nilchance: original artist terry moore; blonde staring at canvas with nude male and black handprint (fandom)
[personal profile] nilchance
Title: Oh Sweet Ignition
Author: [personal profile] nilchance
Pairing: Jeffrey Dean Morgan/Jensen Ackles, past Jeffrey Dean Morgan/Jeremy Sisto
Summary: Jensen goes into heat.
A/N: This is an alpha/beta/omega story set in [personal profile] poisontaster's A Kept Boy 'verse. Dub-con.

Jeff has to admit that the palm pilot is awesome. For one thing, it's got an e-reader and he can look up hockey scores while he's stuck in interminable meetings. For another, Kane hasn't threatened to murder him for overscheduling in at least a week.

This weekend, for instance, he's on orders to take out some friend of a friend of his mother. He has the itching feeling on the nape of his neck that his mother's trying to set him up again. Susan's a nice kid, but she'd been more attracted to Kane than Jeff; the pitfalls of his sense of smell.

Jeff stops short, because Sunday has a notation he hasn't seen Jensen use before.

Well. At least he's sure he won't have to look far for Jensen. For one thing, Jensen tends to stay within earshot unless he's at Cate's for therapy. For another... yeah. That sense of smell.

It's probably good that Jensen doesn't go far, waiting for Jeff to figure out what to do with him. The low-down animal part of Jeff's brain likes to know where Jensen is. That he's close. It'd been crazy-making to have Jensen gone for days, because that animal brain wants to smear his scent all over Jensen's (too pretty, too hot, too willing) skin.

Sure enough, Jensen is only over in the library. He's perched on the edge of the chaise, ready to shoot to his feet if Jeff sneezes. His blue t-shirt clings tight against his body, brings out his pretty eyes. He looks tired. Jeff wants to stroke him.

Instead, he stops in the doorway. It's good that there's distance between them.

(Jensen smells amazing.)

On cue, Jensen looks up from the mug of coffee he's been staring into. His welcoming smile doesn't crinkle his eyes. "Did you need something?"

Jeff holds out the palm pilot. "What's this thing on Sunday?" A new hopeful idea strikes him. "You taking a day off?"

Jensen doesn't do anything like wince, but it's like Jeff kicked a puppy on Christmas. For a second, Jeff thinks it's Jensen's normal aversion to things like time off or salary or not being raped, but then Jensen says, awkward, "No. I'll be having a heat."

Oh. Jeff feels his heart drop several inches into his stomach, even while his knot takes a new interest. "Right," he says, faintly.

The thing is that they talked about this. Almost as soon as Jensen moved in, actually. Jensen's suppressants to keep him predictable, consumable. His scheduled four heats a year. Whether Jeff wanted him to have more, or less, or no heats at all. That Jeff wanted Jensen to have choices about his body. Those talks full of awkward silences and Jeff trying like fuck to be good. To be a good owner. To be a good alpha.

Whatever that means.

Jensen is watching his face.

Jeff clears his throat and says, louder, "Right. Sorry. Didn't realize that was coming up already. Time flies, huh?"

That ranks high in the lamest things Jeff has ever said.

Whatever Jensen wants from him, that isn't it. He looks away, baring throat. The top level of his scent remains the same nothing-to-see-here neutral, but there’s an undercurrent of upset. "It's usually two days. I'll be in the secondary dorm. So still be on property if you... in case you need me."

Jeff puts an arm around himself. He digs his fingers into his wrist, hard, to keep from going to Jensen. It's safer in the doorway. He tries to put a smile in his voice. "You take the time you need. I'll be okay."

From the deepening worry line between Jensen's eyebrows, that wasn't the right thing to say at all.
"Right," Adrianne says as soon as she's cornered Jensen in the library. "So this is going to be weird."

