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Anaxa’s book snaps shut. “Phainon, if I could help you, I would have done so by now.”
“ Please, Professor. There must be something.”
Seldom does Anaxa feel guilt. He acts freely and within his capabilities; if someone is collaterally disadvantaged by a choice he makes, rarely does he blame himself or go out of his way to fix it. Unfortunately, as his favourite student, Phainon has a way of eliciting sympathy from him.
“There are alchemical solutions – but as I have already told you, they are not viable to create within the next few days.” Usually, he would loathe being forced to repeat himself, but he finds himself maintaining a more compassionate demeanour while talking with Phainon; after all, many alphas at the peak of their ruts are no more intelligent than wild dogs. Phainon, on the other hand, is fully-clothed and speaking in full sentences – even if he is being quite frantic and repetitive about it all. “The only thing I can recommend is to do what Mydei does and lock yourself in your room.”
“I can’t do that. I must appear in front of the people.” Another impressive thing – although, Anaxa supposes, he should really have expected it from Phainon – is that the man still maintains the utmost concern for his position as a Chrysos Heir. It’s remarkable how high in his mind the wellbeing of Amphoreus remains, even when his hormones are overflowing in an attempt to drown him. “I attempted to consult Hyacine –”
“Yes, you already told me she won’t up your dosage,” Anaxa interrupts, praising himself on his endless patience. “It is an unfortunate reality, but it will not be good for your health – nor will it be a good solution in the long run – if she grants your wish. She made the most professional choice.”
Resembling something of a wounded animal, Phainon sighs. Anaxa looks him up and down briefly. He’s still standing – albeit leaning against the wall – but he’s beginning to show signs of weakness. Sweat beads along his furrowed brow, his hair shows signs of having had a hand run through it, and his face is a touch redder than its typical ghost-white hue. To the untrained eye, he looks stressed. To someone who knows him, however, what is occurring is blatantly obvious; he can’t possibly hide it in front of an audience.
“May I sit down, Professor?” he asks. “Just for a few moments.”
Anaxa nods and gestures to the spare chairs in front of his desk. “You may.”
With another sigh, this time of relief, Phainon stumbles across the room and practically collapses into the chair. Anaxa eyes him with concern for a moment as his head lolls back and his arms fall limply at his sides. His scent is detectable from here; something musky, typical of an alpha, but evidently nulled by many attempts to wash it away.
He contemplates starting a conversation to fill the silence, but as he watches Phainon’s eyes flutter closed, he thinks perhaps he should allow him a little quiet. The man is truly exhausted; just this time, Anaxa will forgive him for taking respite in his office with no questions to offer. Instead, he takes up his book again and opens it to the page he was on. He has read through this particular one more times than he can count. It’s a favourite of his; a previous scholar’s detailed account of her attempts to imbue souls into living things, with mixed results. He has learned a great deal from it.
Several minutes pass. Anaxa fast becomes engrossed in his reading – so much so that he almost forgets about Phainon’s presence – and when he looks up again, had he not known better, he might have thought he was asleep. He looks almost peaceful. Regrettably, an alpha in the height of rut is rarely peaceful ; they get very little sleep and few moments of respite. In the very least, an omega in heat can curl up and comfort themselves with an alpha’s scent.
After a little while longer, Phainon speaks again. “A question, professor.” He sounds even weaker than before.
“Go ahead,” says Anaxa, gaze not lifting from his book.
“It might be a little personal, but …” The room is quiet enough that Anaxa can hear his nervous swallow. “How do you deal with your …”
“Heats?” Anaxa says. “I haven’t had one in a long time.”
He can read Phainon’s surprise even without his eyes on him. “Oh.”
“Perhaps as a result of my endless self-experimentation, my body can’t quite keep up with its own biology.” He commits the page number to memory and shuts his book once more, laying it on the desk. When he meets Phainon’s eyes, his gaze holds a mixture of curiosity and intensity, as though the man is attempting to stare right through him. “I can’t say I’m complaining, as someone personally uninterested in procreating. Heats and ruts are inconvenient at best and debilitating at worst.”
Phainon falls silent for a second in thought, and Anaxa can predict what he’s going to say before he does. “Do you think if I–”
“No. Don’t try it,” Anaxa says firmly. “Mutilating one’s body only in the name of denying biology is a foolish endeavour. Sit it out or find someone to help you through it.”
