Work Text:
“Oh - - oh, no.”
Adrian Monk - - former homicide detective for the San Francisco Police Department, now turned private consultant - - watched in horror as the entire bottle of suppressants slipped out of his hands and skittered down the drain, colored marbles of hope and security, of sanity and safety, disappearing before his very eyes.
His frozen moment only lasted for, well, a moment, before well-honed muscles of panic and quick-thinking had him scrambling to turn off the tap. Why today, of all days, had he decided to bring down his pill bottle as he was brushing his teeth? He never did that!
He dropped to his knees, throwing a towel onto the floor right before they made contact, and pulled open the cabinet door. The u-pipe was was right there, shined on the outside like he kept everything else in his house, but the inside…. He shuddered. Who knew what gunk and horror lay waiting on the inside.
He did the only thing he could think of in his panicked state: he called a professional.
*****
One hour and an exorbitant plumbing bill later, Monk stared in numb horror at the monstrosity of filth the plumber had left in a bucket laid down for “trappings.” His suppressants were ruined! What wasn’t covered in muck was dissolved or broken into pieces. He couldn’t eat these.
After quickly shooing the plumber away - - a beta, he could smell now, just like Trudy was - - the omega whimpered. He paced back and forth inside his door, wringing his hands as he debated his options. He could call Natalie to pick up replacements! But, no. She was out of town with her daughter the next few days. The young rising star had landed a big role in the next community play, and the two of them were out celebrating before rehearsals began. Monk knew, as much as Natalie catered to him, he could not convince her to cut their trip short for this.
His therapist, then? Surely Doctor Kroger could write another prescription for him. He called the doc’s office. Curse it, the phone kept ringing and ringing and no one was answering…
Oh. Right. A holiday weekend. He vaguely recalled Natalie saying something about that, some memo from the doc’s secretary warning their office would be closed. Probably other doctors’ offices would be closed, too…
He paced back and forth, twisting his fingers around each other, interlocking them together, then shaking them out. He winced and shrugged his shoulders back. It was so hot in here. He tugged on the top button of his white-collared shirt, carefully unbuttoning it to let some air touch his throat. It didn’t help.
“Oh no,” he repeated, over and over again. His heat would come sooner rather than later. He was already feeling twitchy. He had been on suppressants for so long, ever since Trudy - -
No, even before that, he realized. The two of them hadn’t been ready for pups, so he had gone on them not long before their wedding.
“Too late, too late,” he muttered, scratching his head and thinking about a million things all at once. He took a deep breath.
A spicy aroma tickled his nostrils, an earthy, rich smell that he had not smelled on himself for a long time.
Right. Time to barricade, then.
He stopped pacing, straightened his spine, and ran into the bedroom.
******
As far as nests go, this one wasn’t so bad. Monk nestled in further under his pillows. The pile of blankets and pillows and towels and tweed jackets surrounded him with his own scent. It was a little lonely, but familiar, in the way that an old photograph unearthed after years in a drawer feels familiar. He had done this before, he remembered, back before Trudy, when he was a young man…
A pang of heartbreaking nostalgia struck him, and he rubbed his face against a pillow, trying to remember what he had done the last time he felt like this. It was awful, trying to bear a heat alone. Cramps set in, heavy and taut, and Monk grimaced as he squeezed his thighs shut. Maybe if he put a pillow between his legs? He winced as he moved ever so slowly to accommodate the idea, noticing with dismay that his boxer shorts were no longer enough to catch the copious amounts of slick leaking out of his ass. Thank goodness he had put down so many towels beforehand. He was down to his boxer shorts and an undershirt, too hot to wear anything else but too mortified and willfully in denial as to what was already happening to him to wear anything less. He whimpered and hissed as he squeezed a pillow between his legs. Good God - - did he have anything to take away this ache in his body? He hadn’t kept ‘toys’ for years, threw them all out when Trudy died, and kept taking suppressants afterward because he had never wanted to feel this way again: empty, and all alone.
The pills didn’t really help, in that regard, in retrospect.
He yelped as another bolt of pain lanced through him. He felt dizzy and hot, and as ridiculously unsanitary as people could be, he just wanted to be held right now. But that was an impossible dream. No one wanted to be with Adrian Monk.
Without further options, the great former-detective faded in and out of sleep.
*****
There was a knock on his door. From far away he heard it, thudding hard in the space between his ears. He grimaced and closed his eyes.
“Monk! I know you’re in there!”
