood that he hadn’t just been lost, he’d been hollow.

For the longest time, he hadn’t even had a scent. Lando had thought he was a beta. Fewtrell had too. And Oscar had let them. He hadn’t corrected either of them, hadn’t even told Lando the truth until they’d gotten close enough for it to matter.

But now, he knew exactly how he smelled. He wasn’t even used to it yet, wasn’t used to the way his own scent curled back to him, familiar but new. Now Oscar felt it. Felt himself . For the first time in years, he could stand in his own skin and know exactly what he was. Omega, through and through. And it fit. It finally fit.

Oscar didn’t even register when he’d left the spot he’d been curled up in. One moment, he was somewhere else entirely, and the next, he was pushing open the door to Lando’s office, feet carrying him forward on instinct alone.

Lando’s voice faltered mid-sentence the moment he saw Oscar. He looked like he was in the middle of a meeting, but it didn’t matter. He closed his laptop in one quick motion and turned in his chair, opening his arms without hesitation. 

Oscar went to him fast, knees bracketing Lando’s thighs in the narrow space, all but climbing into his lap. His arms looped tight around Lando’s neck as he buried his face into the warm curve where neck met shoulder. His nose found Lando’s scent glands, breathing him in like he could fill his lungs with nothing else, like it was the only thing keeping him upright. 

He didn’t even realize he was whining until the sound caught in his own ears. Lando was speaking, low and worried, asking him what was wrong. But Oscar couldn’t answer. Couldn’t pull himself far enough away to form words. All he could do was cling tighter, rubbing his cheek and nose along Lando’s skin, leaving his scent there in quiet, instinctive claim, as if the act alone might steady the ground beneath him.

It took minutes for Lando’s scent to anchor him enough that the world stopped tilting. Only then did Oscar start to register the low rumble of Lando’s voice, the steady rhythm of his touch. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” Lando murmured. One hand stroked slow, grounding lines down Oscar’s back, while the other settled on the curve of his neck and shoulder, squeezing gently, coaxing the tension out of him. Every pass of his hands, every quiet word, pulled Oscar further back into himself. 

“I’m sorry,” Oscar murmured, the words barely audible as his eyes began to sting. The guilt twisted sharp in his chest. He’d just gravitated to Lando without thinking, dragged him away from work like he wasn’t already enough of a burden—

He didn’t even realize he’d said the rest of it out loud, the tangled mess of thoughts spilling between soft, broken whines, until Lando’s voice cut through. “No, baby. No,” Lando said gently but firm. 

Lando’s hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers warm and steady, coaxing him to lift his head. But Oscar only let out another soft, wounded whine, burrowing deeper into the curve of Lando’s neck like he could vanish there, like the world couldn’t reach him if he just stayed hidden.

“Baby,” Lando said, and the way it came out… low, heavy with something that sounded too much like hurt, made Oscar’s chest clench.

The tears broke before he could stop them, hot and sudden. A hiccup slipped from between his lips, and then he was shaking in Lando’s arms, crying in uneven bursts. 

He’d upset him. God, he’d upset him. As if being a weight around his neck wasn’t already enough, now he’d gone and hurt his precious omega. And the weight of that thought pressed down until it felt impossible to breathe.

He should’ve gone to his nest. He should’ve stayed there, quiet and out of the way, instead of interrupting Lando while he worked. He should’ve kept himself together, calmed down, stopped acting like a child. He should’ve waited until he could think straight, until he could talk to Lando like an adult, without tears clogging his throat.

But he’d missed him. Missed the weight of Lando’s hands, the press of his mouth, the way he’d wrapped around him during his heat like a shield, like Oscar was something worth guarding. Missed the way Lando just knew, as if Oscar’s needs were etched into his own bones. Missed the quiet comfort of simply existing in the same space, knowing Lando was there.

So instead of retreating to his nest to calm down, he’d found himself here, in Lando’s arms, clinging like he belonged there.

He shouldn’t have. He should’ve been better than this. Stronger. Months of trying to piece himself back together should’ve meant something by now. He should’ve been steady, unshakable. But he wasn’t. Not yet. Maybe not even close. And right now, he still felt like nothing more than a small, needy thing.