“I respect all my peers too much. I would never want to take advantage of any of them.” Of course he would say that. The ever-honourable Phainon, caring for everyone other than himself. It’s an admirable trait. Anaxa can relate to the disregard for one’s wellbeing, but he has never been able to understand his unconditional selflessness; he thinks perhaps he never will.
Sighing, he rises from his seat. “Allow me to take your temperature before I dismiss you.”
Phainon’s brows furrow. “Why?”
Somewhere in these cluttered drawers, Anaxa knows there is a thermometer. His pure focus on alchemy and lecturing leaves him no time nor focus for real organisation. He finds it after a few seconds of rooting through the mess, alongside a cloth that he uses to dispel any dust.
“If it rises above a certain level, you will need further medical attention. This is, if I recall correctly, the second rut you have ever had. Judging by how thoughtlessly you suppress them; your body is not accustomed to it.”
“Sir–”
“Sit still and open your mouth.”
When Anaxa rounds the desk, Phainon tenses noticeably in his chair. His eyes are somewhat hazy, even through his attempts to blink them into focus. His scent is stronger now that their proximity is a little closer; Anaxa is willing to bet that it would be quite alluring to an omega in heat, and wonders again why Phainon won’t just go into the city and find someone, but hey – the most interesting thing about people is that one will never fully understand the actions of another. “I’m not so sure about this …”
Anaxa scoffs. “I’m not worried about you, Phainon. I’ve dealt with many a pesky alpha before.”
“I know, but–”
“Open your mouth.”
Hesitantly, Phainon obeys. He has always ultimately trusted Anaxa, in all his knowledge and even through his blasphemous deeds; simultaneously, he has never been afraid to challenge him. That’s another thing about him that Anaxa is particularly fond of.
He places the thermometer below Phainon’s tongue, prompting him to close his mouth with a finger under his jaw. Phainon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. It’s only after he does this that Anaxa realises it might be difficult for a rutting alpha to tolerate such a touch from an omega – in any case, Phainon seems to be coping better than most might, save for the slight fluttering of his lashes.
Eventually, the thermometer beeps, and Phainon’s eyes open. Anaxa leans down and takes the thermometer from his mouth.
“39.6,” he reads. “High, but not atypical for an alpha in rut…”
“Professor…”
“Still, I think another visit to a doctor wouldn’t do any harm.”
“ Professor ,” Phainon says again, and this time, Anaxa looks up at his tone. His teeth are gritted, his breathing notably more erratic than before, and his eyes are glossed over – all warning signs to back off . His fingers are white where they grip the armrests of his seat. It seems the proximity was too much for him after all.
Something – perhaps curiosity – keeps Anaxa where he stands. He has no fear of Phainon, even in this state. In fact, he has never been particularly intimidated by any alpha. “Phainon, you need rest, food, and water. Come back to me after your rut and we can discuss customising a stronger alchemy-based medication for the future.”
Phainon pounces.
Quite literally, too. It’s not quite expected nor unexpected; Anaxa does his best to cushion his own landing on the wooden floor as Phainon lands on him, restricting his movement and forcing his legs open with a knee. This close, his scent is positively overwhelming. Phainon takes Anaxa’s wrists in hand, pinning them above his head, and buries his head in his neck, inhaling his scent so intensely that it sends shivers down his spine. Then, Anaxa feels teeth press against his skin.
As if.
“You won’t bite, Phainon.”
“Who says I won’t?” comes a growl, accompanied by hot breath across his skin. Phainon’s canines are sharp, pressing just short of drawing blood.
Anaxa sighs. “Because you know better.”
He seems to have spoken the right words, because at that, Phainon hesitates, his grip on Anaxa’s wrists loosening – and then disappearing entirely as he re-realises his lucidity. He jumps up, blown pupils shrinking again as he processes what he just attempted.
“Professor, I–”
“To a rutting alpha, an omega has no identity.”
“I-I’ll make myself scarce,” Phainon stutters out, scrambling to his feet.
For a second, Anaxa wonders if he should just let him go – but then, he thinks, he’ll likely wander out onto the streets and find some other omega to jump on. Anaxa frowns at the thought. If his most prized student’s reputation is tarnished, it will reflect badly on him too.
Phainon is making his way to the door – albeit quite poorly. He seems almost drunk. “I’m so sorry, Professor. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–”
Anaxa stands, brushes himself off, and calmly says, “Sit down.”
