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Arthur was miserable.
When this came over him, it never felt like a regular fever, and it never felt like standing in the sun, or taking a hot shower. No, it was worse. It was under his skin; it pounded through his veins.
It helped if he stayed home, alone, in the dark, with the air conditioner on, sipping cool water. Oh, and masturbating like it was his job.
Those were his plans for this Friday night. Nothing unusual for his occasional heats, but this was July and it was boiling hot out. When he got home from work, having grabbed a bite on the way, he stripped down to his boxers and turned on the ceiling fan on high.
It was stifling in his apartment, hot and muggy since it was about to storm (he could hear distant thunder). He really should have left the AC running this morning -- wait, hadn't he? He went to the hallway.
He took a deep breath, and adjusted the thermostat, waiting for the AC to come on.
Nothing.
"Shit," Arthur breathed. His anxiety sent a flush of heat over his skin. Great, that was just what he needed.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed after another moment, stomping as hard as possible on the floor without thinking. It was Friday night; there was no way the maintenance guy would come fix it now. He might have to wait until Monday. And he didn't want to leave the apartment -- there were enough of his kind around to know what he was by his smell, and he really didn't need strangers propositioning him, grinding on him, and taking advantage of his heat just because he was an alpha. Sure, in his younger years it had seemed great, but as he approached thirty, his heats were getting more intense.
Closing his eyes, he gently let his forehead fall against the wall, and breathed into the silence, starting to resign himself to the inconvenience.
There was a knock at the door.
Arthur turned to stare at it. Who the hell could it be?
He considered not answering. Yeah, his car was outside, but that didn't mean he had to answer the door, did it?
Whoever it was was pounding on the door now, and shouting. "You all right?"
And then, to Arthur's astonishment, his doorknob was rattling, and the door was opening. The locked door was opening.
Silhouetted in the doorway of the darkened apartment was Arthur's new downstairs neighbor, an extraordinarily handsome and well-muscled man who had a strange schedule, which meant Arthur rarely saw him. He didn't even know his name, but he did know -- now -- that he could pick locks.
The man walked into his living room, hurried, in jeans, an undershirt, and sock feet. He caught sight of Arthur in the hall, staring at him. "Mate, are you all right? Heard a loud noise, didn't know if you'd fallen." Oh, and Arthur’s downstairs neighbor was English.
"I'm fine," Arthur said hoarsely, realizing through his haze how odd this must look: Arthur in his boxers, all the lights out, the apartment stifling. "My AC is out," he said.
"Ooh, and on a Friday night, hard luck," his neighbor said. "You could come down to mine, it's working there," the man added. "But I love the heat, myself."
Arthur grimaced at that statement, but just for a moment. "I can't. I'm... not feeling well."
"Is it catching?"
"Um, no," Arthur said, and winced. Why hadn't he said yes? Did something in him want this man to stay? From the smell of him, he wasn't one of Arthur's kind. But hell, it didn't really matter. In fact, in some ways it was better if he wasn’t. And he certainly did smell good, regardless....
“Hey, what’s your name?” the man asked.
“Um, Arthur,” Arthur replied, feeling himself blush when the man stepped closer, smiling. He was about Arthur’s height, and his lips were temptingly plush.
“I’m Eames,” he answered. “I see you sometimes, but I don’t think I’ve ever talked to you. Pity.” His gaze, even in the low light, was clearly traveling down Arthur’s bare chest.
And suddenly the air between them changed.
Arthur smiled, just this side of predatory. “Eames,” he started, voice low, stepping closer. “I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”
“Yeah?” Eames’ voice was now pitched equally low.
“I have this condition.” Arthur kept his voice at a murmur, with a tone of confiding something he trusted Eames with. He sighed. “I... go into heat.”
“Heat,” Eames repeated. “You mean you’re one of those--”
“Yes.”
“Are you... what type are you?”