Jensen gives her his blandest face. In truth, he's not in the mood. He knows he's lucky in his heats, in that they're short and predictable; for a while in Master Crudup's service, he was too thin to have a heat at all. But this heat in particular aches in his bones like the flu, like he's hollow inside. All he wants is to find a quiet corner and a heat pack.

He ought to know better than to expect a quiet place in Jeff's house.

"You're going into heat," Adrianne says. "It's on the schedule. Jared keeps it on google docs."

Jensen gives in to the urge to rub his forehead. "Of course he does."

Tossing her hair, Adrianne leans her hip against the door. The motion sends off a soft wave of her scent; Jensen shifts uncomfortably. "I know, right? It keeps us from murdering each other or getting pregnant, but he keeps one tab for the horses and one for the rest of us. Goddamn veterinarians. Anyway. Do you need anything? We've got enough silicon knots in the dorms to build dildo Voltron."

"I don't know what that is."

Adrianne sighs. "I wish I didn't, but Chad and Jared bought me the DVDs."

Which explains exactly nothing, but Jensen nods like all is illuminated. "Thank you, but I made a purchase already. I should be fine."

"Okay." Adrianne continues to study him for a moment. "If you asked, I'd ride it out with you."

Jensen blinks. "I didn't know that. I'm... very flattered, but."

Waving a hand at him, she says, "Right, I didn't think so. I'm not the knot you want."

Jensen feels the same wash of 'bad slave' feeling as ever, both that he's so transparent and that she thinks his wants have anything to do with it. Who wouldn't want Jeff? Omega or not, he can't imagine a world where he wouldn't. "I did say I was flattered."

She cracks a grin. "That was very tactful. I'm not used to getting let down easy, you know. Anyway, here."

She tosses him something; he manages not to let it hit him in the face. It would be bad training to catch or swat away something his master threw at him. Instead the small plastic vial of her come lands beside him on the chaise.

It's closed securely to keep the house from smelling like rut, and it's not from Jeff, but Jensen's whole body throbs with want. Apparently he's farther along his heat than he thought. By the time he's erased any expression, Adrianne is gone.

He gets up. He has supplies to pack.
Jensen is gone by the time Jeff checks on him.

Jeff stands in his (their) bedroom, strangely bereft. The ghost of Jensen’s scent lingers. When Jeff thinks about sleeping in this empty bed, cool sheets where Jensen is supposed to be, he feels... restless. Irritable.

Funny how he barely remembers being without him.

Goddamn it, no. He is not going to be a stereotypical possessive jerk alpha. Going into a tailspin of nesting instinct isn't much better.

His mating scar itches. He scratches it idly and goes to check if miracles have happened and Jeremy returned his call.

Surprise: no. On TV Jeff hears fluffy theories about mates mysteriously knowing when the other needs help or is going into heat or whatever damn thing. Sometimes he thinks he wouldn't know Jeremy needed help if he was bleeding to death in the same room.

Fuck it. He's going to smoke up. Maybe their special bond will get Jeremy high enough to stay in one goddamn place. For a self-proclaimed shut-in, Jeremy tends to bolt when he’s hurt.

The weed isn't the best Jeff's ever had, but it's good enough. He leans his elbows on the desk and smokes up, alternating with sips of scotch. After a couple minutes, he adds music: the Eagles, Kings of Leon, Springsteen. There's a comfortable haze of smoke in his office when Kane pokes his head in, raises an eyebrow, and says almost gently, "For fuck's sake, Jeff."

"You're letting the secondhand smoke out," Jeff tells him.

Kane looks at him, then comes in and closes the door behind him. He drops onto Jeff's desk chair. "Did your mom call or something? It's like you're a sulky fourteen year old."

"Not enough Alice in Chains on the playlist."

"Shit, how could I forget the emo grunge weeks after Robin left?" Kane gestures at the scotch. "I'm in here asking your sad ass about your bad taste in music. Pour me a drink."

"I have awesome taste in music." But Jeff pours him a drink anyway.

