//SMUT WARNING//
Character A wondered if smearing come on skin was something all Alphas tended to do. Or perhaps Character A wound up choosing the most possessive Alpha around.
Johnlock Omegaverse.
"Tell me you want this," Sherlock murmurs. John lowers his head and exhales roughly, avoiding Sherlock's gaze.
"I'll think about it." Sherlock lounges against the doorframe to John's room, looking every bit the imposing alpha that he is. John bites his lower lip and turns away to stand at the window.
"You should go," John says decisively. "I'm going to change and get ready for my date." Sherlock continues standing there, forehead creasing in frustration. John sighs and gives up, heading to his cupboard to look for a suitable outfit.
"You are afraid of this ruining our working relationship," Sherlock says suddenly. "I have thought it through and I suppose I can see why you are reluctant to enter a sexual relationship with me." He sidles up to John, who is standing frozen, and sinuously rubs his cheek against John's. John jerks back after a few seconds, face stricken.
'Sherlock,' John says warningly. In Sherlock's experience a tone like this usually precedes a punch, so he tries to talk as fast as possible.
"I'm attractive and so are you," Sherlock replies hastily. "People already think we're fucking. True, an older beta shagging an alpha does tend to scandalise mums, but there's been a huge progress in marriage equality and representation in the media. There are civil partnerships for couples outside of the traditional alpha-omega dynamic. John, I wish to bed you. In conclusion, we should shag." John reaches up and massages his forehead testily.
"Fine," John says finally, though his hands still smooth down his so-called 'date night' shirt. Sherlock grins. "But I'm not ditching my date, Sherlock. I'm not that kind of person."
You are for me, Sherlock thinks rebelliously, but wisely keeps his mouth shut.
"Tomorrow night, then," Sherlock says, and bounds out of John's room before he can change his mind.
John looks back at his wardrobe and gets changed. Later, he spends his date wondering what he's gotten himself into. The beta date leaves in a huff, but John walks back home placidly with his hands in his pockets and thinks about Sherlock. He supposes he'll have to visit the supermarket tomorrow for supplies.
+
"Now, I ain't ready to be bonded
But I do agree there's times
When an omega sure can be a friend of mine."
― Sister Golden Hair by America (1975)
+
Sherlock wants to fuck John into the bed just as thoroughly as he does everything else.
"You're an addict," Lestrade had said to him once, back in the day, and it still holds true. It's maddeningly addictive to have a warm body under one's own, especially when said body is wriggling and emitting soft, pleased sounds when Sherlock strokes a hand anywhere. Except the sides of the waist. As it turns out, John is ticklish and Sherlock indulges himself, fingers pushing hard into soft sides. John yelps and giggles, back arching to press his front up against Sherlock and squirming deliciously.
"If you want to fuck me, just do it." Sherlock presses his nose to John's collarbones and inhales sharply.
"I do want to, very badly." John sighs and turns away, eyes drifting as he grabs the lube and presses it into Sherlock's hand. Sherlock had been thrilled when he saw the shape of it in the shopping bag, knowing that John had gone to the shops and did the shopping and thought about Sherlock fucking him into next week. It is a novel idea. What if John, after this sexual encounter, thinks about Sherlock's hands whenever he's standing in line at the cashier's with a tube of lube in hand? Or what if John blushes while looking at the dairy section while remembering how Sherlock felt inside him? He likes these future scenarios very much. Sherlock squirts out lube into his hand. It's cold. He should have rested it on something warm before bringing it up here. Maybe next time, with one of Mrs. Hudson's hot-water bottles. The tartan one perhaps. He suspects she would be scandalised if she knew what he was planning to do with it.
Sherlock is brought out of his reverie by John spreading his legs and he leans down eagerly. John's puckered hole is fresh and clean— no doubt he washed it thoroughly during his bath earlier. A fastidious, fussy beta army doctor is who Sherlock wants to bed and just hearing those words in his head makes him giddily happy. John, John, John. He realises he must have been saying the last part out loud when John sits up, looking at him in part fondness and exasperation.
"If you must know, it's been a long time since I've been bedded. Most betas I date-"
"Preferred to be the one on the receiving end," Sherlock finishes. "Nothing wrong with that. We've got lube and a whole night ahead of us, John." He smiles a little at the blush that creeps up John's neck.
"Well, yes." Sherlock kisses him leisurely, hands moving over him possessively and rubbing their stiff pricks together. John's body responds to the stimulation, and Sherlock checks after a while. There is a clear glisten around John's entrance, a musky fluid that makes Sherlock's mouth water. It's certainly no omega pheromone, nothing so extreme as that. Not alpha-snaring, mother nature's trap for two out of three sexes— but something decidedly John, and Sherlock licks it. Once to sample, before plunging in and going to town. His tongue works into the ring of muscle and John squeaks and squirms, undignified, hands fisting in the covers as he digs his heels in.
