He was hard.
He was suddenly painfully aware of it. He was half-sprawled on the couch, with his alpha husband on top of him, grinding his cock against Haydn’s stomach, and he’d never been harder in his life.
“This is turning you on,” Royce muttered, having the nerve to sound surprised.
Haydn laughed a little. “I haven’t gotten laid in months. I’d get hard from the wind blowing the wrong way at this point.” It was a bit of an exaggeration, but it was true nonetheless. He was horny; that was all. This didn’t mean anything. He just wanted to get off, get rid of the maddening tension under his skin. Nothing to do with Royce or his cock.
Royce sucked hard on his neck, grinding his cock against Haydn’s stomach. “I’ve never been so close to an aroused alpha.”
Haydn winced. Why did he have to remind them how wrong this was?
“Let’s just get it over with,” he muttered, jerking his fly open and pulling out his cock.
“Yes,” Royce said, rutting harder against his abs. His cock was now leaking profusely, so it definitely helped the friction. But Haydn’s hand around his own cock kept bumping against Royce’s hip, and it all was very awkward and uncomfortable.
Finally, Royce made a frustrated noise and yanked Haydn’s pants and boxers down, leaving him naked below the waist.
“Don’t freak out,” he grunted, settling between Haydn’s legs and pressing their cocks together.
Haydn didn’t freak out. But he did feel a little weirded out. Now he was fully lying under Royce, with his legs spread like some… some omega eager to get fucked.
The thought brought a twisted surge of arousal, and Haydn let out a confused moan, his mind becoming clouded and slow.
He stared at the ceiling dazedly as Royce ground their hips together, the friction on the edge of uncomfortable but deliciously good. There was a surreal quality to this, as if it was happening to someone else, not him. He couldn’t possibly be that man, lying passively under another alpha and allowing said alpha to hump him between his legs.
And yet, he was.
This was so wrong—the heavy weight of another alpha on top of him, Royce’s heady alpha scent, this submissive position—but he’d never been more turned on in his life. Haydn tried not to make any sounds, tried to keep up the stoic facade, tried to pretend he wasn’t actively enjoying this, but it was futile. Before long, he started gasping, little hitched breaths that left his mouth every time his cock rubbed against Royce’s thigh just so.
Soon enough, his legs hooked around Royce’s hips of their own volition, his fingers digging into Royce’s back through his shirt. Fuck, this felt so good—so wrong, but so good. They rutted together, seeking friction, hard and fast. Royce buried his face in his neck, sucking on his scent gland aggressively, and Haydn whined, his head spinning. He wanted—he wanted—
Royce groaned and came, coating Haydn’s stomach with his semen. He sagged on top of him, heavy, sweaty, and very still.
Haydn almost sobbed in frustration. He had been so close. So fucking close.
As if hearing his thoughts, Royce lifted himself on an elbow and looked down at him, his black eyes a little unfocused. “Finish it.”
Had Haydn been less aroused, he would have felt too self-conscious to do it. But he was too far gone. He grabbed his aching, leaking cock and nearly groaned from how good it felt.
Looking into Royce’s dark eyes, he stroked himself, hard and fast, breathing Royce’s scent in greedily. It felt unbelievably good, better than jacking off had any right to feel.
Watching him with a strange look, Royce laid a hand on Haydn’s stomach and smeared his cooling come all over it. Haydn moaned, a lightning bolt of pure delight shooting through him, especially when Royce’s hand moved higher, rubbing his come into his pecs. Royce’s hand grazed his nipple and Haydn whimpered—he whimpered, what the fuck.
After a moment’s hesitation, Royce stroked his nipple, watching him intently. Haydn’s face felt hot. He felt hot all over, his hand flying faster and faster over his cock. He needed—he needed—
Haydn pulled Royce down, to his neck, baring his throat. He wanted to be marked up again. He wanted Royce’s mouth on his neck. He needed it, needed it more than anything—
Royce’s teeth sank into his scent gland and Haydn came with a groan, pleasure rolling through his body as his cock spurted come into his own hand.
Royce made a low, growly sound, still sucking on his neck, his pheromones thick in the air, emanating submit—mine—submitsubmitsubmit. It made Haydn tremble, his instincts all over the place. He wanted to shove the other alpha away. He wanted to wrap all his limbs around Royce and cling.
He did neither.
He just lay there, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had they actually had sex? Did this count as sex? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t think so.