They sit in amiable silence for a few minutes. Finally, Kane raises an eyebrow. "So if it's not your mom, then what?"

"I can't just be in a shitty mood?"

Kane snorts. "You sound like Jeremy."

"Fuck Jeremy," Jeff says sourly.

Kane mutters into the rim of his glass. Then, slightly louder: "does this have anything to do with Jensen? Because pretty near every time you've had a bug up your ass lately, it's been something to do with him."

"So what do you need me to answer for?"

"I'm just buying time while I drink your scotch, man. I don't know."

Silently, Jeff picks up the bottle and offers it to Kane by the neck.

Kane stares at it like he wants to take it and a) leave, or b) smash it over Jeff's head. After a moment, he growls, "All right. If you want to be a sad sack, I'm not gonna stop you. The problem is, the whole house reeks like miserable omega and uptight pissy alpha. It's making everybody else goddamn twitchy."

Jeff winces. It's not like he doesn't know that Jensen is unhappy, although it took him too long to figure it out; that night Ever and Leah ended up not sleeping over, Kane had to crash with Denis at Jeremy's because of Jensen’s guilt and Jeff’s frustration. And hadn't that been fucking fun to explain when Jeremy called to ask why he had to deal with two cranky asshole betas instead of one.

“I’m trying to fix that,” Jeff says. “We talked. He’s going to see Cate now.”

“Cate’s a great headshrinker, but it ain’t her knot he wants to ride.”

Jeff’s brain helpfully provides a technicolor image of Jensen, fucked open and panting on his dick. The noises he'd make, full-throated and grateful or quiet and overwhelmed. The scent of his slick as he got wetter, when he came. Then Jeff skips tracks from that pornographic fantasy to picturing Jensen right now, taking some dildo too fast into his heat-drenched hole, biting his lip...

“Would you stop that?” Kane's breathing through his mouth. “Ice it down, man.”

“Sorry.” Sheepish, Jeff scratches the back of his neck. “The sad thing is, I was going to have sex with him tonight. Then it turned out he was going into heat.”

Kane reaches across the desk and plucks the joint from Jeff’s fingers. “So what?”

“So what? So he’s in heat.”

Kane takes a drag deep enough that Jeff hears the paper crackle, exhaling smoke from his nose like a dragon. “What, it’d be too useful to fuck him?”

“It’d be harder for him to say no.”

“You think that kid will tell you no anyway?”

“Chris…” Jeff sighs. “Look. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Because I’m a beta, right, but you don’t know what it’s like to be a bodyslave.” Kane gestures with the joint. “Hell, Jeff, this whole thing is fucked up whether he’s in heat or not. You can save him a few miserable days locked up thinking you’re never going to fuck him. You holding off for him or for you?”

Christ, Jeff hates it when Kane makes sense. He clunks the bottle of scotch in front of Kane and stands. There’s a stitch in his knee that won’t quit. “You mind locking up here?”

“Naw.” Kane turns his head to watch Jeff. “Where you going?”

“Where do you think?”

Kane grunts, but Jeff can see the edge of his grudging smile.
The secondary dorm is scrupulously clean and as comfortable as the situation allows. There’s a bed, a light, a television. Jensen can see Jeff’s soft heart in all of it.

The surroundings change, but the heat remains the same. There’s nothing to be done about that.

Jensen has ignored the bed in order to lie on the floor, where it’s cooler. He can feel sweat in his hair, the small of his back, the places his body touches the floor. At least it’s distracting from the clutching hungriness of his body, the trembling wetness that’s already exhausting.

He’s had his share of heats, enough to have learned the tricks of his body. If he’s allowed to touch himself or to be touched (if he’s worthy, if he’s good), and he gives in as soon as the heat starts, then by the end he’s raw and useless. So the heat where Lord Cruise didn’t allow him any relief was good, was right, because it taught him control that he obviously needed.