What a delicious response.
"I'm just—" John breaks off in a cry when Sherlock swipes his tongue firmly, pushing out against the soft tissue. "I'm ready, oh god, Sherlock!" John whines and bucks his hips. Sherlock's nose mashes against John's skin, slick with his own saliva and John's secretions. Sherlock draws out and applies lube to where his tongue had been only a few seconds ago before smearing the rest of the handful on his cock.
John's face is bright red and his features are scrunched up, eyes shut tight as he pants becomingly. Sherlock draws up to kiss John on the neck, hand grabbing a firm arse cheek and sliding down to pull John's thigh up, hitching it over his shoulder. Dear, squirming, flexible John.
"Enjoyable?" Sherlock asks, angling his hips so that his cock rubs between John's spread cheeks, feeling the slick there.
"What are you, daft?" John says incredulously. "Or is this just you angling for a compliment?"
The head of Sherlock's cock catches on the loosened pucker and he pushes in, relishing the strangled moan John gives as he buries his face in Sherlock's hair. The inexorable push forward makes John gulp and his thighs shiver, his entrance spasming when it wraps around the head of Sherlock's cock.
"Angling for a compliment," Sherlock bites out. John smiles and shifts his hips the slightest bit, feeling Sherlock slip in deeper. Sherlock hangs his head and noses into John's cheek before moving forward again, lips pressed to salty skin. John squeezes his eyes closed when Sherlock pushes in even further. Sherlock finally bottoms out, balls slapping against John's arse when he jerks the final inch in.
"Sherlock," John slurs, hands coming up and wrapping themselves around Sherlock. John's leg has long slipped from Sherlock's shoulder, the sweaty back of his knee in the crook of Sherlock's elbow. Sherlock swivels his hips, getting used to the feeling of John around him. John makes a surprised noise and starts, surprised-tight around Sherlock.
"Well, do that again," John says. Sherlock complies. They set up a rhythm and Sherlock never wants this to end. He likes the feeling of John meeting his thrusts, and John's expressions whenever Sherlock does anything unexpected. He likes John very, very much. It's something he's never felt before in relation to other people, but John brings it out in him.
When they come, it's sudden. John jerks sharply and makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, a groan caught in flesh, and comes all over his own belly. Sherlock braces himself with two hands and pants as John's passage massages him into orgasm. Sherlock pulls out and taps the remaining drops onto John's spent cock.
"Hmm?" John asks. Sherlock doesn't meet his eye and runs a finger through his own come dripping out of John's arse, rubbing it into the sensitive rim. John jerks away minutely but sighs and lets him continue.
"You're bloody weird, you know that?" Sherlock grins and splays back on top of John, hand dipping down idly to smear come on John's thigh, damp with sweat and now come.
"Yes, I am, indeed. Also incorrigible and terribly insensitive and a sociopath to boot. Dear me, John, what would your sister say?" Sherlock's grin is all teeth, and he nips playfully at John's shoulder.
"Sod off," John says affectionately. "Now let me up, I'm going to the toilet." Sherlock rolls away reluctantly and folds his limbs, watching as John stretches while standing. Beautiful specimen of a beta. Reliable, steady, wonderful John. Sherlock thinks about repeating the experience and smiles to himself.
+
MITCH:
Why did you try if you didn't feel like it, Blanche?
BLANCHE:
I was just obeying the law of nature.
MITCH:
Which law is that?
BLANCHE:
The one that says the omega must entertain the alpha-- or no dice! See if you can locate my door key in the purse. When I'm so tired my fingers are all thumbs!
MITCH [rooting in her purse]:
This it?
BLANCHE:
No, honey, that's the key to my trunk which I must soon be packing.
― A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams (1947)
+
"Sex now," Sherlock demands the moment John comes back home from a shift at the GP. John freezes midway through taking off his coat and Sherlock beams at him, already naked on the sofa and stroking his cock. It bobs when Sherlock's hand returns to the base, and John feels as though it's bowing to him. Much like Alphas used to do to start mating dances in the 17th century. Sherlock's cock, red and swollen with a shiny head all wet with lube for him, rising up from a nest of dark curls. John shuts the door carefully.
"What if Mrs Hudson had come up?" John asks as he shrugs his coat off and steps out of his shoes. Sherlock's eyes gleam and his breath quickens, thumb working his foreskin lazily. John takes his jacket off and then his shirt. The belt clinks softly and Sherlock sits up in anticipation, taking his hand off his cock and watching as John stands naked before him, entirely bare save for his socks. Sherlock raises his eyebrows at them.