And Oscar couldn’t even make a nest. Not on his own. Even that — even that — had been built for him, shaped by Lando’s hands or Charles’ careful touch, like he was too helpless to manage the simplest thing for himself.

He was pathetic. Pathetic and still a child, clinging to people who should’ve been free of him by now. Nothing but a sweet-smelling whore dressed up in soft blankets, pretending he was something more.

He should’ve been better. They were better. Lando was better. And Oscar was just… still not . Not better. Not whole. Just the same broken thing in different wrapping.

Lando was still talking, still letting that low, even voice wash over him like it could smooth the sharp edges from the inside out. But Oscar broke in, voice small and unsteady. “I…” He swallowed, tried again. “I— I wanted to talk.”

Lando’s hand never stilled, dragging slow, grounding lines down his back, fingers pressing just enough to loosen the knots in his muscles. “Okay, okay,” he murmured, the sound warm, patient. “Let’s talk.”

“Noo,” Oscar whined, the sound slipping out before he could stop it.

“No?” Lando asked, voice still soft, coaxing, like he was afraid anything sharper might break him clean in half.

Oscar kept breathing against Lando’s neck, dragging in lungfuls of his scent like it might hold the words he couldn’t seem to find. His mind scrambled, grasping for them, but every thought dissolved before it could take shape. Another broken whine slipped free.

He was useless. Fucking useless.

“Baby, no,” Lando murmured again, the softness in his voice cutting through the noise in Oscar’s head. And only then did Oscar realize that he’d let his thoughts spill into sound again. The wrong ones.

“We don’t have to talk,” Lando continued, fingers still mapping slow circles into his back. “Just focus on breathing for me, okay?”

At the very least, Oscar could do that. He could breathe. If nothing else, he could do it for Lando.

So he tried. Inhale, slow and deliberate, until his lungs were full of warmth and the faint, grounding edge of Lando’s scent. Exhale, letting the tightness in his chest leak out with it. Again. And again.

Little by little, the noise in his head dulled, the spiraling thoughts loosening their grip. Until all that was left was the steady rhythm of breath and the quiet, unshakable fact of Lando’s arms around him.

So he breathed. For Lando, he kept breathing.

When Oscar’s tears finally slowed and his breathing evened out, Lando’s voice came, gentle but careful. “Better?”

Oscar gave a small hum, barely there, and buried himself deeper into the curve of Lando’s neck as if he could hide the heat creeping up his cheeks. The shame was sharp and stupid, curling in his chest. He was out of his heat, should’ve been steady by now, but he’d still panicked like a fool, still fallen apart over nothing. Still cried like that, messy and unguarded, as if the heat had never really let him go.

This time, when Lando asked, “Hormones?” Oscar couldn’t help it. He let out a soft, shaky laugh against the warm skin of his neck. Hormones, indeed.

And yet… he couldn’t completely shake the grip of every foolish thought that had spiraled through his head. No matter how irrational, some stubborn part of him still held them close, still believed there was a thread of truth tangled somewhere in the mess.

“I wanted to talk,” Oscar said again, the words steadier this time, though they still felt fragile in his mouth. “With… like, with everyone.”

“Hmm, we can talk.” He turned just enough to press a gentle kiss to Oscar’s temple, lingering there for a heartbeat. “Max will be home in an hour. We can call Carlos and Charles, tell them to come early. Okay?”

Oscar wanted to. He wanted to talk now, while the resolve was still warm in his chest, before doubt could creep in and pick it apart. Even feeling stupid and shaky and unreasonable, he still wanted it. But the words snagged on something in his throat, a knot of guilt. “I don’t wanna be like— like—” The sentence broke into a whine, and he buried his face deeper into the crook of Lando’s neck. “Don’t wanna be a bother.”

Lando’s hand tightened at the nape of his neck, firm but soothing, thumb pressing in just enough to anchor him. “You won’t bother. Never. We’ve all wanted to talk to you. And if you’re ready now, we’ll make it happen. As soon as possible. Nothing else matters, baby. Only you.”

Oscar loved Lando. Loved him so much it ached.