Traditionally, his masters have wanted two things from his heat: to use it for their own pleasure, or for Jensen to seclude himself until he’s finished. Jeff wants him to stay away. It’s fine.

He holds himself very still. He tries to keep himself in that blank quiet space inside his head, the place he reaches at the apex of sensation where it’s not pain or pleasure anymore. It isn’t easy. Even breathing is temptation to reach for the silicon knot.

Jeff doesn’t care what Jensen chooses to do. It’s only his own standards he’s maintaining, which makes enduring harder. More bitter.

Lying here reminds him of that last Closing, when no one came for him.

Which was Jeff’s prerogative. Obviously.

Jensen exhales. He can feel his fingers trembling. Relief is so close at hand in the toy, in the small plastic vial that he didn’t discard, if he just--

He feels an alpha presence at the door just before he hears the thunderous knocking, so that he flinches at the sound. His fingers slip their clasp of his wrist. He comes to his knees and then freezes there, uselessly, unsure what to do. But that’s the problem, isn’t it, that no one will just tell him what to do.

The knocking stops, and then there’s Jeff’s hesitant voice: “Jensen?”

Jensen goes to the door. He can’t not. Once there, he rests his forehead against the cool wood. His whole body yearns towards Jeff: his scent, his heat. Jensen is slick down the inside of his thighs, filthy with it, an indolent blood-hot feeling that he could just shove Jeff down and take him in one thrust…

He’s been trained not to think these thoughts, not to dare, even during heat. He pushes them away, but the image of riding Jeff, of using him, clings to his mind like ivy.

“Yes,” he says. He can barely recognize the scrape of his own voice.

There’s a soft sound like Jeff resting his hand against the door. “Do you want me to come in?”

Jensen shivers all over. His wants don’t matter, he should be incapable of wanting anything other than to please Jeff. His master. He does want to please Jeff. He wants to be good. What Jeff wants is for Jensen to be different, like a free man, for Jensen to ask endless questions about what this would mean for them both. Limits and consent and boundaries. Jeff wants Jensen not to break himself on Jeff’s edges.

Jensen wants Jeff to come in.

After these months of questions, there’s finally an easy answer. Jensen opens the door.

The door opens inward with a wash of Jeff’s scent. Jeff was apparently leaning against the door, because he staggers forward. Jeff stops himself, his hands open just short of touching Jensen; his eyes drag down Jensen’s body and snag on his drenched thighs. “Oh my god,” Jeff says faintly, and then: “Okay. Sweetheart, back up a little, let me close the door.”

Jensen has a sudden wild image of Jeff fucking him on the lawn. He would be fine with that. Let them all see. But he wants what Jeff wants, and so he takes wobbling colt-legged steps back into the room.

Jeff closes the door, then locks it. The sound of the bolt sliding shut starts Jensen’s heart beating faster in joyful dread. He can smell the ripening musk of Jeff getting hard for him. Jensen trembles.

“Good,” Jeff says gruffly, “that’s good, Jen. You’re so good. God, you’re gorgeous. What do you want?”

“You,” Jensen says. His mouth is parched. He can’t look away from Jeff’s feral eyes, his blown pupils. “Please. I want you. Please, please…”

Gently, Jeff says, “You want me to tell you what to do?”

Relief raining over him, Jensen nods. His knees want to unlock. Finally, yes, that’s all he’s wanted. He thinks he sees Jeff relax, too.

“Get on the bed, then,” Jeff says.

Jensen goes. In the gentling light coming through the blinds, he should pose but can’t see the picture it would make. He tangles his fingers in the cool sheets and lets his thighs fall open. He sees Jeff taking deep breaths through his mouth, scenting Jensen, tasting him on the air.

Moving slow, like Jensen might bolt, Jeff comes to the end of the bed. Sits down. One of Jeff’s big long-fingered hands comes to rest on Jensen’s bare ankle, his thumb rubbing the bone. It’s so good to have Jeff touch him that Jensen bites his lip to keep from making any sound that might discourage him.

