The next morning - Monday, the day they were supposed to fly back to Reykjavik in the morning, for Sören to start his work shift in the afternoon - Sören woke up almost an hour and a half before the alarm went off, unusual for him because he was not a morning person.
He felt like he was burning up, but this time it wasn't from the recurring nightmare of burning to death. He was soaked in sweat... and slick. As soon as he opened his eyes, his painfully hard cock throbbed and his hole twitched, more slick gushing out of him. He looked over at Macalaurë, looking perfectly at peace with his eyes closed, and Sören's cock jolted at the sight of Macalaurë's sculpted body, the disheveled mane of hair. He bit his lip and heard himself whimper as the delicious memories of last night came flooding back to him. He wanted more.
He needed more, like an addict craving a fix. From the way he was sweating and pouring slick, his hole twitching again, he was absolutely sure he was in heat.
There was no way Sören would be allowed on a plane when he was like this - the scent would be too distracting to all Alphas and Omegas on board - and it was impossible for Sören to work through his heat. They would have to reschedule their flight back to Reykjavik, and Sören was going to have to call out of work. He reached for his cell phone, and with trembling hands, not able to stop looking at Macalaurë, going out of his mind with lust, he hit Jónína's number on speed dial.
She answered after one ring. "Jæja."
"Jæja, it's Sören. Listen I hate to do this to you, but I need another three days off, possibly four. My heat just started."
Jónína exhaled sharply; Sören heard the exasperated click of her tongue. Macalaurë's eyes opened and his nostrils twitched.
"You know we're really understaffed," Jónína scolded him.
"I know. I'm sorry -"
Jónína grumbled and hung up.
Sören sat with the cell phone in his hand and sighed. Iceland was one of the few countries with a law forbidding an employer to fire an Omega for taking time off during heat cycles, but Sören knew Jónína was probably going to schedule him for the evening shift - the hardest one - for the foreseeable future, and as many days in a row as she could get away with by law. He would be lucky if he saw Macalaurë at all for the next two weeks once they got back.
Macalaurë growled, his nostrils twitching again; Sören's Omega scent was overpowering, like someone had sprayed a can of it in the room. Macalaurë's Alpha scent was stronger, responding to Sören's heat, and Sören whimpered again - almost ashamed of his reaction - but not too proud to beg. That growl stoked his lust even hotter, needing to be manhandled, ravaged, fucked. He put the phone down on the bedtable and then he got on all fours, face down ass up, spreading so Macalaurë could get a good look at his open, dripping hole.
Presenting for my Alpha, Sören thought to himself, gripping the sheets white-knuckled, feverish, panting for it.
Macalaurë growled again. Sören whined and wiggled his ass, wanting to sob with relief when he felt Macalaurë move towards him. But first, Macalaurë got in position so his face was at Sören's ass, and he took a long, slow lick at Sören's hole.
"Oh, fuck," Sören cried out, bucking his hips, hole twitching again.
Macalaurë laughed softly, slapped Sören's ass, and then dug in, lapping fast and furious, teasing Sören, who began rocking his hips, desperately fucking himself on Macalaurë's tongue. It felt so good, sensitized as he was, but he needed to be knotted. Sören howled, tugging the sheets, gasping for breath. "Fuck me. Fuck me, knot me, I need it, I need -"
Macalaurë slowed down, driving Sören wild, the pleasure and tension building even higher. "Mmmmmm, you taste delicious. I couldn't help myself." He took a few more slow licks, and then he slapped Sören's ass again and pulled back.
Macalaurë mounted him, and roughly seized a handful of Sören's curls as he pushed inside. When Macalaurë was all the way in, he turned Sören's head and kissed him, then he began to kiss and lick the side and back of Sören's neck, down to kiss his shoulder, and back up, as he took his first few slow, sensual thrusts, one arm around Sören, holding him tight.
Then Macalaurë gave in, rutting away, their hips slapping together, Macalaurë's balls smacking Sören's balls from behind, pounding into him as Sören grunted and gasped. Macalaurë's knot felt even more delicious this time, and Sören rocked his hips back at him, whimpering as the knot rubbed inside him just right, and Macalaurë's lips and tongue worked magic on his sensitive neck.
"Fuck me," Sören panted. "Yes, fuck me, just like that..."
Macalaurë growled and Sören cried out in response, his entire body thrilling to the sound of his Alpha in pure animal hunger. The slap of their hips and the filthy wet slurping sound of Sören's slick-gushing hole competed with their groans and yelps, Macalaurë fucking him harder and harder, savage, frenzied. It was the hottest fuck of Sören's life, even better than last night. He needed to come, but he desperately needed to fuck, to keep feeling Macalaurë's knot inside him, rubbing him, the only thing in the universe that existed, pleasure more and more intense with each thrust.