"As you wish," Sherlock says. John blushes and lifts up his foot while bending down to take his socks off. Sherlock bemoans the loss of the sight of John's prick, half-mast and pink and wanting, but stays where he is until John is completely divested of any clothing and straddling his lap.
"Sherlock," John breathes, and Sherlock brings a hand to John's arse, groping him greedily. He digs his fingers in and pulls the cheeks apart, pulling John closer, simultaneously rubbing their cocks together while playing with John's hole with the tips of his index fingers. Sherlock marvels at the difference in size between the both of them and how wonderful it is. John's hands are on his shoulders and he's biting his lip and twitching whenever Sherlock's finger pushes possessively against his opening, which gets progressively wetter with each swipe.
John's toes curl. Sherlock can see them in his peripheral vision and shifts so that John slides forward, cock up against Sherlock's belly while Sherlock's own cock nestles up between John's legs. John gives him a look that very clearly states 'I know what you're doing' but hitches his legs wider anyway, reaching a hand down to position Sherlock's cock.
"There we go," John mumbles, and pushes down. John's thighs quiver as he sinks lower, his sphincter fluttering around the length of Sherlock's cock. When he's fully seated and Sherlock is growling underneath him. John allows himself to feel a sense of accomplishment. It's his second time bottoming in years and he's doing quite well.
They rock gently into each other and Sherlock attempts to feel John's prostate from his stomach, which makes it feel a lot sweeter than it should be. This is just sex, John reminds himself as he rises and falls, Sherlock gripping his hips tightly. This is really just sex.
Sherlock comes inside him and pulls out, triggering John's own orgasm. Again, like the night before, he spurts some onto John's softening cock and proceeds to rub it in. Literally. The sight of those long pale fingers pushing and slopping come all over his lower half shouldn't fascinate him as much as it does.
"Why do you do that?" John asks. Sherlock looks up at him, surprised, eyes slightly glazed over.
"Do what?"
"Rub your come all over me," John replies, and he's definitely not imagining the way Sherlock's eyes darken at those words. It's not meant to be dirty. He just said it wrong.
"Mmm, it's been said that such marking behaviour is a remnant of our cavemen ancestors. You mine," Sherlock tells him, switching to a guttural, muddy accent for the last two words. "My mate."
"Hah," John says, feeling uncomfortable. "I'm going to get up and clean this off now." Sherlock leans back and wipes his hand on the edge of the coffee table.
"Suit yourself," Sherlock says, but his eyes roam over John's marked belly.
John flees.
+
"Consider: There is no division of humanity into strong and weak halves, protective/protected, dominant/submissive, owner/chattel, active/passive. In fact the whole tendency to dualism that pervades human thinking may be found to be lessened, or changed, on Winter.
The following must go into my finished Directives: When you meet a Gethenian you cannot and must not do what a bisexual naturally does, which is to cast him in the role of Alpha or Omega, while adopting towards him a corresponding role dependent on your expectations of the patterned or possible interactions between persons of the same or the opposite sex. Our entire pattern of socio-sexual interaction is nonexistent here. They cannot play the game. They do not see one another as alphas or omegas. This is almost impossible for our imagination to accept. What is the first question we ask about a newborn baby?
Yet you cannot think of a Gethenian as "it." They are not neuters. They are potentials, or integrals. Lacking the Karhidish "human pronoun" used for persons in somer, I must say "he," for the same reasons as we used the masculine pronoun in referring to a transcendent god: it is less defined, less specific, than the neuter or the feminine. But the very use of the pronoun in my thoughts leads me continually to forget that the Karhider I am with is not a alpha, but an alphaomega."
― The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin (1969)
+
He supposes the catalyst was The Adventure of the Noble Alpha. Robert Simon had contacted them, convinced that his 'dear Hatty' had gone missing, her bridal dress and ring washed up on the shore of the Serpentine. It had turned out to be a simple absconding-- Hatty, previously bonded to another alpha named Francis, had left America out of grief because Francis was presumed dead after a mountaineering accident. As it turned out, he'd survived and tracked her down to London. Their bond hadn't properly dissolved, Sherlock explained, therefore Hatty's emotional connection to Francis was stronger than her current one to Robert. Well, Sherlock had said as much to John before sweeping off, leaving John to do the explaining to an irate Robert Simon.
It hadn't gone down very well.
And now Sherlock's made a move on John. It's very simple, John thinks as he moves about the kitchen preparing breakfast. Leftover hormones triggered by being in constant contact with a bonded couple made Sherlock's alpha side want to bond too. John picks the boiled eggs out of the saucepan gingerly and puts them in cups, all the while sipping from his mug of tea. It's all ridiculously simple. He should have seen it coming, really. Hormones. It's easier for betas like him, but for the mess that is the other two genders, the alphas and the omegas, it's all about gonads and lutotrophin. Biology is simple, but people aren't.