“Alpha,” Arthur continued, smile full of promise. Eames’ breathing had changed; Arthur could sense that his skin had grown warmer, that his sweat had taken on a scent that hit Arthur’s nose like a shot of oxygen. He had to bite his lip.
“It’s... really hot in here, and that makes things more uncomfortable for me,” Arthur continued. “So, if going to your place is still on offer....”
“Yeah.” Eames nodded, and just that syllable almost sounded like a pant. His lips parted, and Arthur had to kiss him. Eames made a soft sound, accepting the intrusion of Arthur’s tongue easily, hands pulling him closer.
With the promise of relief on the horizon, Arthur’s heart was beating faster. He sucked Eames’ lower lip into his teeth briefly as he broke the kiss, and blinked at Eames, who looked dazed.
“If I’d known earlier what... who you were,” Eames breathed, “I’d’ve made your acquaintance ages ago.”
“Shut up, Eames,” Arthur said, “and take me to your bedroom.” Eames was already making a beeline to the door.
-------
Barefoot and in just his boxers, Arthur followed Eames into his apartment, and once the door was locked, pressed his back to the wall. Eames was ready for him, meeting his kiss with eagerness, pulling Arthur against him, hands gliding down Arthur’s back and squeezing his ass. Arthur gasped, feeling another rush of heat over his skin, even though it was blessedly cool in here.
He ground against Eames, seeking friction. Suddenly, even the thin cotton felt like too much. Impatient, he squirmed out of Eames’ grip, and shucked his boxers down his hips, still kissing Eames as the garment dropped to the floor.
Eames pulled back from the kiss with a smack, startled. “Are you n-- my God,” he said, eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe his luck, gaze raking down Arthur’s body.
Arthur stepped out of the boxers. “Bedroom,” he said crisply. “Now. You know what I am and what I need.”
“To fuck your heat away,” Eames said, sounding fascinated even though his voice was thick with arousal as well.
Arthur laughed shortly, eyebrows raised. “Yes. Bedroom?”
“Oh, yeah.” Eames shook himself, and led the way down the hall.
Eames’ bed was large and plush. Arthur hardly noticed. He pulled Eames’ shirt over his head and unbuttoned his jeans. He had an odd smattering of strange tattoos, seemingly disconnected, but he was so good-looking they only enhanced his appearance.
Eames sat heavily back on the bed as Arthur tugged off his jeans and shorts. He was hard, leaking precome, and to Arthur’s nose, sensitized even to those who were not his kind, he smelled delicious. “Do you know what you’re in for?” Arthur breathed.
“Yeah, uh, I dunno if I do, actually,” Eames admitted, cheeks pink, hair mussed, taking off his socks.
Arthur pressed Eames back into the bed. “We’re fertile at all times,” he said, in between nips to Eames’ hot skin, “but for a few days a month, we’re... super-fertile.” He laughed darkly. “To ensure the survival of our kind.”
He lowered himself onto Eames, who gasped, hands roaming him. “Christ, you’re warm,” he said, and before Arthur could bite out a sarcastic reply, he added, “Does it hurt to be in heat?”
“It does,” Arthur admitted, rocking his hips against Eames. It felt good but it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Does wanking not help?” Eames’ curious hand worked between them to take hold of Arthur’s cock.
“Not, not enough,” Arthur got out breathlessly, closing his eyes tightly for a moment as Eames squeezed him. “It’s not the same, it goes away faster when I mate.”
“Mate,” Eames echoed, voice suddenly much lower, huskier, the word carrying an entirely different meaning now than it had when Eames had used it earlier.
“Yes, that’s what I need to warn you about. We can get... rough. When we mate.” Arthur swallowed, all this talking bringing vivid images into his head and making his body feel hotter. It was hard to concentrate on explaining things to Eames when he just wanted to inhale his scent, mark him; taste him, and take him. No explanations, just his driving eagerness and Eames’ willing body....
