by N. J. Lysk
“Hades and Persephone!” Jun sighed, rolling his eyes at him with gusto. “You’re such an old man. We know that, but they liked us, and some of them do want to find a family. And anyway, we had the best time; kids totally get that I need to move around, and none of them were complaining about all the new food Rimini made them try.”
Uri laughed, shaking his head. “I bet.”
Jun was grinning like the maniac he was. “Anyway, it’s not like we think it’s a done deal or anything, but well... we’ll see where it goes, I guess. Rimini wants to make you dinner to thank you.”
“Definitely not turning that down,” Uri told him sincerely. “But let’s wait till I’m done with this case, it’s—”
“Don’t even, I’m stuck with another testament nobody agrees about,” Jun cut him off. “Enjoy the excitement while it lasts.”
Upsetting as Claudette’s case could be, Uri couldn’t argue with Jun about that either.
URI WASN'T HIDING ANYTHING; it was just polite to clean up the house before having a guest. Especially a guest whose immune system had recently proven to be somewhat compromised. But he could admit it was a bit of a relief to discover there was nothing that said 'alpha' in his flat. Out in the world, he was always uncomfortably aware that a quarter of the people he met could tell what he was. Most of them wouldn't even care, but it still made Uri feel like he had to be careful—his power and privilege didn't have to be obvious to be real.
He wouldn’t have been his mothers’ son if he hadn’t realised that the ability to keep his orientation secret was in itself a form of privilege—a form of power. He wouldn’t use it for anything but to protect himself, and yet...
But he wasn’t the only one with privilege. And it wasn’t the same as ordering an omega to do something and having their own bodies betray them into obeying; it was closer to the ability Thomas’s money gave him of getting a flat with a Jacuzzi (and all the privacy he wanted).
He still had to tell him, but before he did and it was him at a disadvantage, he wanted Thomas to get to know him without the weight of preconceptions and assumptions all betas had about alphas.
It was only their fifth date, after all, it had to be a bit early for the deep secrets if they couldn’t even say to be properly dating.
Thomas grinned at him from the doorway, shaking a bottle of white wine before raising the other. “I got red too,” he announced proudly. Uri was hardly a connoisseur, but he appreciated Thomas’s attempts to indulge him.
Uri took him by the wrist and dragged him close enough to kiss, a chaste peck that turned into him nuzzling at Thomas’s cheek when he couldn’t quite make himself step away.
“Rosé is for dessert, so my father said not to,” Thomas murmured for no particular reason Uri could think of. Uri made himself relinquish his grip and wave his guest inside. “And yes, I asked my father about it,” he added. “Which is probably more of a token of my affection than the alcohol. I figured dinner wines would be a pretty safe topic, but you can’t ever...” He stopped talking, and Uri realised he was blocking the way. Thomas licked his lips. “Should we put the wine down first?”
Uri tore his gaze away. “This way.”
His kitchen was small, which was why he mostly cooked at his moms'. But it had a big window and a solid wooden table whose origins Esti and Ruth had never stopped arguing about. It was clearly an antique, but he’d almost felt like he was doing them a favour by taking it when he’d moved into this flat when he’d left university.
Thomas put the bottles down, twisting his neck to take in the small room.
“The white should go in the fridge,” Uri told him when he couldn’t stand the scrutiny any longer.
“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, taking the bottle and turning around to search for it. Before Uri could intervene, he’d figured out that it was under the counter. “Oh, wow, is that...?”
“I figured you’d eat a lot, and, well, I don’t really know what you like.”
Thomas straightened, letting the fridge door close. “Just that I’m not allergic to anything.”
Uri shrugged. “David can’t have peanuts, so I carry an EpiPen, but it doesn’t exactly put you in the mood...”
Thomas raised an eyebrow, expression growing smug. “You’re hoping to put me in the mood?”