“I love you too,” Lando murmured, his lips still pressed to Oscar’s skin. It took a beat for Oscar to realize. He’d said it out loud again, his thoughts spilling free without him noticing. 

“I love you too, baby,” Lando repeated. “You have no idea.”

Oscar whined at Lando’s words, the sound soft but tinged with something needier, and pushed his nose into the warm curve of his neck again, breathing him in like he couldn’t get close enough. His body shifted restlessly in Lando’s lap. And that’s when he felt it. The hard line of his cock, caught between them, hot and leaking. Lando’s scent had undone him without him even noticing, pulling him apart at the seams, and now that his head was just starting to clear, the heat pooling low in his belly was impossible to ignore.

Worse, it wasn’t just that. There was slick too, warm and damp, spilling from him like he was still in heat. He’d only just noticed, but Lando must have known already. Must have scented it on him from the start, and yet, he hadn’t said a word.

Maybe Oscar still didn’t know his own body well enough. Maybe he hadn’t really come down from his heat yet and just hadn’t realized. “Am I still in heat?” he managed, forcing the words out between uneven breaths.

“No, I don’t think so,” Lando murmured, his voice warm and steady, like it could smooth the panic right out of him. “Your body is confused, that’s all. It’ll pass in a few days. Don’t worry.”

Lando must have felt the spike of panic ripple through him, because his hand slid back to the nape of Oscar’s neck, fingers curling there in a steady, grounding squeeze. “You want me to touch you?” he asked, voice low, careful. “Want to come?”

“Don’t know.” The words came out on a soft, miserable whine, frayed at the edges. Oscar didn’t know. Wasn’t sure. And the thought of choosing, thought of deciding, felt too heavy in his chest. Right now, he just… didn’t want to.

“I can make you feel good, baby,” Lando murmured, his voice dipping low, wrapping around the words like a promise. “I can touch you, kiss you, fuck you. I can let you fuck me,” his thumb stroked a slow line at the nape of Oscar’s neck, “or I can just hold you. Just like this. Whatever you want.”

Oscar let out a frustrated whine at the sheer weight of the choices Lando laid before him, the sound low and helpless. “Decide for us,” he murmured. No, he begged, the word trembling in his throat. “Please?”

“I don’t want to make you feel like it’s too much,” Lando said softly, his hand still warm and steady at the back of Oscar’s neck. “I need you to tell me what you want, baby. C’mon, just think about it for a bit, okay? For me?” His voice was all gentle coaxing, each word sinking in warm and steady, like he had all the time in the world to wait for Oscar’s answer.

Oscar tried to think. He really did. For Lando. But the harder he reached for an answer, the more panic clawed up his throat, until his body began to tremble against him.

Lando must have felt it, because his arms tightened instantly, pulling Oscar in closer, holding him like he could shield him from his own thoughts. “Shhh,” he soothed, the sound warm against Oscar’s ear. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Not thinking then. Let’s make you sit on my cock, hm? Like you sat on Carlos yesterday. Make you feel nice and full.”

The restless tremor running through Oscar eased at Lando’s words, and Lando took it as a yes. His hands slid down to Oscar’s waist, fingers curling firm and warm against his hips. “Just lift up for me, baby. Just a little,” he murmured, coaxing. “Just for a second so we can get these out of the way, yeah?”

Oscar moved just as Lando asked, fingers curling into the back of his neck for balance as he pushed up on his knees. Lando’s hands were already there, quick and sure, shoving his own sweats low enough to free his cock, tugging Oscar’s loose bottoms down to bunch at his knees. Slick spilled hot over Lando’s thighs, and pre-cum from Oscar’s cock smeared warm across the front of Lando’s t-shirt, darkening the fabric.

Before Oscar could settle back, Lando wrapped a hand around himself, giving a few firm strokes before guiding the head to Oscar’s hole. The first press had Oscar whining and Lando groaning at the heat that welcomed him. The glide was effortless. Oscar still loose, still soft and open.

When Lando urged him down, Oscar sank slow into his lap, every inch of him stretching sweet and easy until their hips met and there was nothing left between them. Lando’s breath caught in a low, wrecked sound, and this time Oscar let out a quiet, trembling whine of relief, the kind that bled right into his bones. Until now, he hadn’t even known how badly he needed this.