“You’re beautiful,” Jeff says, with a kind of desperation. His hand runs up Jensen’s ankle to his calf, his knee. Then he makes a strangled sound in his throat. His thumb digs into the vulnerable side of Jensen’s knee for a moment. “So beautiful.”

Jensen can’t swallow his whine. He turns his leg into Jeff’s hand, and the moisture inside his thigh catches the light. Jeff skims his hand up Jensen’s thigh, the friction giving way to easy glide. Jeff makes a noise that clenches Jensen up in helpless hunger, and brings his mouth down to Jensen’s thigh. His beard scratches, his scent rubbed into Jensen’s skin.

Jeff kisses Jensen just where the wet trail starts, an open-mouthed kiss like Jensen is some soft fruit he intends to devour. Jeff’s groan is muffled into Jensen’s skin, the scalding touch of his tongue as he licks Jensen up, as he drags his mouth up to the crease of his thigh. There Jeff bites him, a firework of sensation that makes Jensen cry out.

Hand shaking, Jeff comes up for a ragged breath. His eyes are wild and dark. “Roll on your stomach,” he says.

Jensen does, though his limbs feel heavy and bloodless. He gets his knees under him, his ass in the air. “Please,” he says, muffled into his folded arms, and then only noises, because Jeff is spreading him open with his thumbs.

Shamefully, Jensen feels great tears of lubrication welling from his hole as Jeff looks at him. Jeff rubs a fingertip over his entrance, slipping in the slick. When it slips just a little in, Jensen’s hips rock helplessly back against him.

“Christ, baby, just look at you,” Jeff rasps. “You’re fucking drenched. I want to eat you out.”

Jensen whines, then bites his arm to silence it. He can smell Jeff’s cock getting harder, the milkiness of his precome. Then he hears Jeff unzip his jeans, and his training fails him a little; he backs up blindly like a cat in heat, trying to fuck himself back on Jeff’s knot.

Jeff is a good master. Thankfully, he catches Jensen by the hips and stops him. Jensen can feel denim on the back of his thighs, the metal coldness of the zip like torture. He deserves torture, he isn’t good, he deserves to be sent away for that loss of control.

But Jeff is kind to him, rubbing his hand up and down Jensen’s sweating spine. “Shh. It’s all right. Gonna take care of you.”

Jensen says into his arm, “I’ll be good. Master, alpha, please, I want your knot, please--!”

Jeff’s hand trembles on Jensen’s back, just before Jeff takes it away. Then there’s the slow dirty rub of Jeff’s cockhead between his ass cheeks, skimming across his entrance for one bright second and then down behind his balls. Slipping in all the wet. “Yeah. Gonna give it to you.”

Then the head pops past the rim of Jensen’s ass, almost frictionless and still a sweetly hurting stretch. Jeff hisses but doesn’t stop his long thrust until he bottoms out. Jensen sobs in the relief of being filled. Jeff is satisfying inside him, big and thick.

The endorphin rush of their bodies entwining is so sweet, so good. Jensen feels his toes curl. “Thank you,” he says hoarsely, “thank you…”

When Jeff leans down to cover him, his shirt has been stripped away. Jeff rubs his cheek against Jensen’s shoulder, marking him with his scent. “I want you to take hold of your cock,” Jeff says, gruff. “Jerk yourself off for me.”

Jensen shudders. He would rather come from being fucked, to hold on to this good feeling for longer, but he does as Jeff asks. The first touch on his dick almost scalds him, and he gasps. His legs tremble beneath him with the urge to rock back and forth on Jeff’s cock.

“My good boy.” Jeff fucks into him, a slow thorough thrust. The wet sound of it sends blood rushing to Jensen’s face and into his dick. Jeff is getting bigger around the base, his knot swelling and stretching inside until Jensen groans at the sweet burn. It isn’t locked in him yet, not until Jeff comes, but soon. Soon.