“Professor–”
“Sit. Down. I will not repeat myself.”
Again, Phainon obeys. He really is a good listener.
Anaxa simply observes him for a moment. He watches the rise and fall of his chest with each shaky breath, watches his eyes as his pupils grow bigger once more, eyes the evident bulge in his trousers. He’s fighting to restrain himself. The level of respect he has for Anaxa is quite admirable; many alphas, especially in ruts as intense as this, don’t even spare a thought for the identity of the omega they chase.
He begins to approach him – then, after a moment’s thought, begins to undress.
Phainon’s eyes widen in disbelief, which is quickly drowned out by hunger as he catches a flash of Anaxa’s pale skin, gaze roaming over his body. Alphas are so easy.
“Sir, are you sure–”
“If I help you out,” Anaxa starts, slowly and clearly as he finishes unbuttoning his shirt, “you must promise to take care of yourself. I want you to get plenty of rest, find another suitable omega while you are both clear of mind, and–” He pauses when he hears the sound of a zip.
Already, Phainon has taken out his cock – it’s strainingly hard, thicker and longer than most alpha cocks Anaxa has seen – and has taken it into a desperate grip, hips thrusting up to fuck into his hand as he takes in the sight of Anaxa stripping before him. His head falls back, but his eyes remain focused on the man in front of him, hazy and heavy-lidded. He’s probably been resisting the urge to touch himself throughout his time in Anaxa’s office.
Anaxa raises his brows. “Give that a rest.”
“F- fuck ,” whimpers Phainon, hand slowing but not stopping. “Please, sir, let me–”
“Nothing other than an omega can satisfy an alpha’s rut. You know that, Phainon.” He undoes his own trousers. “Have a little patience. I’m sure you have already finished many times today.”
“I have,” Phainon says, with a bitter laugh, “m-maybe about five or six times.” He’s still stroking his dick languidly – Anaxa supposes it would be mean to stop him entirely – as he follows Anaxa’s movements with his eyes. The relief of some sort of stimulation seems to have brightened him up, if only a little. Anaxa imagines Phainon desperately attempting to milk himself in his own quarters, moaning frustratedly as he spills all over his sheets again and again.
“Less than I would have expected.”
Anaxa steps out of his trousers and underwear – naturally, he’s hard and a little slick already, and Phainon’s hand speeds up again at the sight.
“If I am to help you,” Anaxa says, “there will be rules.”
“Yes sir,” Phainon says weakly – perhaps agreeing a little quick. He still isn’t meeting Anaxa’s eyes, his blurry stare fixed on his crotch.
“Rule one – no biting.” He takes his time approaching Phainon, watching as the man’s eyes rise to his hips, over his stomach, his nipples, his neck – then back down to his cock. “Rule two, no manhandling me and fucking me like a typical alpha. I won’t tolerate it.”
Although Phainon seems a little disappointed, he nods. With his free hand, he tugs at his own clothes, but his motor skills fail him – Anaxa decides he’ll help him out eventually, but for now, he’ll make him wait. He moves to a kneel in front of Phainon; he’ll coax out the first orgasm with his mouth, then move onto bigger things once Phainon is a little more sentient. Phainon’s eyes widen as he looks down at him – a sort of, fuck, my hot professor is about to give me a blowjob look. It’s rather endearing.
“Rule three,” starts Anaxa, batting Phainon’s hand away to take his leaking cock in hand. His fingers barely fit around it. Phainon bites his lip, muffling a moan. “Warn me before you cum. I don’t want any of it in my hair.”
Phainon nods – a tad impatiently, but still adequate. When Anaxa begins to move his hand, he does it gently, slowly; despite the soft pace, Phainon throws his head back, moving his hips up to press into his hand. Anaxa brings his other hand up to his thigh to hold him still. He frowns, brows knotting cutely.
“And rule four …” says Anaxa, “is to do whatever I say.”
As soon as he finishes speaking, he pulls back Phainon’s foreskin just enough to wrap his lips around the head, swirling his tongue over the tip. Starting a soft up-and-down rhythm, he strokes whatever he doesn’t have in his mouth with his hand. Phainon lets out soft moans with each movement.
“Ah, faster .”
Anaxa pulls off his cock, but keeps his hand moving. “Faster, what ?”
“F-faster, please,” Phainon says, “ sir .”
“That’s it,” says Anaxa – and as a reward, he takes him fully into his mouth.