When Oscar finally melted completely into his lap, Lando’s palm kept tracing slow, soothing paths down his back. “I know I’m not as big as Carlos, but—” he started, laughing under his breath, the words edged with teasing.

“Noo…” Oscar cut him off before he could finish, the protest immediate, breath warm against Lando’s throat. “S’perfect.”

Lando’s mouth softened into a smile, and he dipped his head to press a slow, wet kiss to Oscar’s temple. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oscar murmured, calmer now, steadier. His lips brushed warm against Lando’s skin as he added, “Love your pretty cock.”

“Hmm,” Lando hummed, a low, pleased sound. “You do?”

Oscar nuzzled in closer, his lips brushing against Lando’s skin. “Yeah.”

“My baby,” Lando murmured, awe wrapped around every word. “You’re the one who’s pretty.” 

Oscar pressed his mouth to the curve of Lando’s neck, humming in quiet contentment before the sound deepened into a soft, steady purr.

“Yeah, just like that,” Lando breathed, his voice dropping. “Yeah, baby. You’re so pretty like this. You look so pretty. You sound so pretty.” 

Oscar’s purr grew louder, thrumming through both of them, and Lando let out a quiet, almost wrecked laugh. “Fuck, you sound even prettier when you’re happy. I love making you happy. I always want to make you happy. Keep you happy.”

“Mmm,” Oscar sighed, the sound heavy with pleasure. “Lando,” he whined softly.

“My pretty omega,” Lando answered, the words thick with affection.

Oscar’s mind had narrowed to a single, looping mantra. Safe safe safe. In his omega’s arms. With his omega buried deep inside him. Wrapped up, surrounded, claimed. Safe.

Oscar pressed his lips to the nearly healed bite marks on Lando’s neck, lingering there, breathing him in, letting the touch speak before the words did. “My omega,” he murmured against Lando’s skin.

“Yes, baby,” Lando breathed, his fingers threading deep into Oscar’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp in slow strokes. His voice was warm, certain, leaving no room for doubt. “Yours. Always yours.”

---

Oscar didn’t even know how long he’d been sitting on Lando’s cock. Too long, or not nearly long enough.

Somewhere in that haze, Lando had called Carlos, then texted Charles. Somewhere in between, they’d found out Max was on his way. 

Time had clearly passed, but Oscar couldn’t measure it. Not when every second was smeared at the edges, drawn out and honey-thick, every breath filled with the steady weight of Lando inside him.

The front of Lando’s shirt was soaked through, as if Oscar had already come on him; his thighs were just as wet, slick with the mess dripping down from Oscar. Lando’s cock was still buried to the hilt inside him, heavy and hard, but he hadn’t so much as murmured a complaint. He just sat there with that quiet, maddening patience, holding Oscar exactly where he wanted him. One hand traced soothing lines over his back, the other steady on his hip, each touch a quiet promise: stay, breathe, I’ve got you.

After a while, Oscar became achingly aware of the throb of his own dripping cock, and the sound that slipped from his lips was a whine, soft and strained with the edge of discomfort.

Lando’s hand slid up, curling firmly around the back of his neck. “What is it, baby?” he asked, voice low and coaxing.

Oscar’s fingers dug into Lando’s shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as he shifted his hips, just enough to draw a low groan from both of them. “M’gonna come,” he whispered, almost like a confession, before rocking in Lando’s lap slowly, grinding down on him the way he might on a pillow. Every time the length of him pressed against that sweet, aching spot inside, Oscar’s whines climbed higher, more desperate.

Lando’s thumb rubbed slow, steady circles into the tense muscle at the base of his neck, his other hand splayed wide at Oscar’s waist, holding him right there. “You can come, baby,” he rasped through his own uneven breaths. 

Oscar let out a wrecked, needy sound, rutting harder, his cock leaking more as he smeared precum over Lando’s stomach through the damp cling of fabric. The friction to his cock was harsh, almost biting against the cloth, but it was enough. More than enough to push him over the edge. He cried out desperately, as he spilled hard, painting both of their shirts white while his hole clenched tight around Lando. 