The arm around Sören dropped lower, Macalaurë's hand around his cock. Macalaurë kissed Sören's neck more insistently, and Sören longed for that claiming bite but there were only licks, kisses, Macalaurë's hot breath teasing. The tight grip stroking his cock combined with the sweet rubbing inside him, Sören utterly lost in sensation, until he was right there, trying to hold back and keep going, wanting to make it last, but he felt himself fly past the point of no return, shattering, burning, letting out a scream as he shot cum all over Macalaurë's hand, all over the bed, and his hole squirted slick down Macalaurë's cock, contracting so hard it almost hurt. Two thrusts later Macalaurë let out a shuddery moan as he spent into Sören, his knot pulsing in time with Sören's hole, and Sören sighed as Macalaurë's seed spurted in him. Sören's fingers and toes curled and flexed involuntarily, like a contented cat. He giggled, euphoric, and Macalaurë turned Sören's face to his for another kiss, fierce, expressing passion deeper than words.
Macalaurë rested on top of him, petting Sören's curls, raining little kisses over Sören's shoulder and left arm, nuzzling tenderly, as the knot continued to bind them together. When Macalaurë's knot receded, he pulled out and rolled over. Sören whimpered with protest at the emptiness inside him, but he liked snuggling in Macalaurë's arms, who cradled his head and rocked him, rubbing his nose in Sören's curls.
Sören, of course, was in heat, and feeling Macalaurë's naked body against his got him going again. He needed more, cock rising back to life, hole twitching again. He bit his lower lip and gave Macalaurë a pleading look. Macalaurë chuckled, tousled Sören's curls, and then he reached for the hotel phone at the bedside.
"What are you doing?" Sören asked.
"Calling for room service," Macalaurë said.
That made sense, and Sören felt like an idiot for not realizing that, but he was too lust-addled from his heat to think clearly, he had his Alpha's cock on the brain.
Macalaurë instructed them to knock and leave it outside the door, and when the knock came and Macalaurë heard footsteps away from the door, he ruffled Sören's curls again, got up, and brought in the cart. Macalaurë had erred on the side of ordering plenty of bottled water and some sports drinks with electrolytes, and there was an assortment of finger food, some of which could be left out, some to put in the suite's fridge and microwave later. Macalaurë was dutiful and made sure Sören ate before they went further, feeding him mini-muffins and pieces of fruit.
Even though Sören needed to eat, and he was grateful for Macalaurë taking care of him - and understanding how a heat nest worked, which not every Alpha knew - taking time out just frustrated Sören more, and after food was put away and Macalaurë came back, Sören pounced on him like a cat, tackling him to the bed. Macalaurë laughed, delighted, and began tickling Sören. They rolled around on the bed, tickling, giggling, grabbing at each other, hard cocks grinding together. Sören kissed him and one kiss became another, and Sören shoved Macalaurë onto his back and straddled his hips. Macalaurë looked up at him adoringly, and slowly ran his hands down Sören's body, from his chest down his stomach, over hips and thighs, making Sören shudder, his cock leaping, hole throbbing, dripping slick.
"Take what you need," Macalaurë whispered, guiding his cock to Sören's opening. "Take what's yours, elskan."
They kissed deeply as Macalaurë's cock pushed inside. Then Sören threw his arms around Macalaurë's neck and began to ride, bouncing frenziedly, working his hips in circles. Macalaurë kissed Sören's neck and shoulder, kissed his nipples, his side, and back up again. Their mouths met and Sören rode harder, bed rocking against the wall. Macalaurë licked his neck, sucked on it, so sensitive, but didn't bite. Sören thought about asking Macalaurë to bite him, wondering if Macalaurë was waiting for permission, but he could barely make words, and he remembered through the haze of his lust that Macalaurë could "sort of" read minds and sense feelings and probably already knew Sören was craving that bite, yet he was holding back for some reason. Sören felt a twinge of concern at that, but he was too far gone in sensation and desire to care. All that mattered was Macalaurë's knot in him, rubbing inside him just right, taking him to that edge and keeping him right there, closer, closer, but needing just a little more, needing more, needing that hot, wild fuck, their bodies slapping together, primal and nasty. Sören's nails dug in Macalaurë's shoulders and he was almost ashamed of the high-pitched cries he was making, answered by Macalaurë's deeper grunts, but it was so good, too good, utterly lost in the bliss of their rhythm, the filthy sweetness of their hot sex.
