kingless | (no subject)

[ He really had thought this wasn't going to be that big a deal.

It's just one of those things, common knowledge by now, how alphas and omegas have these... cycles. Health teachers like to try to equate it to beta girls and their periods, but it's weirder than that, tied intrinsically to the sex instinct, and... well, frankly, there's not a lot of good information out there. But there's stories, of course. There's whispers between other omegas, about these heats coming on so suddenly, how they feel like you're tearing in half from between the legs outward; the thickness of your scent, the uncomfortable heat inside, the wetness,, the desperate clawing need.

Prompto had, honestly, always just assumed people were being a little dramatic. It couldn't be that bad. Even Noctis had chuckled along while he'd said as much, amiably agreeing that maybe Prompto might handle it better than most.

Noctis... an unusual sort of "companion" for someone like Prompto to have. An improbable friendship considering that Prompto is very nearly half Noctis' age (not to mention the fact that he's an alpha), but he's easy to talk to; there's something about him that calms Prompto's usually-haywire nerves, he's kind and warm and funny and weirdly they have a lot of the same interests, and-- he's. Incredibly attractive. And Prompto has a gigantic crush on him that he's pretty sure he's lowballing the seriousness of. And...

And he's not entirely sure that it's one-sided. It feels egotistical to think so, but... lately, there have been more hands on shoulders, the small of his back, a pat on a knee or just a little too high on a thigh. There have been more flirtatious words. More shivers down his spine at a catch of the man's scent. Prompto keeps pushing the boundaries (he can't help it, he wants to see), even going so far as to sit in Noctis' lap while showing him a few photos he'd taken, and Noctis had not only taken it in stride, but... seemed amenable? He'd wrapped an arm around Prompto's waist, smiling slyly like it had been the most natural thing in the world.

That smile, his voice, his scent-- all currently at the forefront of Prompto's mind as he pumps his angry-red cock in his hand, desperately seeking some release, some relief from these increasingly vicious twists of arousal in his gut. His heat. His first. And damnit, everything everyone had ever said about it had been right. He's panting like he can't get enough air into his lungs, and this touch isn't enough-- even knowing it isn't going to help, he jams his other hand down between his legs, pushing three fingers through all the wet into his body, trying to build up any sort of satisfying feeling. He jolts, hips snapping down, and a shudder of an entirely-too-mild orgasm floods through him (literally, going by the sudden mess truly coating his hand), leaving an even hungrier burn behind it. It's torture.

Torture that, he finally decides, he can't weather alone. Prompto untangles himself, flinging himself from the chair into his bed, hissing and trying to curl into a position that's at least somewhat comfortable, wiping his hands haphazardly on the blankets in order to grab his phone and not make it completely disgusting.

And his stupid hands are shaking too badly to text properly. He manages to get out a 'help', but quickly realizes how stupid that is, and instead-- he calls. ]

Please don't be too busy. [ One ring. ] Please don't be too busy. [ Two. Another sharp coil of arousal twisting through his guts and tightening makes him whimper, makes him push a hand down between his legs again, humping hot and wet against it and the bed. ] Please, please, Noct.