But he’d chosen the wrong thing to tease him about; Uri had hardly managed to stop kissing him earlier, and now he crossed the two meters between them like he was skating, taking hold of Thomas’s forearm, keeping his gaze focused on the beta’s widening green eyes. “Do you need help with that?”
Thomas swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in Uri’s peripheral vision. He shook his head. “Is this you offering?” he checked, clearly affected but not giving an inch. He’d not resisted when Uri had invaded his space, and he was not stepping back either. Of course, he was almost trapped against the counter... Uri wanted to see him—
The oven timer started beeping and flashing red to his left, startling them both. Thomas chuckled, and Uri let the impulse to silence the noise guide him towards the meal he’d been about to ruin just to get a second longer close to him.
His hands were steady, but his heart was still hammering away. What was he doing? What was even happening to him with this man he hardly knew? If Thomas had been an omega, he’d have assumed...
But this wasn’t the universe telling him he’d found the other half of his soul—or could it really be only a half when people could have more than one true pairing? It didn’t matter; Thomas wasn’t an omega. The thought was strangely reassuring, or maybe it wasn’t as strange as all that, was it? He’d told his mothers and David that he didn’t want to find an omega, that he didn’t want to have that kind of power over anyone, even if he’d have used it right and never abused it... He didn’t want it. He didn’t want to be careful all the time. But, he saw now, he’d believed it when he’d been told it was the only way he could truly love someone.
He’d thought he was giving that up.
And here was a man ready to prove him wrong, to prove all of them wrong.
He set down the gefilte fish before turning to his guest. “Please sit, this is best when it’s not too hot. I have a starter ready.”
Thomas watched him back for a moment, then nodded with a smile and went to the sink to wash his hands. Uri passed him a tea towel on his way to the covered dish on the other side of the counter. Their fingers brushed, their eyes met, but he didn’t drop it.
He popped the pita into the toaster box.
“Oh, is that hummus?” Thomas asked, peeking from where he’d finally taken a seat. It was a relief to know he’d stay put for a bit—Uri needed all his concentration to get the food on the table.
“Yeah, you can’t go wrong with hummus, right?”
“You can’t go wrong with food, if it’s for me,” Thomas joked.
Uri snorted, getting the bread and placing it on the platter. He’d flavoured half the hummus with red pepper, which Esti would have frowned upon for sure. But good as the original recipe was, a little variety never hurt. He sat and smiled at Thomas, who was watching him without giving any signs he intended to start eating. “What?”
“Um, do you... pray?”
“Oh, not that often,” he admitted.
“Because you don’t believe or...?”
He shook his head. “It’s not that, even if I have doubts... It’s more that it’s hard to find the time. And I guess that’s the point, to find the time to say thank you and appreciate what you got.”
Thomas licked his lips. “I can get behind that, and I would like to hear it, if you...”
Uriel gave himself a moment to imagine it. “Yeah, okay, I could... I would like that,” he said, realising it was true. “I don’t really know what all the words mean, but it goes like this ‘Baruh atah Adonai...”
“Hebrew is beautiful,” Thomas said when he was done. His voice was soft, almost reverential, and he was watching him so closely that Uri had to look away.
&
nbsp; He shrugged. “Ruth can actually speak it fluently; she’s the academic in the family.”
“Of course,” Thomas told him with an arched eyebrow that was completely unnecessary to convey his disbelief. “You’re just a humble lawyer.”
Uri rolled his eyes at him. “Eat, before the pitta gets cold.”
He had always loved cooking, and he always cooked for other people—rarely bothering when he had to eat alone—but most people limited themselves to a heartfelt thank you. Thomas, on the other hand, seemed intent on giving him an erection with the noises he was making.
Uriel had a half-full plate he’d forgotten existed and couldn’t stop shifting on his seat, desperate to relieve some of the pressure in his pants.
Thomas noticed, because the guy couldn’t miss a thing even when he was in the middle of a food orgy. “You’re not eating.”
Uri coughed, but that couldn’t disguise his red face, and his guest stopped eating too, his gaze a heavy weight on Uri’s skin.