Jeff stops nuzzling long enough to stop and suck a large bruise on Jensen’s back. Marking him. He slows his thrust further, just grinding in, the scrape of his pubic hair. “Talk to me,” Jeff asks, with a wire of fever need in his voice. “Is it good?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, almost drawling now. “So good. Y-your knot in me. Need it.”

There’s a rising feral scent from Jeff, the dangerous awareness of his body at Jensen’s vulnerable back. Jensen lengthens his spine, bares the nape of his neck. Jeff growls and nuzzles Jensen there too.

“I know, sweetheart,” Jeff says, almost crooning. “I got you. I’ll give it to you. Gonna fill you up.”

Jensen closes his eyes: safe, used, owned.

The next thrust is a surprise, jerking a moan from the bottom of Jensen’s lungs. Jeff purrs like an idling engine and fucks into him again, Jensen’s knees sliding up the sheets towards the headboard. Jensen is startled by the keening cry that rips from his mouth; he bites the inside of his mouth hard enough to bleed. After a few thrusts, Jensen has to scramble to brace his hand on the wall, because getting concussed might make Jeff stop and it’s so good, so very good. Jeff loops an arm around Jensen’s belly, holding him up, pulling him back into every thrust so that Jensen can’t even bite the sheets to muffle the noises he’s making.

Jensen isn’t jerking himself off, but the motion of their bodies rocks him in his own loose grip. His mind is full up with bright pleasure, but he clings to the fact that he doesn’t have permission. He has to be good.

As if the thought transmits between them through skin contact and chemicals alone, Jeff slurs into Jensen’s sweaty neck, “It’s okay. You can come, baby, it’s all right, I want you to. Fuck, I want--”

The words are smeared together in the grit of Jeff’s voice; Jensen hears that Jeff wants him to and it’s wrenched out of him all at once before he really understands. He comes like a slap, startled into silence for one long moment and then into crying out as Jeff fucks him through it. Pleasure hits like pain, just more input, penny-bright.

Jeff groans, shaking and heartfelt, “Yeah, that’s good, Jensen, that’s perfect. That’s my good boy. God. You...”

And then Jeff pulls him tight and shivers all over. His knot swells; Jensen whimpers, his nails scraping against the wall. The chemical rush, the warmth of his Jeff’s come, the trembling tension of Jeff’s thighs, it all serves to unkink Jensen’s spine.

Jeff’s grip eases slowly, but he doesn’t let go. Which is good, because Jensen thinks he’d just puddle through the bed. He’s soaked with sweat and slick, weak with oxytocin.

“You okay?” Jeff asks, hushed.

Jensen hums his deep satisfaction.

Jeff seems to relax a little. “Do you mind if we roll on our sides, then? My knee is fucked up.”

“Of course.” Privately, Jensen wonders why Jeff has to ask first.

They shift positions, Jeff’s knot rocking in Jensen as they move. Once Jeff is comfortable, he spreads his palm across Jensen’s stomach, an idle possessive gesture Jensen feels to his bones. Jensen wonders if the come Jeff’s spilling into him scorches under his skin, if Jeff can feel its fever.

That idea stirs the embers of his heat, so recently sated. Jensen sighs.

“You can take your hand off your dick, if you want,” Jeff says. “At least until you’re ready to go again.”

Jensen blushes and lets go of his dick, careful not to spill the palmful of come even though these sheets may need to be burned. Jeff takes gentle hold of his wrist and brings it up so that Jeff can lick him clean; Jensen blushes harder.

“Hi,” Jeff says, hooking his chin over Jensen’s shoulder. His chest is still rising and falling hard. His scent swaddles Jensen, infinitely comforting. Tenderly, Jeff strokes his thumb across Jensen’s heart.

Tentatively, Jensen turns his face and nuzzles Jeff. “Hi,” he says, his voice wrecked and unpleasing.

He feels Jeff’s smile.
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