Sören came, gasping for breath as he sprayed Macalaurë's chest. Macalaurë cried out as he filled Sören with his seed again, and they kissed, taking each other's hands and squeezing as they pulsed together, everything glowing bright. Macalaurë held Sören, and Sören buried his face in Macalaurë's chest, safe in the tight cocoon of his arms, feeling like he was made of light and spinning, spinning like a star.
Sören smiled so hard his face hurt. This had been absolutely the worst time to go into heat, but it was the best sex Sören ever had.
Each fuck was better and better, and by the time Sören's heat subsided, even though his body was sore from being so thoroughly used, and he was exhausted from all the fucking, he also felt refreshed, like he'd spent a few days at a resort being pampered. When he showed up at the restaurant he had a spring in his step, determined to face whatever hellacious schedule he had with optimism.
What he found was the complete opposite of what he'd been expecting. Instead of long shifts several days in a row, Sören was scheduled for a grand total of ten hours next week, the minimum Jónína could get away with.
Sören left the restaurant in a panic and found himself calling Macalaurë on speed dial, asking him to come over. Macalaurë met Sören at his flat and Sören fell apart on him, crying. When Macalaurë got Sören to calm down, Sören explained what happened.
"I can't live on that kind of money," Sören choked out, pacing around, anxiety ramped up through the roof. "And it's not like I can just go get a job in this economy. A lot of places aren't hiring, and though the government won't let businesses fire employees just for having Omega heats, they're not forbidding places from prioritizing Alpha and Beta hires - I took this miserable fucking job because of how many places won't hire Omegas, expecting us to need time off for heats, and need parental leave - and in any case I need employer references if I apply for a new job and you know as well as I do that Jónína isn't going to give a good reference -"
Macalaurë put up his hand. "Breathe, Sören."
Sören took a few deep breaths and then he broke down crying again. Macalaurë went over to him, and pulled Sören into his arms, holding Sören as he walked backwards to the couch, and had Sören sit on his lap.
"OK," Macalaurë said. "I know you've never been to my place, but I can take you there to check it out and if you like it, you can move in with me."
Sören's eyebrows shot up. "Wait. You..." Sören's eyes widened, not able to believe what Macalaurë was saying. "I told you I got only ten hours next week. I can't afford to pay rent here, never mind contribute to yours -"
Macalaurë put a finger to Sören's lips. "Don't worry about any of that. Actually, if you want to quit that job, I encourage you to do so. I know how unhappy it makes you."
"But..." When Macalaurë took his finger away, Sören went on, "Then I won't have any money. And I don't know if or when I'll get hired someplace else. I don't want to take advantage -"
"You're not," Macalaurë said. He took Sören's hand and kissed it, and stroked Sören's face. "If you want to 'contribute'... I'd really like to see you focus on your art full-time. I can help you find a gallery to show your work. You might get some commissions. I want you to be able to live your dream, and not have to worry about how you'll make ends meet while you accomplish it."
Tears spilled down Sören's cheeks as he silently processed what Macalaurë was offering, then he nodded and wept again, sobbing into Macalaurë's shoulder. He couldn't believe he was agreeing to this, but... they were mated, after all.
At the first of July, Sören was all moved into the place Macalaurë was renting, a one-floor, two-bedroom blue house with a small, fenced-in backyard that had a birdbath and a little garden. One of the two bedrooms was in use as Macalaurë's studio - Macalaurë had guitars, plural, plus a drum set, keyboards, even a huge harp that looked like an ancient relic - but Macalaurë was willing to make some room for Sören to set up his easel and paints.
It wasn't a mansion, but Sören still felt like he was living in the lap of luxury, not able to stop pacing around looking at the wooden furniture and old books and record collection in the living room, the chef-quality cookware in the sunny pale yellow kitchen, the big four-poster bed with silk sheets in the master bedroom. Sören liked the black walls of the bedroom and Macalaurë's collection of vintage blacklight posters, lava lamps, including a Van De Graaff generator, giggling as he turned it on and it made his hair stand on end.
"It's very retro," Sören said.
"I'm very retro," Macalaurë said with a smirk.
"How old are you, anyway?"
"Old." Macalaurë nodded. "Let's just say I'm older than the Vikings, older than the Romans... older than the pyramids, older than Stonehenge. And I was there for all of it."
Sören's jaw dropped. He had so many questions, he didn't even know where to begin. Then Sören's eyes caught a vintage KISS poster with a framed autographed record, hanging above...
"...KISS dolls." Sören exploded in laughter.
"Action figures," Macalaurë corrected him.
Sören had to sit on the bed, heaving in hysterics, tears streaming down his face. "An ancient elf has KISS dolls." The surreality of it was too much.