It's Saturday, so John takes it easy and sits in the living room while eating. The kitchen table is still taken up by experiments and Sherlock is snoring merrily in his own room. The world is quiet for once.
John takes a bite of his toast.
+
"One is not born, but rather becomes, an omega."
― The Three Sexes by Simone de Beauvoir (1949)
+
"I would like to try bottoming," Sherlock says to him that afternoon as John helps himself to some food in front of the telly during teatime. "You seem to enjoy it." John chokes on one of the cucumber sandwiches that Mrs Hudson had brought up for them after her knitting circle and coughs violently into his hand. It takes him awhile to regain his composure.
"I'm built to like it," John explains. "Granted, not as much as an omega would, but essentially my gender tends to enjoy being penetrated."
"Your gender also enjoys doing the penetrating," Sherlock counters. "Hermaphroditic. I'm sure your lovely prick isn't there for nothing." John blushes and puts down the half-eaten sandwich.
"Er, yes," John replies. "You know, the other day, I met a beta couple who kept their sex exclusively alpha-omega like. They had solid gender roles with no switching. It was really quite interesting."
"Ugh, dynamics," Sherlock says, and grabs the lube from the coffee table before dropping his trousers. He isn't wearing any underwear. "Variety is the spice of life." He sits down on John's chair and lifts his legs to settle them on the arms of the seat.
"What are you-- here, now?!" John hisses, scandalised, as he watches Sherlock lube up his fingers and reach under his balls.
"I'm sorry, do you have a prior appointment?" Sherlock huffs, pushing one finger in and grunting softly. "My lack of natural lubrication makes this quite unpleasant." John gets up and walks over to Sherlock before kneeling and pushing his thigh up higher. Sherlock is working the finger in, fucking himself on the tip of his index finger, the first knuckle emerging and disappearing into the pink rim rhythmically.
"Is this your first time? You've got to be more careful," John suggests. "Here, let me." This is something John knows and is familiar with. His beta partners weren't all gushers, and he's found lube handy more than once when he's trying to get a leg over. Sherlock draws out his finger and passes John the lube, putting his hands behind his head after wiping his finger on the chair. John sighs.
"When we first met, I asked if you had an omegafriend." John starts conversationally. Sherlock chuckles and his feet twitch as John begins circling Sherlock's anus with a gentle finger.
"Yes, after which you asked me if I had an alphafriend and proceeded to reassure me that it was all fine with you." John thrusts his finger in and Sherlock tenses before relaxing around it. John moves his finger slowly, mirroring Sherlock's earlier demonstration.
"I did. And it still is, you know." There's a pause in which John pushes in a second finger when Sherlock has loosened and works them in and out at a slightly faster pace than before. When John deems Sherlock ready he draws his fingers out to coat his cock with lube.
"John," Sherlock says softly as John starts to enter him. "You didn't ask me if I had a betafriend."
"I assumed you would've told me," John replies, pushing in. "You didn't seem the type of alpha to go for betas." Sherlock reaches up and cups John's head, drawing him down and wrapping his legs around John's waist. They're too long to fit properly and John strokes the back of Sherlock's thighs comfortingly.
"I wasn't the type of alpha to go for anything, really," Sherlock says honestly as John begins to fuck him in earnest. Beta cocks generally aren't as well-endowed as alpha ones-- if not, prep would have taken longer, and Sherlock would be squeezing around him, nearly painfully tight. But as it is now, comfortably warm and slippery, John can't imagine it any other way. Sherlock squirms when John pushes against his prostate and sighs, brushing his lips over John's ear and moving to his forehead. When they pull apart for John to rock backward, he finds Sherlock staring at him wordlessly, mouth hanging open slightly as John fucks into him slowly. It's intimate beyond what John could have imagined sex with Sherlock could be.
"Harder," Sherlock tells him in a voice nearly gone silent, and John follows his command. He moans softly as he comes in Sherlock, reaching a hand down to wank him off. Sherlock ejaculates onto John's stomach. When John pulls out, Sherlock tugs him upwards and arranges their positions so that they're settled into the chair, bodies slotted against each other's. Sherlock rests his hand on John's skin and idly smears his come into John's skin. John pretends not to notice as he gets his breath back.
"I am aware that this might be considered belated," Sherlock says. "But would you like to be my betafriend? I've considered this. I do like you. I... I suspect I have, for a very long time. And you said you didn't think I was the type to go for betas. You're right."
"Let me guess. You're only gunning for one beta," John says, and smiles so wide that it hurts.
"Yes," Sherlock confirms, and kisses John's cheek. "As you wish."