That tight, pulsing grip dragged Lando over the edge with a whine too, his release spilling hot inside Oscar. His hands tightened, lifting Oscar just enough to drop him back down again, once, twice, milking out every last pulse of pleasure. Even as the aftershocks hit, he kept them moving in slow, languid rolls, wringing every last drop from both of them, until they were both wrung dry and trembling.

---

The metallic scrape of a key turning in the lock carried into the room, followed by the muted swing of the front door opening. On the couch, wrapped in the cocoon of a blue blanket, Oscar sat curled against Lando and Lando’s arms were locked tight around him, pulling him close to his chest, while Oscar clung just as tightly around Lando’s waist, ears tuned to the thrum of his heartbeat. A low, instinctive purr was vibrating in his throat.

The noise pulled Oscar back for a moment, his body tensing. He shifted, instinct tugging him away, but Lando didn’t loosen his hold. Instead, he pressed him closer, lips brushing Oscar’s hair. “It’s okay,” he murmured, steady and warm. After a beat, softer still: “It’s just Max.”

Oscar let himself melt back into Lando’s body, the tension draining from his shoulders as he breathed him in. Then footsteps, unhurried but sure, carrying through the quiet until Max appeared in the doorway of the living room.

The sight stopped him for a moment: two omegas entwined on the couch, blanketed in each other. His smile softened instantly, almost tender, tugged there without thought. “Hi,” he said softly, but didn’t move closer. Instead, he tugged loose the knot of his tie, working open the top buttons of his shirt. Distance, for now, felt necessary. The scents of outside still clung stubbornly to him. City air, strangers, the residue of too many spaces that weren’t theirs. He knew Oscar would catch it in a heartbeat, and the last thing he wanted was to let that noise bleed into this room, into Oscar’s fragile calm.

And Oscar’s nose twitched faintly, and he pressed closer against Lando, chasing the safe, familiar warmth of his scent instead. Safe safe safe. His mind repeated it like a pulse, like a shield, the outside world fading until there was nothing but the scent of Lando, the sound of his heart.

Lando’s fingers slipped gently through Oscar’s hair, combing slow, soothing paths against his scalp. Oscar all but melted under the touch, his breath evening out again as Lando cradled him closer. 

Then Lando lifted his gaze towards Max. “Hi,” he said, softly. Then with a little tilt of his chin, “Take a shower first.”

Max’s eyes lingered on Oscar’s small, folded figure in Lando’s arms. The way he seemed to disappear into him, clinging like it was the only thing keeping him together. Something tender flickered across Max’s face, almost aching in its softness, before he whispered, “Okay,” and slipped out. His footsteps faded up the stairs, leaving the room in quiet again.

After Max left, Lando’s hand came up, fingers brushing over Oscar’s jaw. He tilted gently, coaxing his chin until their eyes met. “Still want to talk?”  he whispered, the words almost lost in the hush between them.

Oscar blinked a few times, dazed, uncomprehending. The confusion on his face tugged a smile from Lando, something warm and impossibly fond, and then he leaned down, closing the space between them. Their lips brushed, featherlight, before Lando deepened the kiss, steady and sure.

Oscar let out a broken little whine, the sound caught somewhere between relief and want, lips parting eagerly.  He let Lando in without a moment’s thought, tongue slipping past his teeth, filling the spaces inside him. 

He kissed like he could crawl inside Lando and never come out, like the act itself was keeping him alive.

Lando’s one hand threaded tight through Oscar’s hair, holding him there with a tenderness that bordered on fierce. The other curled firmly around his waist, dragging him closer until there was no space left between them. And then, just for a breath, Lando broke the kiss. He pulled back a fraction, lips hovering, their foreheads pressed together. Oscar let out a shattered sound at the loss, needy and trembling, and Lando drank it in, chest heaving. He tilted his head, his thumb brushed along Oscar’s jaw, grounding, coaxing. “Are you with me, baby?” he whispered against his lips.

Don’t let go don’t let go don’t let go. The thought burned louder than reason, louder than breath, and it tore a whine straight from Oscar’s throat, raw and pleading. 