Stottlemeyer, of course. Captain Stottlemeyer.
Captain Alpha Stottlemeyer.
Monk’s eyes flew open. The burning scent of sandalwood and fine scotch permeated his nostrils. How was he smelling the man through the door?
The knocking came again.
“Monk, come on! Natalie sent me to check on you because you haven’t been answering your phone. Open up.” The latch wriggled. Monk tried to get up, tried to move, but found to his alarm that he couldn’t. His bones felt heavy as lead, his blood hot as soup, his brain was lost in a feverish fog. He shook as he attempted to push himself up.
“Just a minute,” he croaked weakly.
The pounding stopped, but the turning of the door handle didn’t. Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening had Monk scrambling to find purchase over the heaping pile of pillows, blankets, towels, and tweed jackets. “No - - don’t come in here!”
Stottlemeyer appeared in his bedroom door. “I used your spare key to—” his nostrils flared and he froze. “Monk?” All humor and amusement was gone as his eyes turned to the man in question, who fell onto the pillows, unable to get out of bed.
“Please, don’t look,” Monk muttered into his 100% hypoallergenic foam pillows.
“Monk!” Captain Stottlemeyer dropped the key on the dresser and hurried over to Monk’s bedside. “What happened?”
“Suppressants. Gone. Spilled.” Monk curled himself around the biggest pillow he could find, willing himself to not hump it in front of Captain Stottlemeyer - - his long-time friend, and respected colleague. “H-heat,” he whispered, another tremor taking his words from him.
Stottlemeyer stared at him another moment, face unreadable in the dim light. His mustache twitched. “I haven’t seen you like this since - -
“Trudy,” Monk nodded, sweat glistening on his brow. “Yes.”
Stottlemeyer shook his head. “No, even before that. Monk,” and here he paused, swallowed, and seemed to consider his next words very carefully. “Adrian. What do you want me to do?” He put a hand on the small of Monk’s back, and oh, the pressure felt good. Monk nearly moaned with pleasure as he melted at the touch, sinking deeper into the pillow he was currently straddling.
“Oh, fuck me,” he breathed.
“I beg your pardon?” Stottlemeyer blinked, like he couldn’t believe he had said the words. Monk couldn’t believe he had said them either.
But the heat made him irritable, and he snapped, “You heard what I said!” However, instead of barking his alpha (- - his alpha?) into submission, Stottlemeyer just laughed.
“Feeling bossy, now, are we?” The slightly older man stood and petted Monk’s back once more, this time trailing his fingers all the way up his spine to the base of his neck, then he dug those fingers into Monk’s immaculately cut, short black curls. This time Monk did moan, loud and uncontrollably. His hips bucked of their own accord.
“This what you want, Adrian?” Stottlemeyer said softly. “You won’t regret it come morning?”
“No,” Monk shook his head. “I mean, yes, I want it. No, I won’t regret it. I’ll sign anything you want. Whatever warrant you need. Just please - - Captain Stottlemeyer - - fuck me.”
“Well, alright then.” Stottlemeyer chuckled, but not unkindly. Monk buried his face in his pillow, but he could still hear Stottlemeyer shedding his jacket, hear him draping it over the back of the bedside chair, hear the creaking of the bed springs - - damn, he’d have to oil them again - - as he sat down next to him. Then he felt that glorious pressure again as Stottlemeyer placed his hands on the small of his back once more. He moaned and leaned into the touch.
“I’m going to make us both comfortable first,” Stottlemeyer murmured, that drawl tickling Monk’s ears, making his heart beat faster. Then Monk felt warm, strong hands slip under his shirt and slide up. Monk stretched and arched his back, giving the other man the room he needed to pull the offending article off. The boxers were another story, stuck to his thighs with copious amounts of slick. He winced as Stottlemeyer peeled them away. “Oh, Adrian,” Stottlemeyer breathed when Monk was bare, and Monk thought he was dreaming. He didn’t care that he was sweating, that he was leaking, that breathy gasps had taken the place of his many (many) thoughts - - especially when Stottlemeyer began taking off his own clothes. Monk watched through half-lidded eyes as the larger man unbuttoned his own white-collared shirt, peeled it back to reveal an undershirt that just barely covered his golden chest hair. His bristled mustache disappeared for only a moment as he pulled that shirt up over his head. Then he reached down to unbuckle his pants. Monk gulped as he slid his pants and underwear off at the same time, revealing a large, heavy cock. Captain Stottlemeyer must have heard him, because he turned to look at Monk with a smirk.