“Are you turned on?”
“You’re... You’re making a lot of noise,” Uri said tightly. And then almost knocked his glass clean off the table when he felt something touch his leg. Thomas’s professional reflexes snatched the cup out of range just in time.
“Careful there,” he teased. And then his foot moved against Uri’s leg under the table, a little rough for a caress but rubbing what had to be his ankle against the inside of Uri’s knees—already spread because... Uri grunted, legs tensing in an effort not to snap them together, or... “Thomas.”
“Do you want me to stop?” The foot went still, giving credence to the question.
And it was that, of all things, the way he reined himself in with such ease, that made Uri shake his head. Suddenly he found himself gripping the sides of his chair, not simply uncomfortable but desperate for the touch. “No, no, don’t stop.”
Thomas froze, visibly struggling, then pushed his chair back fast enough it scraped against the floor. “The food is amazing,” he told Uri, then he stepped closer and leaned over to kiss him hard on the mouth.
Uri sighed into it, sucking him in. He wanted it all: Thomas’s tongue and his hands and his chest, and there wasn’t... He pulled, and Thomas resisted, and he heard cloth rip. Thomas didn’t seem to notice; he side-stepped and used the momentum to tug Uri to his feet.
“Come on,” he demanded, or begged, it was hard to make the distinction when he pressed their torsos together and the rest of their bodies followed as they stumbled into each other like waves crashing, too hard and absolutely inevitable.
He didn’t need to do either to convince him. Uri cupped his face, then tangled his fingers in his blond hair, just long enough for a good grip. Thomas shuddered against him and clutched harder at his hips, bringing their groins together in a way that had Uri swaying before kissing him harder.
They hobbled, as two people inevitably would when they were trying to entangle their legs while standing, and Thomas half-laughed, half-panted into the kiss they couldn’t bring themselves to give up on. “We always do this,” he said, smiling.
It was true, not that Uri needed telling. The first time, he’d assumed his desperation was the natural by-product of a long dry spell. Now he knew better.
“Come to my room,” he replied in a rough whisper. He didn’t know if he was begging; he didn’t care.
He didn’t exactly let Thomas follow on his own, but he was pretty convinced by the way he got pushed against the doorway and thoroughly groped that his enthusiasm was more than reciprocated. It was Thomas, in fact, who tumbled them onto the bed hard enough they almost rolled right off it. The beta put a hand down hard to stop them from falling, pressing his hips down onto Uri’s with enough force his moan was as much out of pain as pleasure. He blinked up dazedly, realising he was lying under ninety kilos of pure muscle.
Thomas must have felt his hesitation because, for all their frantic need, he’d paused now, licking his lips and taking Uri in like he was a painting, every stroke of his eyelashes a clue he couldn’t bear to miss. “You good?”
Uri took a moment to decide, then put a hand on Thomas’s face and pulled him into a softer kiss. It didn’t stay soft for long, turning wet and languorous instead, like a slow, steady fuck, wet and slick and so deep it felt like he’d never be able to separate their bodies again. Thomas ground down into him, hard cocks not quite meeting. But the man’s thigh was like a rod of iron too, and if he didn’t want to come in his pants like a goddamned teenager Uri had to— He tore his mouth away, took in a lungful of precious air. “Clothes.”
It was only then that he discovered it was his shirt that’d got torn. Thomas, kneeling over him, signed an apology with a quick grimace and removed his own shirt. Uri rolled his eyes at him. “Sure thing, you’re desolate.”
The beta shrugged, pecs rippling like a lake under sunlight. “At least it wasn’t the suit,” he offered.
Uri’s brain had so little blood to work with that it took him until he got to his feet to get his shoes off to realise Thomas was talking about their first time. The image sent a ripple of possessive pleasure through him. That Thomas had known, even then...