Before Lando could even draw his next breath, Oscar surged forward, crashing their mouths back together. The kiss was messy, trembling, desperate, all sharp edges of need and hunger. He clutched at Lando’s shirt with shaking hands, knuckles white as if he could fuse them together by sheer force, lips parting instantly, greedily, like he was starving for the taste of him.

Lando groaned low, surprised but instantly answering, pulling him even closer until there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

As Oscar slowly began to settle, the frantic edge of the kiss softened, though neither of them pulled away. Couldn’t. Lando’s hand slid to the nape of his neck, firm and grounding, holding him close as their mouths moved together in slower, steadier rhythms. When they broke apart, it was only for the barest breath, and even then the space never lasted: Oscar would chase him immediately, lips brushing back with quiet desperation, or Lando would close the distance with a gentle insistence.

Between kisses, Lando pressed soft pecks against his cheeks, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, murmuring low, soothing words into the shell of his ear. Promises. Reassurances. Things meant to root him deep. And every time the air had just barely filled Oscar’s lungs, their lips found each other again, slow and grounding. They kissed like they could rest inside the rhythm itself, pausing only to breathe, only to reassure, before sinking back in.

The world had narrowed down to the rhythm of their mouths —kiss, breathe, whisper, kiss again— when quiet footsteps brushed against the edge of it. Lando caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, but instead of pulling away he only tipped his head, capturing Oscar’s lips once more.

Max’s steps were unhurried as he crossed the room, deliberate in their softness, before lowering himself onto the couch on Oscar’s other side. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t speak. He only watched, lips parted, tongue dragging briefly across them as the two omegas kissed, the sound of their breaths filling the space.

When Oscar finally tore away, panting softly against Lando’s mouth, Lando only shifted lower, trailing kisses down to the curve of his throat. Oscar shivered, tilting instinctively, exposing more of himself to the warmth of Lando’s mouth.

That was when Max reached out cautiously, fingertips brushing against Oscar’s cheek as though testing if he’d be allowed. His voice was soft, almost a murmur. “Baby.”

Oscar turned slowly toward him, still catching his breath. The familiar scent of Max’s shampoo rose up around him, warm and clean, and something inside him unclenched. He caught Max’s wrist and held on, fingers curling there like he’d found a second anchor.

Max smiled, soft and aching, and bent down to press the gentlest kiss to Oscar’s cheek, letting it linger there.

Oscar’s lashes fluttered heavy against his cheeks, eyes half-lidded when the words slipped out, cracked and pleading. “Kiss me?”

Max’s answer came without hesitation, soft and certain. “Of course, baby.”

He leaned in slowly, deliberately, as if giving Oscar every chance to change his mind. Their lips met in a hush of warmth, and Oscar yielded at once, lips parting with instinctive trust, with the kind of surrender that asked nothing and offered everything.

Max didn’t devour. He didn’t take. He kissed like he was handling something fragile, precious. Guiding rather than claiming. His tongue brushed into Oscar’s mouth in a slow, careful sweep, tasting gently. The kiss lingered unhurried, not deep but steady, each stroke deliberate, like Max had all the time in the world to show him that he was wanted, cherished, adored. And Oscar, pliant and trembling, clung to it, clung to him.

Lando drew back slowly from the curve of Oscar’s throat, lips leaving a final ghost of a kiss against his skin. His face softened into a fond smile as his gaze shifted, watching the way Max bent to meet Oscar’s mouth.

Max lingered just long enough to let Oscar melt into the kiss before pulling away, slow and gentle. His thumb brushed along Oscar’s cheek in a tender stroke, coaxing his gaze back up. But Oscar blinked at him like he’d only just realized he was there, eyes wide and hazy, disoriented.

A frustrated whine slipped from Oscar’s throat, sharp in its helplessness. He buried his face against Lando’s chest with sudden force, seeking refuge, safety. Instinct answered instinct, Lando’s hand was already in his hair, threading through the strands, holding him close before he’d even thought about it.

Silence hung thick for a moment. Lando’s eyes flicked up to Max’s, confusion written clear in the lines of his brow. Max’s own gaze mirrored it, soft with worry, neither of them daring to break the fragile moment.

And then Oscar’s voice came, muffled against Lando’s shirt, small and broken, “You should’ve just mated me… when I was in heat.”