“Like what you see?” The alpha chuckled, his voice low but fond.
“Shut up,” Monk muttered, turning his head away, face burning. The Captain always did like to joke around. But that playful voice turned serious as he leaned down and nibbled along Monk’s ear.
“You tell me if you want me to stop, at any time. I’m not a mind reader, you know.”
Monk nodded, then for good measure, whispered, “I will.”
“Good.” Stottlemeyer kissed the back of his neck, then slid his hands down to Monk’s ass. He wasted no time in massaging the rounded globes, then slipped the tips of his fingers into the crack - -
“Wait,” Monk gasped. “Did you wash your hands, first?”
Stottlemeyer froze, disbelief peppering his scent like a spicy mustard. “Adrian, I am about to get my fingers covered in your slick. Do you really want me to go and wash them right now?”
Monk winced. “Give them here,” he demanded. Captain Stottlemeyer complied, a look of confusion on his face, which grew into wonder as Monk took his fingers into his mouth. To get them clean, of course.
“Wow, you are into it,” Stottlemeyer breathed. “The great Adrian Monk, sucking my fingers. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Just shut up and put them in me,” Monk released the alpha’s fingers and hoped that would suffice for cleanliness. Then he realized it didn’t really matter because he just took those unwashed fingers into his mouth. What was this heat doing to him? “It’s also for lubricant,” he murmured as way of a better excuse.
“Not that you need it,” Stottlemeyer grunted, fondness apparent by the rich scent of scotch. “You’re wetter than one of those seals down at the pier, Monk.”
And before Monk could whip out one of his witty retorts (something about the theoretical cleanliness of those seals), he felt two thick fingers push slowly inside him. “More,” he moaned, rocking his hips back. “I can take it.”
“It’s been a long time for you,” Stottlemeyer murmured, brows pinching together. “Eleven years, at least, if you haven’t had anyone since Trudy. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t!” Monk insisted, hips rocking back of their own accord. Desperate. Needy. He couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to - - and he definitely did not want to as Stottlemeyer drew his fingers in and out, and began spreading the slick around. “Please,” he keened, burying his face into the pillow, presenting himself to his (- - gulp, his) alpha. “Do it, Leland.”
The use of the Captain’s given name was what did him in.
“Remember, you asked for this,” he whispered as he took Monk’s hips in hand.
That first push of intrusion into his tight, long-unused ring made Monk gasp and squirm. Stottlemeyer moved his hand up along Monk’s back to steady him, then pushed down with that hand to lower him further into the pillows. Monk got the message. He stayed presented but perfectly still, apart from the occasional, uncontrollable shiver as Stottlemeyer entered him, inch by glorious inch.
“Jesus, you’re tight,” Stottlemeyer grunted out, and began to rock his hips, very gently, back and forth. Monk groaned and sobbed and sunk his upper body further into the pillows, moved his legs just a little bit further out. The stretch was incredible. They both moaned when Stottlemeyer finally bottomed out. The alpha held still, his pubic hair tickling the omega’s ass. “I’m going to start moving now,” he whispered.
Monk could only nod.
Slowly at first, as if testing Monk’s limits, Stottlemeyer eased out, then back in. He took great care to be as gentle as possible, but he was so slow that Monk’s busy mind actually got bored, and began counting the time of each thrust. One… Two… Three…Four…Five… Too damn slow!
“Go faster,” Monk grunted, demanding despite being short of breath.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Adrian.” Stottlemeyer gripped his hips tighter, and drove into him slightly faster. It still was not fast enough. Monk wriggled and squirmed beneath him, whining. “This isn’t a case, you know. There’s no rush to catch a criminal - -” A sudden gush of slick made him bottom out in one quick thrust. They both gasped and shook at the lightning bolt of pleasure.
“I know it’s not a case,” Monk hissed. “Because if it were a case we’d be finished by now!” Stottlemeyer thrust again, hard, hard enough that Monk yelped, squeezing his inner walls, which made Stottlemeyer hiss.
“God, you feel…” Stottlemeyer bowed his head. “So… good.” Sweat dripped off his brow onto Monk’s back. Monk did not care. Did not even think to ask for a wipe.
“Fuck me. Come on.” He rocked his hips back. “Give it to me, Leland.”
Stottlemeyer complied. He would always give in to Monk. Monk knew this, and Stottlemeyer knew this. Hell, even Natalie and Randy knew this, though they declined to say anything and preferred to shoot each other not-so-secretive knowing looks when they thought Monk wasn’t looking. But Monk was always looking. And Stottlemeyer was always looking at him. So close, always so close, but never really touching. Until now.