The noise Phainon makes is embarrassingly high-pitched, and his hands fly to Anaxa’s hair, fingertips digging into his scalp to press him as far down as he can go. Anaxa narrows his eyes, displeased by being forced down, but he can’t really do anything as Phainon presses his hips upwards in desperate little movements, the head of his cock forcing itself into the tightness of his throat. He allows it, anyway. The poor man probably needs it. He doesn’t even get the opportunity to go faster – Phainon is fucking his throat at his own pace, and of his own accord. Does that count as a breach of one of the rules? Anaxa’s senses are too overwhelmed with alpha pheromones and musk to even think about it.
“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum already,” Phainon whimpers, fingers mussing Anaxa’s hair as his thrusts grow urgent. “Please, Professor, sir – let me –”
Anaxa supposes he should have expected it to be quick, but he didn’t anticipate it being that quick. He allows Phainon to take what he needs, placing his hands on his thighs and spreading them a little more.
When Phainon orgasms, he forces Anaxa as deep onto his cock as he can, shuddering through it as he shoots ropes of cum down his throat. Anaxa is suddenly and mildly unpleasantly reminded of just how much cum an alpha in his prime can produce. Phainon continues moving until he’s spent, cock twitching a little with the last few spurts until he slumps backwards into his chair. Anaxa pulls off him, swallowing the last of it before taking some much-appreciated gasps of air.
Phainon is staring at him when he looks up.
“What?” Anaxa says, wiping his mouth.
Nervously, Phainon just says, “Professor, I don’t think we should be doing this.”
Anaxa can’t help but laugh. “It’s a little late for that now, don’t you think?”
Phainon’s expression melts a little, and Anaxa can’t quite tell if it’s regret, desire, or both. It seems he’s having some kind of post-orgasmic clarity. “I’m sorry,” he starts, growing serious. Anaxa sighs. “I acted inappropriately earlier. I apologise if you felt forced into this. I shouldn’t have – I, as an alpha, should never have come to see an omega alone. I see the fault in my actions. I’m entirely content to leave and take care of myself, if you wish.” The best part is that he’s being entirely sincere.
“Do you think a mere alpha such as you could ever force the great Anaxagoras into anything?”
This time, Phainon laughs. “I suppose–”
“Then there is nothing else to discuss.”
Despite his concerned, selfless front, Anaxa can tell that Phainon is far from done. His cock shows no signs of softening; it’s still heavy between his legs, dripping with saliva and a little bit of leftover cum. Phainon looks almost sheepish to be so exposed – but Anaxa knows that in a few minutes, he’ll be back to his previous half-feral state. His own dick is just as hard between his legs. He ignores it.
He takes Phainon back into his hand, carefully watching his attempt at a composed expression. A blush has made its way across his face, pairing quite well with glossy eyes and bitten lips; he looks quite the sight. Anaxa strokes him gently, thumbing teasingly under the head.
“Do you know the typical customs an alpha is to abide by before breeding an omega?” Anaxa asks. The slide of his hand is eased by the remaining saliva. When he squeezes the head, Phainon’s cock jumps a little. Interesting. “If, of course, the alpha is sentient enough to be so courteous.”
“I do,” replies Phainon.
Anaxa lets slip a rare smile. He stands. “Undress. Fully, this time – I don’t want to see just your cock out.”
Possibly a little too eagerly, Phainon rises from his chair. He’s steadier on his feet now that the edge has been taken off his rut – but he still eyes Anaxa with a distinct kind of hunger, a look that says he wants to break every rule, pin him down, and fuck him full of cum. Anaxa ignores it. Phainon is a good little student; he’ll continue to obey.
As Phainon undresses and the toned muscles of his body become evident, Anaxa is reminded just how desirable of an alpha he is. He’s surprised omegas don’t throw themselves at him in the streets – or, he corrects himself, they likely do, only to be met with rejection. Phainon is built like a fighter, covered in the evidence of many battles; and yet, he remains soft, gentle. Perhaps one day he will harden into someone more similar to the Crown Prince. For now, however, Anaxa will enjoy his obedience.
“Lie on your back,” he instructs, once Phainon is undressed. Phainon does as he says. His head isn’t particularly well-cushioned on the hard wood, but he doesn’t seem to be complaining.