The air stilled. Lando’s chest tightened, his heart stuttering hard enough to ache. Across from him, something in Max’s expression cracked wide open, tenderness colliding with hurt in his eyes. 

Max’s hand moved slow and steady across Oscar’s back, fingertips tracing gentle lines meant to calm the tremor running through him.His voice was soft when it came, steady with conviction, like he needed Oscar to feel the truth in every syllable. “We can’t force you into submitting to us, baby,” he murmured. “We can wait, okay? However long it takes. Years, forever. Doesn’t matter. You don’t owe us anything.”

Oscar shivered, his face still buried against Lando’s chest, breath catching like it hurt to hold it in. Lando’s gaze lifted to Max’s over Oscar’s bowed head, something unspoken passing between them, before he bent down, lips brushing Oscar’s temple. “He’s right,” Lando whispered, fingers threading slowly through Oscar’s hair. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Oscar trembled harder at that, his grip fisting in Lando’s shirt, like the words had hit someplace raw. His breath came uneven, too close to a sob, and before he could stop himself, the plea slipped out, muffled against Lando’s chest, aching and small. “Please, don’t leave me.”

Oscar’s words hung in the air. It cracked something open in the silence, sharp enough to sting. Lando pressed another kiss to his temple, and Max’s hand stilled only for a heartbeat before he cupped the back of Oscar’s neck, his voice breaking gentle and sure against the curve of his ear. “Never, baby,” he whispered, steady as a vow. “Not now, not ever.”

Oscar trembled like a leaf in a storm, his body tight in their arms. His voice came out in a whisper so quiet it sounded like he was talking to himself, shame and disbelief lacing every word. “Which omega is ever afraid of a knot in their own heat?”

Max shifted closer without hesitation, wrapping a steady arm around Oscar’s waist. His chest pressed to Oscar’s spine, warm and solid, pinning him gently between himself and Lando. It was an embrace that left no room for escape, only safety. Max leaned in, lips brushing the curve of Oscar’s ear as his voice slipped soft and sure into the space between them. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” he murmured, his hand traced soothing circles against Oscar’s hip. “I’ll knot you only when you’re trembling because you want me. Not because you’re scared.”

The reassurance landed heavy, but Oscar’s chest still hitched, breath jagged. His lashes fluttered, and when the words finally tore free, they were cracked and broken at the edges, as if admitting them cost him something. “But you’re not the one I’m scared of.”

“I know, baby,” Max murmured, pressing a small kiss to the curve of Oscar’s neck. Of course he’d noticed the way Oscar’s body still carried echoes of something from before, something that had carved itself into his reflexes. “But you weren’t aware of it then,” he went on, voice low, soothing. “Your body didn’t know me as me. I was just another alpha to you.”

Oscar turned his face, rubbing his cheek slowly against Lando’s chest, grounding himself there before whispering, almost stubborn in his need. “That’s why I said you should’ve marked me. Bound me to you.”

Max’s chest tightened. “Baby, you could’ve get scared—”

“Then I would’ve been scared,” Oscar cut him off, voice rough, almost defiant, trembling but unyielding. “Just once. It doesn’t matter.”

Max’s hand tightened against his waist, still stroking soothing lines even as his voice cracked with something sharper, fear cutting through the tenderness. “It does matter,” he said, the words carrying more force than he meant, but he couldn’t temper it. “You’d be scared, you’d bleed. You might even go into shock. I can’t,” his breath caught, “we can’t risk that. Not even once.”

The silence that followed rang heavy, charged with all the things left unsaid. Oscar’s quiet desperation, Max’s aching refusal, Lando caught between them with his hand steady in Oscar’s hair, his own heart splintering under the weight of both truths.

Oscar buried his face back into Lando’s chest, shutting himself away in the warm press of him. For a moment, silence settled heavy between the three of them, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Then it cracked. Oscar’s hiccup, sharp and wet, broke the stillness. His voice followed, fractured, tumbling out in broken pieces, “No one’s ever wanted to mate me anyway.”