Eames exhaled shakily. “I can take it.”
“We leave marks. We bite.” Arthur felt himself salivate.
Eames swallowed. “That’s all right.”
Arthur looked at him critically -- at least, as much as he could manage. Eames was nervous, yes, but excited, interested. Eager. “You’ve got condoms and lube?”
Eames nodded, briefly licking his lips. “Top drawer of the nightstand.”
“I’ve got to come, I’ve been putting up with this all day,” Arthur said, disentangling himself to get out the condoms and lube. “Thought I could come home and jerk off all evening in a cool apartment.” His voice was tight to his own ears.
“To think you were up there wanking all this time,” Eames said, and from the look on his face he was indeed thinking about it.
‘Yeah, yeah.” Arthur set the lube and condom within easy reach on the bed. “It wasn’t all ‘wanking.’ I could find a few interested people,” he said, arching a brow.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Eames replied, taking in Arthur’s body again with a gaze of pointed admiration, which sent a throb through Arthur’s cock. Arthur bridged himself over him.
“Like this?” Eames said, sounding surprised. “I thought your sort were more... animalistically inclined.”
“Is that what you’d prefer?” Arthur asked, eyebrows raised. “I’m accommodating, I’d just like to come soon.”
“I’m happy either way,” Eames averred. “You’re gorgeous, you know,” he added.
Arthur found himself blushing again, which was redundant considering his skin definitely still felt as if it were on fire. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he said, grinning. “Understatement of the year. You’re stunning.”
Eames winked, but he seemed to be blushing too. “So I’ve been told.”
“Flattery’s gotten me everywhere. Turn over,” Arthur said, giving Eames a smack on the hip.
“Absolutely.” Eames turned over as Arthur moved to allow him, and got on his hands and knees.
“I think this’ll be better,” Arthur said, slicking his fingers up. “It’s more intense and easier for me to relieve the heat, and you’re more likely to get prostate stimulation. Ready?” he asked, waggling his fingers briefly as Eames looked over his shoulder at him.
No sooner had Eames nodded than Arthur was working a finger inside him. Eames shuddered briefly, closing his eyes and turning back around, going still, as if willing himself to relax and concentrate.
Arthur added a second finger, working him open. Eames shifted his knees further apart, starting to rock his hips back.
Arthur swallowed. “Tell me when you’re ready for me,” he said.
“Soon, if you please,” Eames breathed. Just to make sure, Arthur worked in a third finger, pressing deep, until Eames was shuddering bodily, and Arthur couldn’t wait any longer. “Now,” he said, not really a question, and Eames, thankfully, nodded.
Arthur put on the condom, trying to breathe through the heat and control how frantic he felt, at least to an extent. Despite what he’d said to Eames, it had been quite a while since he’d mated during a heat. It hadn’t seemed worth the trouble, most of the time. It was such an intimate thing, and Arthur could be so easily irritated when he was prickly from heat. He wasn’t sure if tonight was a lapse or a welcome change, and, well, right now he didn’t care.
One knee on the bed, one foot planted into it for leverage, he gripped Eames’ shoulder and sank into him like a dream, humming low in his throat, closing his eyes for a moment as the fingers of his other hand grasped Eames’ hip. Eames muffled a groan beneath him. “If I hurt you, really hurt you,” Arthur gritted out, voice tight, “you have to tell me to stop.”
“I can take it,” Eames gasped back.
“I’m serious,” Arthur said, pressing in as deeply as he could. He groaned low in his throat at the feeling. Eames writhed, knees sliding further apart. He pitched his body forward slightly, and Arthur went with him.
“I know. Arthur, please,” Eames breathed, rolling his hips. Arthur drew out and slammed in, smooth, and Eames matched him, quickly finding a counter rhythm, arching back and pressing forward, Arthur moving to bend over him. He slid his hand from Eames’ shoulder to lock his arm around his chest, and pulled him back against him, Eames taking him in that much further as his weight shifted back.
