Thescienceofobsession says: oh god, I can’t pick just one! Torn between ‘heavens throbbing in his palms’ and a dirty bit of ‘Sherlock – Glory Hole’
Since the entire contents of ‘heavens throbbing in his palms’ is in the title (I saved it because I liked the line and thought I might do something with it), you will get the latter. This one was a lot of fun, but it just…petered out along the way. One of my early forays into omegaverse—the second, actually. I wrote this shortly after the first installment of Serviceman, though they weren’t meant to be in the same universe. It’s pretty much PWP with a bit of gratuitous world-building thrown in (I didn’t include it in the excerpt, but I had fun describing the sex club and its denizens).
***
He’s never much liked alphas or omegas. Sex makes people stupid. But then, he hasn’t met many betas who’re all that bright either. Frankly, the less actual interaction required, the better. Which is why he heads for the little cells tucked into the northeast corner of the building.
Not much bigger than confessional cells, each one has a plain wood chair and a small hole in the wall to the adjoining cell, covered by a sliding door. They’re the most tasteful glory holes he’s ever seen, which isn’t saying much. But what does it matter? Anonymity is the whole point. Even if he gave a damn what people thought, they wouldn’t know who to judge.
He steps into an unoccupied one and latches the door behind him. It’s with a sigh of relief that he opens his flies and frees himself. Trousers are not designed for aroused alphas.
A moment later, he hears the person in the next booth get up and leave, and chuckles to himself under his breath. Alphas aren’t to everyone’s taste.
Not long after that, someone else comes in and sits down. When the new arrival leans over to look in, Sherlock gasps. He can smell him. Omega male, and close to his heat.
Out looking for some relief from the twitchy tension leading up to the main event, no doubt. Risky behaviour, though, for an omega this close to his period. He could get himself into all sorts of hot water this way. Is he stupid, confident, or self-destructive?
The chair creaks as the man sits back. Sherlock waits for him to get up and leave. Instead, a finger pokes through.
Sherlock stares at it, brows drawn together. It’s a nice finger: tapered, tidy, smooth-skinned. Classic Celtic bone structure, with that unique combination of well-formed and bluff. And bafflingly present.
The finger withdraws. A foil-wrapped condom pokes through. Sherlock squints at it. The man looked. He must know Sherlock is an alpha. It’s hardly possible to miss it, in his current state.
“I’ll almost certainly knot,” he says after a moment. The condom that can handle a knot hasn’t yet been invented.
The condom withdraws.
“Are you clean?” the other man asks after a pause. He has a nice voice, soft and on the lighter side, with a bit of texture to it. It stands in startling contrast to the blunt tone of the question.
“Of course I am.” He snaps it out without thinking, too distracted by the strangeness of the situation to consider other things. An omega nearing heat, wanting to have a go at a totally unknown alpha, without a condom?
Now this is interesting.
“How do you feel about blowjobs?” the other man asks brightly.
“I can’t complain,” Sherlock says slowly, staring at the hole. “If I knot, I’ll be stuck.”
There’s a wordless, amused sound. Sherlock glares at the hole. “That’s all right. I’m feeling quite patient tonight.” Then he adds, in a soothing tone, “I wouldn’t take off and leave you like that.” Sherlock flashes his teeth at the wall, feeling offensively patronised. As if this omega were trying to protect him!