Frank didn't want to look. Or rather, he wanted to, wanted to do more than look, but desperately wished he didn't. Because it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong for an Omega to lust after someone else's mate. Omegas were made to submit, to receive, not to demand or to take. To be of service to others, especially Alphas, with their actions, with their time, and especially with their bodies. To satisfy an Alpha's sexual needs and desires, to be a willing and submissive body to fuck, and most importantly, to bear their children.
Something Frank, broken as he was, had never been able to do, and so he'd been expected to be all the more available to any Alpha who wanted someone to warm their bed. Heat had usually meant several Alphas having their turns with him, because who had time to nurse a broken Omega through the full length of his heat? Heat had meant waking up alone in an empty bed, several times over, too weak and needy to refuse whoever came in next. Virtually the only improvement once he'd gotten out was that it was the same Alpha throughout, but if they had other things to do, he could be left languishing for hours til they came back from wherever they'd been. He'd learned quickly not to ask.
And heat had always meant feeling varying degrees of awful after it passed. Usually from dehydration, but a few particularly rough sessions- usually from Alphas in rut- had left him so bruised and sore that he could barely walk or sit properly afterwards. Back home another Omega would usually get him am ice pack for his battered groin after such sessions. Once getting out, he'd had to do it himself.
He hated his body, its brokenness, its weakness. The instincts that turned him into a desperate little pile of need every few months, the ones that he'd tried so, so hard to banish and suppress. And in the end, failed to.
"I'm... supposed to take one," Frank admitted quietly, fumbling with his keys. "But that hasn't been enough for almost two years now." The implications of that statement would be obvious and disturbing. No doctor would write a prescription for more than a person's recommended dose of suppressants, which meant that Frank had to have been sneaking around to several different ones to maintain his supply. Not illegal, but risky for multiple reasons. Of course, having seen him ready to down three pills, Frank thought Clark had figured that much out already.
Then once he'd gotten the door open... Well, office doors really weren't designed for two people to walk through side by side, so the way Clark brushed against him as they entered could almost have been written off as accidental, even if it did draw a sharp intake of breath from him. He took perhaps slightly longer than necessary closing the door behind them and setting his keys and cup- now mostly empty- on the corner of the desk that was one of the room's only two real features. He'd intended to grip the edge of the desk, to use that as an anchor to try and get himself back under control, foolish though he knew it was. He nodded once without looking, when asked if it was better. It wasn't really, not in the ways that mattered, but at least there was now a door between him and abuilding where numerous Alphas worked.
When Clark kept speaking though, he turned almost reluctantly to face him, only for the other to saunter back into his space, posture definitely suggestive, caressing his arm, putting a hand on his waist. Complimenting him, for some reason. And then... asking what he wanted? His mouth worked in soundless shock for a moment. No one asked that of him. Not in this sort of context, anyway. Why would they? No matter what he would answer, the result would be the same in the end.
His heart pounded and his breathing picked up for a whole different reason, the gentle touches making it even harder to form words. "I...", he started, his voice catching a bit, but stalled as he didn't know what to follow it with. What did he want?
He wanted more. He wanted less. He wanted to throw himself into the other omega's arms. He wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. He wanted laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cut out the part of himself that made him even think of accepting the implied offer with a dull blade.
He swallowed hard, tried again. "I... I can't," he managed, trying to make himself sound certain and failing miserably. Though he couldn't quite make himself move away, or brush off the touches. He mentally cursed his body yet again. "I... you're married! I can't, I... what would your mate think?"
no subject
Something Frank, broken as he was, had never been able to do, and so he'd been expected to be all the more available to any Alpha who wanted someone to warm their bed. Heat had usually meant several Alphas having their turns with him, because who had time to nurse a broken Omega through the full length of his heat? Heat had meant waking up alone in an empty bed, several times over, too weak and needy to refuse whoever came in next. Virtually the only improvement once he'd gotten out was that it was the same Alpha throughout, but if they had other things to do, he could be left languishing for hours til they came back from wherever they'd been. He'd learned quickly not to ask.
And heat had always meant feeling varying degrees of awful after it passed. Usually from dehydration, but a few particularly rough sessions- usually from Alphas in rut- had left him so bruised and sore that he could barely walk or sit properly afterwards. Back home another Omega would usually get him am ice pack for his battered groin after such sessions. Once getting out, he'd had to do it himself.
He hated his body, its brokenness, its weakness. The instincts that turned him into a desperate little pile of need every few months, the ones that he'd tried so, so hard to banish and suppress. And in the end, failed to.
"I'm... supposed to take one," Frank admitted quietly, fumbling with his keys. "But that hasn't been enough for almost two years now." The implications of that statement would be obvious and disturbing. No doctor would write a prescription for more than a person's recommended dose of suppressants, which meant that Frank had to have been sneaking around to several different ones to maintain his supply. Not illegal, but risky for multiple reasons. Of course, having seen him ready to down three pills, Frank thought Clark had figured that much out already.
Then once he'd gotten the door open... Well, office doors really weren't designed for two people to walk through side by side, so the way Clark brushed against him as they entered could almost have been written off as accidental, even if it did draw a sharp intake of breath from him. He took perhaps slightly longer than necessary closing the door behind them and setting his keys and cup- now mostly empty- on the corner of the desk that was one of the room's only two real features. He'd intended to grip the edge of the desk, to use that as an anchor to try and get himself back under control, foolish though he knew it was. He nodded once without looking, when asked if it was better. It wasn't really, not in the ways that mattered, but at least there was now a door between him and abuilding where numerous Alphas worked.
When Clark kept speaking though, he turned almost reluctantly to face him, only for the other to saunter back into his space, posture definitely suggestive, caressing his arm, putting a hand on his waist. Complimenting him, for some reason. And then... asking what he wanted? His mouth worked in soundless shock for a moment. No one asked that of him. Not in this sort of context, anyway. Why would they? No matter what he would answer, the result would be the same in the end.
His heart pounded and his breathing picked up for a whole different reason, the gentle touches making it even harder to form words. "I...", he started, his voice catching a bit, but stalled as he didn't know what to follow it with. What did he want?
He wanted more. He wanted less. He wanted to throw himself into the other omega's arms. He wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. He wanted laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cut out the part of himself that made him even think of accepting the implied offer with a dull blade.
He swallowed hard, tried again. "I... I can't," he managed, trying to make himself sound certain and failing miserably. Though he couldn't quite make himself move away, or brush off the touches. He mentally cursed his body yet again. "I... you're married! I can't, I... what would your mate think?"