The confession landed raw, jagged, as though it had clawed its way out from the darkest part of him. Oscar’s shoulders shook as he pressed harder into Lando, as if he could disappear there, sobs shuddering loose in a way that felt untethered, detached from now. His mind was slipping back, down into the hollow places where reality blurred, where it was only shame and the ache of not being chosen, not being wanted.

Max went rigid behind him, breath torn sharp from his lungs, helpless in the face of it. His hand trembled where it smoothed over Oscar’s hip, desperate to anchor him when there were no words strong enough. Lando’s arms only tightened, crushing him close, lips pressing into his hair with a kind of desperation that matched the sobs shaking Oscar’s frame. His own chest ached like it was splintering open, his heart beating loud as if to shout the truth into Oscar’s skin: that he was wanted, that he was loved, that he was everything .

But Oscar didn’t hear that, not yet. All he could hear was the echo in his own head, the same broken refrain that had haunted him for too long: no one ever wanted me. no one ever chose me.

Lando couldn’t hold it back. The way Oscar broke apart in his arms carved too deep, split him raw from the inside out. His own tears came silent, hot and unstoppable, slipping down his cheeks as he pressed his mouth hard against Oscar’s temple, as if kissing him there might be enough to keep him together, to stitch him whole again. He clung tighter, his chest heaving, breath catching on sobs he couldn’t swallow down.

Max’s throat burned, eyes stinging until his vision blurred. He sat there helpless, every line of him strung tight with grief he didn’t know where to put. His chest ached with the raw need to undo it, to carve out the rot of every memory that told Oscar he was unwanted. He would’ve marked him then and there if it could heal this wound . He’d do it without hesitation.

Max’s voice broke before the words even left him. “I do,” he whispered, the sound ragged at the edges as his hand traced slow, desperate lines down Oscar’s side, like he could soothe away years of ache with touch alone. His palm lingered, pressing, grounding, as if to prove every word. “I do, baby,” he swore, breath shuddering against Oscar’s skin. “I swear to you, I want to mate you.”

Oscar’s sobs quieted just enough for him to lift his head, eyes swollen and wet. He blinked through the blur of tears, searching Max’s face like he wanted so badly to believe him but didn’t know how. His gaze caught on the way Max’s mouth trembled, the raw shine in his eyes, and still doubt lingered fragile and trembling in his own. “Then why…” his voice cracked, the word barely holding together, “why didn’t you?”

It wasn’t accusation, not really. It was a plea, a prayer, like he needed Max to anchor him to something solid when all he’d ever known was the hollow echo of being unwanted. His lip quivered as more tears slipped free, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

Max knew that if Oscar weren’t lost in the haze of his heat and the cruel spiral of his own thoughts, reason would’ve reached him. But right now, Max’s alpha senses picked up on it easily: beneath the softened sweetness of Oscar’s post-heat scent, the remnants of that fire still lingered, clinging to his skin, heavy in the air.

And how did you reach someone like that? How did you coax sense into an omega caught between the blaze of their body and the weight of old scars? Not by force. Never by force. Max’s chest ached with the helplessness. He couldn’t push, couldn’t risk shattering what was already fragile. He had to be gentle, careful. Anchoring him back one piece at a time, without frightening him, without leaving another mark that wasn’t wanted.

“I promise,” Max whispered, voice raw with the weight of it, each word pressed like a seal against the air between them. His hand moved slowly over Oscar’s side, steady and careful. “When the time is right, baby. I promise, I will.”

Oscar only pouted, lips trembling but silent, his tears still slipping free in a steady stream. He pressed his cheek harder against Lando’s chest, burying himself there, and the quiet sound of his sniffles filled the space between them. He didn’t argue, didn’t fight. He just wept, small and broken, letting Lando’s warmth cradle him.

Max’s gaze drifted, helpless, to Lando. The sight cleaved something in him open: Lando’s lashes damp and clumped with tears, eyes squeezed shut, his face pressed against Oscar’s hair like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. His breath came slow, controlled, a desperate attempt at composure, as if he could will steadiness into Oscar by sheer force of will.

Two omegas, achingly beautiful in their grief, in their fragility. One trembling and unraveling, the other holding on with everything he had, both of them breaking Max open in ways he hadn’t known were possible.

Notes:

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