*Alpha Omega*
*smut*
*slight mention in Niam*
The first thing Harry is aware of that morning is Niall’s smell all around him, the salty-sweet taste of him, and the clench of his arse around two of Harry’s fingers—amazing, perfection—and the second is that things have already spiraled rather out of control.
He jerks away from Niall, and stumbles back until he can’t go any farther, the wall cold against his bare shoulders. It’s early in the morning. Daylight is coming in pink and pale through the bedroom windows—Niall and Liam’s bedroom, of course, where Niall is writhing on their bed. He’s in heat. His skin is flushed and dripping with sweat, his eyes are all pupil, Harry can hear his heartbeat pounding, in time with Harry’s own, from two yards away, and his scent . . . it’s better than anything Harry’s smelled before, and this is far from the first heat Harry’s been a part of.
Not that Harry’s a part of this one. This is an accident. This is Liam’s heat. Niall is Liam’s omega. Where is Liam? He needs to be here, and take care of Niall, and do his job as an alpha, or why shouldn’t another, more deserving alpha do his job for him?
Against his will, Harry takes a step forward, toward Niall.
“Harry,” Niall whines, rubbing his cock with one hand and reaching toward Harry with the other. “Want you—need your knot—”
“Harry!”
He jumps and looks to the doorway, where Louis is standing, staring wide-eyed at Niall. “What’s—is he—?”
“Yes,” Harry growls, moving to block Niall from the view of others. “He needs me.”
“Whoa,” Louis says, grabbing Harry by his shoulders. Even shorter than him, and a beta, Louis is strong, and manages to hold him in place, if not pull him back. “He doesn’t need you. He needs his alpha, right? He needs Liam.”
Niall sits up, grinding down on his own fingers, and stares at Harry. “I do need you. Harry—need your fat knot inside me, need you to fill me up—”
With a burst of strength, Harry gets away from Louis and lunges at Niall.
“What the fuck?” Harry hears faintly—a very small part of him knows it’s Zayn, and knows that he’s shouting, but everything is quiet and dark compared to the warm, bright light that is Niall, in heat and desperate for him.
Harry goes feral for the next few minutes as he’s pulled away from Niall, out of the room, and down the stairs. Eventually he passes out with the pain of wanting, being so close to having, and then so far away.
When he comes to, Harry is freezing cold and nauseous on the living room couch. They put him as far from Niall’s bedroom as he can be without going outside. But he can still smell him. Niall's scent is just the same as always—delicious, like musky orange zest—but somehow much better, like Harry's favorite meal after days without food. He’s trembling all over as he sits up. Every muscle hurts. His hands smell like bleach—Louis and Zayn must have wiped them down with cleaning wipes—but underneath that he can still make out the scent of Niall’s slick.
Zayn flies at him, pushing his shoulders to the back of the couch. “Don’t you try anything!” he says.
“I’m okay,” Harry says. “I’m not going after him.”