Apparently, he was too slow because Thomas’s arms came around him from behind and lowered his zip for him. Uri sighed, leaning back into him as the pressure on his groin suddenly eased. The points of pressure of Thomas’s fingers on his sides as he tugged down his underwear with his trousers almost made him thrust forward. He recovered his balance just enough to step out of the puddle of clothes and turn to face the man.
The naked man. Maybe man wasn’t enough of a descriptor, though. He was beautiful, of course, but it was his soft inviting smile as much as his muscles or the shine of sweat on his skin that had Uri gulping around a suddenly tight throat.
He was a little more careful when he pushed Thomas backwards onto the bedspread, but even so, their rough groping turned into a sort of wrestling, and there was no way for Thomas to end a physical contest anywhere but on top. He pushed himself up, all cocky grin and luminous green eyes. His eyelashes fluttered as his cock rubbed against Uri’s hipbone, but he was paying enough attention to keep his seat. Uri’s cock was getting even better attention pressed between their bellies, but...
“I want...” Thomas leaned in for a peck to his lips, then his nose, “to fuck.” His cheekbone, his ear, with a little tongue now.
The words just about filtered past the intense, if slightly unsettling, weight of him and the tender kisses accompanied by delicious thrusts, uncoordinated and clumsy, almost better in the primal need they revealed. Uri opened his eyes, only then realising he’d closed them.
“Lube?” the beta asked.
The words dried up in Uri’s throat. He had never been asked before; it had just never come up. He’d barely got around to heavy petting by the time he’d presented at seventeen and then... he’d never been with anyone who didn’t know he was an alpha.
No one had asked. No one had been meant to ask.
Thomas pulled away, and Uri’s heart skipped a beat. “Bedside drawer, right?” Thomas asked, sounding amused. “Where else does anyone keep supplies?” He rolled off Uri and opened the drawer before Uri could object.
It was a little presumptuous, but Uri was too busy panicking about what he’d say when he turned back around to care. Thomas, who Uri was starting to suspect had to be psychic, caught his mood at once when he did. “You alright? What— Oh, you think... No, I mean, I would love to fuck you,” he said sincerely. “But I meant I wanted you to fuck me again.” His smile was tentative now, and he opened and closed his mouth as if repressing the impulse to say more.
Of course, because he was just that perfect, wasn’t he? He was a guy who could hold Uri down with no difficulty, but he wasn’t worried about liking to get fucked. It didn’t make him an omega, and there was nothing wrong with being an omega, Uri believed that as deeply as he believed anything. If anything, he thought what one should fear was to be an alpha—not the kind
protector of fantasy but the controlling arseholes so often found in reality.
There was no shame in submitting, or in dominating. Not if done willingly, for your pleasure and your partner’s.
Uri wasn’t that kind of alpha, but somehow he’d bought the lies about what alphas did and didn’t do with their bodies. He’d been so worried about his own power, he’d forgotten the basic rule of all power: it came from the lies people told each other to keep everything neat and tidy, everyone in their place, the powerful in power, the powerless struggling. Everyone trapped, because no human being was truly happy with no choices—even when the lack of choices meant a life of privilege and power, the lies still drained you.
And you couldn’t just avoid the path set out for you, you had to find a new one. And to find your place in the world, you had to be brave enough to risk visiting without knowing if it was safe.
He wasn’t that kind of alpha. He didn’t care he was an alpha. He wanted to know who he could be, and he wanted this man patiently waiting for an answer like the frantic passion of a few minutes earlier was of no consequence to the choices they were making in this moment.
“No,” Uri said, to Thomas, and to the world, and to himself.
No.
He would not bend down to fear, he’d not follow without knowing why he followed. He stayed on his back, exposed, and met Thomas’s eyes—a more intimate kind of surrender.
“I... You can fuck me.” The words were hard to say, and he swallowed because he had to say more; he couldn’t let Thomas make a mistake because of him. He couldn’t ruin this like some foolish teenager imagining sex was a sacrifice one made for love instead of an expression of that love. “But I...”