It was so good like this, Arthur thought in a daze, his body plastered against Eames, taking in his scent, which again hit Arthur almost like a drug. They moved together well. He had to taste Eames, had to; and then had to bite him. Eames froze for a moment and then groaned. Arthur moved faster, and harder, driving into him, worrying Eames’ skin between his teeth, tasting his sweat.
“Harder,” Eames gasped, and Arthur obliged, snapping his hips with the force of it, shaking the bed. His peak was building rapidly; this was going to roll through him like the thunder he was vaguely aware of outside.
He growled low in his throat, rubbing his jaw against Eames’ skin; he could feel the short stubble he’d gained since his morning shave scraping at him. Eames shuddered, arching his back, their balance shifting as he frantically got a hand on himself. He was tighter around Arthur then, squirming, working their rhythm into the way he was thrusting into his hand. Arthur would have helped, but he was too mindless with this urge, fingers digging into Eames’ skin. From the way Eames was grunting softly in time, Arthur was nailing his prostate.
Eames’ head dropped forward and then tilted back as he started to pant; throat exposed, he tightened suddenly around Arthur, who groaned loudly, surprised, his orgasm punched out of him. Eames fluttered around him, groaning, and the peak seemed to last and last, both of them together. Eames’ chest heaved and strained against Arthur’s arm.
Suddenly he almost couldn’t hear Eames’ moans for the rush of blood in his ears, the thudding of his own heart. Something unusual was happening.
“Arthur,” Eames gasped, a thread of beginning panic in his voice.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Arthur said automatically, voice raw. He realized with shock that at his base he was swelling inside of Eames, something that had only happened to him rarely, and never with this speed.
“Are you--” Eames broke off suddenly, gasping, and Arthur could tell he was squeezing his cock, tightening around Arthur again. “Christ.”
“Bear down,” Arthur said, surprised he could even speak. “Bear down and it’ll stop.”
“Jesus,” Eames said, shuddering. His back was flushed pink, glistening with sweat. Arthur licked at his shoulder, pressed his mouth to Eames’ skin, nuzzled him. Gentled him, really, out of instinct. But although Eames was tense, it wasn’t due to terror; there was no spike of true fear in his scent.
“I can’t pull out until it goes down,” Arthur murmured, unnecessarily. Eames answered with a groan, sounding lost.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur added.
“Don’t be,” Eames replied hoarsely, shifting his hips, as if to feel Arthur’s knot better. Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, breath caught. Shakily, he exhaled, and they were silent for a while, panting harshly together.
“Does this happen every time?” Eames breathed.
“No,” Arthur murmured, lips brushing Eames’ skin. “For me, almost never. Only during heat and I usually pull out before it does. This time... I couldn’t do it.” It was too fast, it felt too good, he thought. Damn, he was fortunate Eames didn’t mind.
Eames made a sound of interest. “Lucky me.” Arthur laughed shortly, but Eames didn’t sound sarcastic. He kissed the nape of Eames’ neck.
“Why does it happen?” Eames asked. Apparently he was insatiably curious. Arthur could deal with that.
“Well, I’m... trying to mate, after all.” Arthur shrugged. “My body’s trying to stake a claim on you.”
“Trying to get me pregnant?” Eames laughed low in his throat. Arthur felt his cock twitch, and apparently so did Eames, if his inhalation was anything to judge by. He chuckled. “I’m afraid I don’t work that way, darling, I’m terribly sorry. And besides, you’ve a condom on.”
“Heat doesn’t listen to reason,” Arthur sighed, amused.
“It feels good like this, though,” Eames remarked. “I could get hard again.” Arthur moved his hand to Eames’ slightly softened cock, ignoring his startled little jump.
He loosely wrapped his hand around Eames, mindful of how sensitive he must be. “You like being filled up?” he said, voice low, lips against Eames’ ear.