Macalaurë put his hands on his hips. "That's not even the weirdest thing I own." He rummaged around in a file cabinet and pulled out a plastic bag full of vintage PEZ dispensers. "You humans are strange."
Sören shrieked with laughter, falling over - Macalaurë collecting PEZ dispensers tickled him. "Wow. Wow, Macalaurë. Just... wow."
"Although..." Macalaurë sat on the bed next to Sören, gently pulled him up, and kissed Sören's forehead, stroking Sören's cheek with a fond smile. "It seems this is the weirdest thing I own, now."
"Har har." But Sören still broke into gooseflesh, heart soaring, at the proclamation. He felt like jumping and doing cartwheels across the room. And yet... his hand strayed to his neck, and he looked into Macalaurë's eyes. "Can I ask you a serious question?"
"I'm an open book, Sören."
Sören had to offset the tension with a little levity. "Hi An Open Book -"
Macalaurë gave him noogies. When they sobered, Sören cleared his throat. "Why didn't you bite me, when I was in heat?" He was genuinely curious - and concerned.
Macalaurë looked down, and then he looked up, at the ceiling - seeming to look far away, at a long long life filled with countless regrets. When his eyes met Sören's again, he took Sören's hand and let out a deep sigh. "I don't age," he said.
Sören was now also completely confused. "So what... you're some kind of vampire, or -"
"No." Macalaurë laughed, and then he was deadly serious again. "What I mean is that... the reason why I was there to see the Vikings, the Romans, the pyramids, the Stonehenge... KISS in the seventies... is because when you don't age, you can't stay in the same place forever. People get suspicious. Moreso in the days when life was much harder and people looked old when they were thirty or forty. Age isn't what it used to be, now that people are living longer, life is less brutal, and the rich can afford things like plastic surgery. But I still can't stay someplace more than fifteen or twenty years - the youngest I can get away with pretending to be is around thirty, and the oldest I can get away with pretending to be is mid-late forties before people start asking me if I've had work done. So I have to keep moving."
It was starting to make sense, and Sören was afraid of where this was going. "How long have you been in Iceland? This time around, I mean."
"Eight years. I still have some time left, another seven to twelve years, but eventually I'll have to leave here, too. Probably to the UK, where I haven't lived since the fifties, or maybe Canada."
Sören's thumb began to stroke the burn scar on Macalaurë's hand.
"It's a hard life, Sören. Never really fully able to put down roots anywhere for long. Having to lie to people, when you get close to them, to keep your secret safe. Eventually having to leave them behind, or watch them die." Macalaurë's hand slipped out of Sören's and he touched Sören's face. "I love you. But I don't want to force this on you. Iceland is your home."
"You're my Alpha," Sören insisted. "We're mated now. I would follow you anywhere."
"You say that now, but you might end up resenting me later," Macalaurë said softly. "Having you hate me and leave me is worse than watching you age and die."
"I wouldn't -"
Macalaurë put two fingers on Sören's lips. "Again... you say that now. Let's take things one day at a time. When I'm ready to leave, if you want to come with me, we'll do this. If you don't - or if I think you're not able to handle it - I'll make sure you're set for life, so you never have to work again or depend on anyone else to take care of you."
Sören closed his eyes. His jaw trembled and he fought back the tears, but they came anyway. The thought of losing Macalaurë was more than he could bear.
Macalaurë lay back on the bed and pulled Sören into his arms, held him tight and rocked him. "I'm right here," he said softly. "And here and now, we're together. I'm your Alpha, and you're my Omega."
And yet, Macalaurë would not bite him, in case they ended up parting ways in seven to twelve years, lest another potential Alpha mate reject him. It made sense but it also hurt. Sören sobbed into Macalaurë's chest, feeling the if I think you're not able to handle it hang over him like an anvil ready to drop. He was sure he wouldn't end up resenting Macalaurë, when they left Iceland; Sören would miss Iceland but he wanted to travel and see the world. Places to see, places to paint. But it didn't matter if Macalaurë's fear was stronger than his love, and Sören knew Macalaurë was traumatized enough by his long, lonely life that fear was a constant companion.
"Right here, right now, you've got me," Macalaurë whispered, stroking Sören's curls. "Þetta reddast."
"Þetta reddast," Sören repeated half-heartedly, not wanting Macalaurë to be upset that he was upset. He felt like he was on a sinking ship, but was too captivated by the starry sky to flee for his life. He rested in Macalaurë's arms, the soft glow of him like the light of the stars, and sighed.
go to Chapter 11 | go to story index | go back to Maglor Shrine | go to home page