Monk choked on the onslaught of feelings he didn’t have a name for, couldn’t name, didn’t want to name yet. Feelings he thought he had lost, buried with Trudy, so many years ago. But he gulped them down, shouted instead for Stottlemeyer to go faster, to give him more, to - -
“Knot me!”
“You’re sure?”
Monk nodded enthusiastically. “Please!” He panted.
Then the fucking started in earnest. Sweat. Gasps for air. Sighs and moans. Monk’s universe of facts and numbers turned into a world of feeling. His waist, gripped tight under Stottlemeyer’s fingertips. His hips, burning with the prolonged tilt in the air. His knees, spreading wider and wider on the bed, making him sink further and further into the mattress. His hands, gripping the sheets, trying to cling to anything that would help him maintain a small piece of sanity in a world that had gone suddenly, searingly, heart-stoppingly mad.
“Can I kiss you?” Stottlemeyer’s mustache tickled the back of his neck. His breath was hot, and smelled of butterscotch.
“I need to see you,” Monk stuttered out. Stottlemeyer slowed, then slipped out of Monk. They both groaned at the withdrawal. Stottlemeyer carefully flipped Monk over onto his back. Monk, too boneless and rattled by his heat to do more than lie there, spread his legs in invitation, and lifted his arms to pull Stottlemeyer close to him. Stottlemeyer went down easy, nestled himself between those strong legs - - legs made strong from walking all over the city, day after day - - and slipped inside him again. They both moaned at the renewed contact. The rocking motion began again, this time with Monk’s cock trapped between their bellies.
“Can I kiss you now?” Stottlemeyer repeated, a look in his eyes, something like hope and longing and utter devotion. “Please, Adrian.”
Monk whimpered, and nodded.
In truth, Monk hadn’t thought about kissing in a long time. He hadn’t thought he’d missed it. All those germs, tongues touching, the swapping of saliva. Even he and Trudy had rarely kissed, and since her death the thought of kissing someone else made him shudder with disgust. On a normal day, he would never consent to it, would yelp in alarm and disappear into the bathroom to hide so fast no one could catch him. Now, however…
He pushed his tongue into Stottlemeyer’s mouth. Oh, he could taste the man. Whiskey and butterscotch and a turkey sandwich for lunch - - his omega senses were going haywire. His sense of smell was intoxicated.
“More,” he gasped. “Give me more, alpha.”
Stottlemeyer’s breath hitched, followed by a low growl. "Oh, omega.” Then Stottlemeyer gave him more. He pounded Monk’s ass into the pillows, over and over again. He scented himself on Monk’s jacket, his towels, everywhere. All Monk could smell was Stottlemeyer, and he loved it. Monk moaned louder than when he found a picture perfectly aligned on a wall. Louder than when a crucial detail fell into place, solving a mystery in the puzzle of his mind. Louder than when he locked away a criminal, triumphantly washing his hands of a case both figuratively and literally (in the bathroom, after).
It felt incredible.
It felt perfect.
“I’m going to come. I’m going to knot you, Adrian,” Stottlemeyer whispered.
“Do it,” Monk panted, for he wanted it. Wanted to feel it. Wanted to feel claimed. Owned. Loved. The mark left by Trudy - - so old and faded, now, a scar worn with time - - burned ever so slightly as Captain Stottlemeyer put his mouth right next to it. Not biting down, but sucking hard. It did Monk in and he came between their stomachs, smearing his spend between them, sticky and hot. He felt Stottlemeyer come too, that liquid heat filling him up from the inside. Then Stottlemeyer’s knot began growing. Growing. Monk thought he would split in half. But when it passed thru his rim, it filled him with a different kind of warmth, a heavy weight that nestled deep inside him. Comforting, soothing.
Monk sighed as he came down from his orgasm, holding Stottlemeyer’s head to his chest. Stottlemeyer played with his chest hair. His breathing slowed in accompaniment to Monk’s heartbeat. Monk began absent-mindedly counting his breaths.
“I guess we’re a thing now,” Stottlemeyer murmured.
“Yeah,” Monk whispered, kissing the top of his alpha’s head. “I guess we are.”
They lay in bed together, hands entwining. Monk nuzzled his chin into Stottlemeyer’s hair, that sleepy, dopey smile on his face, and fell asleep.
(The End.)