“Yeah,” Eames breathed. “Wish you didn’t have that condom on.”
Arthur swallowed hard. He’d meant Eames liked being filled with a swollen dick, but that worked too.
“Don’t wear one next time,” Eames continued.
“Okay.” Arthur blinked, giving Eames a squeeze and making him gasp. “I just... there’s a lot, and... it gets messy,” Arthur said, and Eames shuddered.
“Good God, you are walking pornography, do you realize.”
“I feel more like a freak.” To illustrate his point, Arthur rocked his hips, demonstrating how unable he was to pull out.
“Don’t feel that way,” Eames said immediately, and Arthur left it at that. Now was not the time. Eames was hard in his hand again anyway.
“Forward slightly, please,” Eames said breathlessly. “I want your weight on me.” That made Arthur smile to himself, considering how burly Eames was. He shifted forward, Eames going on all fours again.
“You’re still hard?” Eames asked unnecessarily, sounding impressed.
“Until the knot goes down.”
“Can you come again?”
“It’s been known to happen.”
“Arthur. Make me come again.” Arthur tightened his slick hand around Eames, and stroked him quickly, grip tight, his other hand flat on Eames’ back. Eames folded his arms and let his head rest on them, rocking his hips eagerly back against Arthur. He came soon after, with a slightly pained-sounding cry. With the tightening around him Arthur’s peak followed, weaker this time but still spine-meltingly good.
Eames stayed where he was, catching his breath, little shudders running through him. “Haven’t been able to do that in ages.”
Arthur could feel himself starting to soften, to subside. “I should be able to pull out shortly. I’m sorry, you must be sore.”
“I am, a bit. I can’t say I don’t like it.”
“Gonna be hard for me to get soft if you keep saying things like that,” Arthur said, but Eames just laughed softly.
Arthur stroked his palm over the hot skin of Eames’ back, bringing them both down, trying not to move otherwise until he was able to draw out. When he did, Eames made a little sound and collapsed forward onto the bed, groaning happily. Knees weak, Arthur stumbled to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and clean himself, and he got a washcloth for Eames. When he returned to the bedroom, Eames was stretched out on his back, watching him.
“Stay,” Eames told him, tone soft, something insistent in his eyes.
-------
They fell asleep sprawled together on Eames’ bed, naked, sheets tossed aside and the ceiling fan cooling their sweaty skin.
Arthur woke up in the middle of the night, shivering. It was raining hard outside, the dense humidity of the sun-warmed day prior finally bearing fruit. He pulled the sheets over them and tucked in close around Eames, figuring he wouldn’t mind. He fell asleep again like that, wondering if his heat was in fact gone. Seemed like it. If so, this was the fastest it had ever gotten out of his system. He wasn’t ready to ponder what that might mean.
He woke up again after dawn, and laid awake for a few minutes, fingers idly stroking Eames’ skin. Eames yawned, stretched, and spoke, voice husky with sleep. “Have you ever let anyone fuck you?”
It was such a blunt thing to say first thing in the morning that Arthur knew Eames must have been thinking about it since sometime last night. Arthur paused, and shrugged. “No. Mostly people want me to fuck them.”
“Wouldn’t you like it, though? It’s lovely.” Eames covered Arthur’s hand lightly with his own, pulling Arthur’s arm and tucking them closer together.
“Yeah, I get that impression.” Arthur laughed, pressing his nose to Eames’ neck for a moment.
“Is that a yes?” Eames looked back over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, with a sly grin.
“Eames, are you trying to ask whether you can take my virginity?”
“I suppose I am, Arthur. After I make you some coffee.” Eames showed no signs of getting up just yet, however.
“You are definitely the best neighbor I’ve ever had,” Arthur remarked, brushing his lips over the pink marks his stubble had left on Eames’ neck the night before. “And the hottest,” he added.
Eames chuckled softly. “The feeling is mutual, love.”