Anaxa himself kneels, then, swinging a leg over Phainon’s head to straddle it, his hole positioned just above his mouth. He can feel himself dripping with slick by now, his body preparing itself to be bred. From where he’s kneeling, he can see Phainon’s cock where it lies against his stomach, hard and begging to be touched.
“Prepare me, alpha,” he says.
Instantly upon hearing permission, Phainon winds an arm round Anaxa’s hips and pulls him down onto his face, tongue licking desperately at his hole. Anaxa lets out a little noise of surprise. It’s a wet, warm feeling – admittedly, something he’s new to – and as Phainon attempts to push his tongue inside him, inhaling his scent as he does, Anaxa has to admit it feels better than he had anticipated.
Of course, Phainon can’t keep his hands off himself for more than a few seconds; as soon as the hand that isn’t encircling Anaxa’s waist moves to his cock, Anaxa bats it away. Phainon’s annoyed whine is muffled, but he obeys. His tongue laps desperately at his taint – then, as if to distract his hand from his own cock, he brings it up to slip two fingers into Anaxa’s hole.
“Good,” breathes Anaxa, letting out a sigh when Phainon finds his prostate – and grinding down against him when he begins to rub his fingertips against it, licking into where he’s opened it up. “Keep that up.” His legs go a little weak as he begins to grind against Phainon’s face and hand, finally taking his own cock into his hand. He strokes himself slowly, dryly – the way he likes it.
Phainon’s hips twitch up into nothing, his cock obviously itching to be touched again. He’s letting out soft whimpers as he plunges his tongue and fingers into Anaxa’s hole, preparing it to be fucked. He pulls back for a moment to gasp for air, slipping another finger in when he does. “Fuck, Professor,” he pants, “can you – please –”
“Hm?”
“Praise me more, sir?”
Oh, so that’s it.
Chuckling slightly, Anaxa just says, “Oh? You want to hear about how well-behaved you’re being?”
Phainon moans, delving his tongue further inwards.
“I suppose I can deliver something of the sort.” Rocking against Phainon’s fingers, Anaxa brings his free hand down to play with one of the alpha’s pink nipples, raising an eyebrow when he twitches and whines against his ass in response. “Oh, is someone sensitive?” He feels Phainon nod, too occupied to speak, and pinches his nipple harder this time, taking his hand off his own cock to play with the other one. The noises it elicits from him are exquisite.
Quickly, Anaxa discovers that with each mean twist and pinch of Phainon’s nipples, he licks a little more desperately, thrusts his fingers a little deeper – like it’s somewhat of an outlet for him, a distraction from how badly he wants to touch himself. He’s still what looks to be painfully hard, precum leaking from his slit and dripping down the length of his cock to pool at the cradle of his hips. Poor thing. He’s being obedient, though – his hand hasn’t strayed once since Anaxa batted it away. He’s learning, like a good student.
Anaxa twists Phainon’s nipple, perhaps a little cruelly, and says, “Good boy. You’re taking this all so well.”
That might have been a little much, he realises – Phainon freezes, arching and moaning against Anaxa’s ass as white ropes shoot across his stomach and chest, his cock still completely untouched. He shivers through it, panting, tongue still licking weakly at Anaxa’s hole and cleaning away the leaking slick.
For once, Anaxa is lost for words.
“Professor,” Phainon breathes.
Rising to a kneel, Anaxa lets Phainon’s fingers slip out of him before he swings a leg over to settle next to him. “You’ve made quite the mess.” He runs two fingers through the cum on Phainon’s torso – and when the alpha opens his mouth, likely to apologise, he shoves them against his lips. “Lick it up.”
Phainon doesn’t hesitate, taking them into his mouth. He blinks up at him, hazy, eyes a little damp as he swirls his tongue around Anaxa’s fingers; perhaps he would have made a good omega, considering how accomplished he seems to be with his mouth. Anaxa scoops up more cum with his fingers when he’s done, letting the alpha lick them clean – and when he shoves them a little deeper into his mouth, tracing his teeth with his fingertips, he’s reminded of the potential behind his bite. Phainon applies a little pressure, eyes glazing over –
“No,” Anaxa says firmly, and Phainon’s bite weakens, mouth opening again to let his fingers fall from it. “Control your instincts. You’re not an animal.”
“I might as well be,” sighs Phainon.
Anaxa does not acknowledge him. Instead, he readjusts himself, settling over Phainon to straddle him. The alpha’s skin is still sticky from his release, mixed in with sweat – it’s a tad gross, but Anaxa has seen worse. “Putting it frankly, I am too physically weak to ride you.” He takes Phainon’s cock in hand, stroking it languidly and watching the way it stokes the hunger in his eyes. He really is insatiable. “However, I am quite unwilling to be laid down and ploughed like an animal.”
Before Phainon can say anything, Anaxa rises on his knees, putting the head of Phainon’s cock against his hole and sinking down onto it. Phainon sucks in a breath, hands flying to his hips to help guide him. This is the thickest cock Anaxa has taken – by miles – and he bites his lip as he settles onto it, the tip pressing at his deepest parts. Fuck .
“ Professor –”
“Therefore,” Anaxa interrupts, voice a little uneven, “as a compromise, you will fuck me like this, at a pace I designate.” Phainon holds his hips in an iron grip, fingertips white where they dig into his skin. “And you’ll stop holding onto me like I’m trying to escape.”
He leans down over Phainon, faces drawing close to one another; he can feel the alpha’s hot, stuttered breaths clashing with his own. He’s holding back from fucking him. Good.
“Kiss me,” Anaxa says – and he can barely get the words out before Phainon’s lips crash into his, the alpha wasting no time in forcing his tongue into his mouth and nipping at his lips. His hips roll upwards, testing the waters, pressing deeper into the heat of Anaxa’s ass. When he gets no rejections, he readjusts himself, leaning back on an elbow and running the fingers of his other hand through Anaxa’s hair to force him deeper into the kiss. His hips begin to press upwards, faster and faster until he’s panting against Anaxa’s mouth. Anaxa lets out soft noises each time Phainon thrusts upwards.
On a biological level, he is placated by the pheromones radiating off the alpha; but on a personal level, he knows he can’t let him go too far before things spiral out of control – no matter how good it feels.
He pulls back just a little from the kiss, and Phainon whines. “Gentle,” he says, “like you’re trying to earn it.”
“ Please , sir,” Phainon begs, pressing their foreheads together – but despite his protests, he slows his hips. “I need …”
“Need what?”
Hesitantly, Phainon’s head lowers to Anaxa’s neck. Anaxa lifts his head to give him access. The alpha is like putty in his hands at this point – he won’t bite, no matter how much his instincts demand it of him. “I need to breed you. Please. Fuck, I’ll do anything.” His nose nudges against Anaxa’s neck, inhaling his scent. “So sweet …”
“You’ve barely been inside me a moment.”
Phainon presses his hips up. He’s desperate. “I’ve never –” Anaxa feels the warmth of his tongue against his neck. “You’re my first omega. I can’t think straight.” He laps needily at Anaxa’s skin, teeth grazing against it in a plea.
Anaxa supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. “In that case, you need more guidance.” At the whine he feels against his neck, he can tell that isn’t the answer Phainon wanted. He’s running on pure instinct and hormones, cock twitching inside Anaxa, hips shuddering against him from holding himself back. The hand in Anaxa’s hair falls to run down his back, smoothing over the curve of his ass and squeezing it. “Put your hand back on my hip. Gentle touch. Good.”
“Please, sir, please –”
“Go slowly.”
There’s nothing really stopping Phainon from having his way with Anaxa – but he won’t. He pushes his hips up. Once, twice. He licks at the omega’s neck, gently presses with his teeth, the promise of a bite that will never come. Anaxa pants with each thrust, heat building in his groin; it’s been a while since he’s been properly filled by an alpha.
“Good boy,” he says, and Phainon’s hips jerk upwards. He really is responsive to praise. “Keep going. This can be practice for your future omega.”
“ You’re my omega,” Phainon says lowly, a growl growing in his throat. Anaxa raises his brows. Just a second ago, he was submissive to the point of being unrecognisable. “I want – to bite –”
“No.”
Like he’s trying to convince himself, Phainon mutters, “I could.” His tongue traces the line of Anaxa’s jaw, warm and sensitive – goosebumps prickle along his skin. The alpha’s pheromones are going crazy, the room filled with his heady musk; he’s fucking Anaxa slowly, still, but with enough force behind his thrusts to speak of his strength, his potential as an alpha. “I could claim you.”
“I’m not your omega. I’m your teacher.”
Phainon, of course, doesn’t bite him. He instead moves back up to kiss him. Their mouths slide together, wet and hot, and Anaxa traces the outlines of his teeth with the tip of his tongue as Phainon fucks up into him, moving progressively quicker. Anaxa allows it. Denying him this would simply be cruel. Phainon, when he meets no resistance, wraps an arm around his waist to pull him down onto his cock with each thrust.
“Good, keep that up,” Anaxa breathes against his lips.
Panting and nipping at his lips, Phainon just says, “Can I go faster?” He’s dropped the sir ; Anaxa is just about to reprimand him when he fucks into him at a slightly different angle, forcing an almost embarrassingly high moan from his throat. “Is that – is that good for you, Professor? Am I being good?”
“ Ah – make me finish first,” breathes Anaxa, “and then I’ll let you go faster.”
“I’m already close,” whimpers Phainon, voice cracking a little, “I don’t think you’ll cum before me –”
“Just keep going.”
Phainon moves then, leaning back so that he’s laid down fully again on the floor, and grabs Anaxa’s hips on either side. Before Anaxa can ask what he’s doing, he’s bouncing him up and down on his cock, the muscles in his arms flexing a little each time he lifts his hips. It’s effortless, the way he does it – Anaxa braces himself on Phainon’s thighs, letting out small moans with each rise and fall. Like this, the alpha goes deeper than before, the head of his cock plunging further into the wet heat of Anaxa’s ass with each thrust.
When Phainon throws his head back, biting his lip, Anaxa knows he doesn’t have long. He’s still moving at the same menial pace – Anaxa gets the feeling that if he had let him fuck him as fast as he wanted from the start, he would have cum in seconds.
Anaxa’s hand falls to his own cock. Usually, he’d start slow, like before – right now, however, he’s pent up to the point of frustration. He has never exactly had the best stamina either. He supposes good stamina is a much more desired trait in alphas than omegas – although, he’s never put much stock in those types of norms anyway.
Phainon is done as soon as he opens his eyes, gaze falling to where Anaxa tugs at his own dick. “Fuck, Professor, I’m going to –” He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead letting out a shivering moan as he uses the omega to milk himself, fucking him on his cock and pressing his hips upwards to be flush with his ass. His cock jerks as he fills him with cum. For a moment, he collapses onto the floor, panting –
– “Do not stop,” demands Anaxa.
“Sir –”
“Fuck me, Phainon.”
At those words, Phainon’s eyes widen – and Anaxa has barely a second to think before Phainon pushes himself off the floor and topples them both over, forcing Anaxa onto his back. Naturally, Anaxa’s first instinct is to protest and regain control; but he realises then, as Phainon begins to fuck him with vigour, that he hasn’t lost it at all.
Shivering, Phainon’s moans pitch up with overstimulation – even a rutting alpha can’t fuck back to back without a minute or so in-between – but he’s so determined to be good for Anaxa, to make him cum, that he’s fighting through it. He grabs the omega’s thighs, pulling him in closer, cum slicking the slide of his cock as he forces himself through thrust after thrust. All the while, his eyes settle on Anaxa’s face.
Anaxa keeps touching himself, hand moving almost desperately over his cock. It’s going to be embarrassingly quick to say he’s not in heat.
“Fuck – fuck , I’m gonna cum again,” Phainon says. It sounds almost like it hurts. “I can’t stay in – it’s too much –” His words fall on deaf ears as Anaxa chases his own pleasure. Finally, he cums, shuddering out a moan as clear liquid paints his torso.
Phainon gives a few more cursory thrusts before pulling out entirely, throwing his head back as he wrings his orgasm out with his hand, rivets of cum joining the mess on Anaxa’s stomach. He leans over Anaxa, almost collapsing onto him as he twitches through the last few seconds, cock dripping the last of its cum onto the omega’s thighs.
“F-fuck.”
Anaxa closes his eyes, relaxing onto the floor. It’s not particularly comfortable. Another thing that isn’t particularly comfortable is the weight that collapses onto him when Phainon’s knees finally give out. He grimaces at the feeling of cum slipping between their bodies.
“We should head to the baths,” Anaxa suggests.
Phainon groans. “I don’t think I can move.” Disproving his own point, he shuffles a little further up Anaxa’s body, nuzzling his nose into his neck. His dick – still hard as ever – presses against Anaxa’s thigh, rubbing up against him. He doesn’t seem to care much about using it again for now. Thank the gods – Anaxa is far too sore. “So warm …”
“Don’t fall asleep.”
Kissing his neck, Phainon murmurs, “I won’t.”