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The frustrated sound that leaves Follo’s mouth as he buries his head in his hands would have been loud enough to draw a few stares if there happened to be anyone walking by.
She was hot. She was so hot. And she had her arm thrown over Gris’ shoulder as she leaned into him and whispered sphere knows what into his ear and, and–ughh–!
Maybe it’s somehow his own fault for being late to show up. He hadn’t ever been to this bar before so he got a little lost after he missed the group heading out earlier because he was spending too long fussing with his hair.
Maybe he had misunderstood the invitation. Most of the older cleaners were regulars here, familiar and known in the space and he’d been fighting the feeling of being too much of an outsider for the whole outing from the moment he got asked if he wanted to tag along earlier that day.
Maybe he just never had a chance. Follo knows he’s not, like, the nicest looking omega or anything. He’s… fine. He checks all the right boxes. But he’s also been called ‘boring’ before, so maybe ‘fine’ wasn’t good enough when there’s hot bar women who clearly know what they’re doing and he’s just been delusional this whole fucking time.
She probably smelled really good. She looked like she smelled really good. Probably smelled better than he ever could. Probably—
“Uhhhh… You good?”
Follo is pulled out of dredging through the thoughts in his own head as he looks over and sees Enjin standing there. He’s got a fresh cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, clearly about to light up before he happened to notice Follo wallowing off to the side of the building.
“Gris mentioned you were coming tonight.” Enjin clarifies when Follo doesn’t respond to his first question, clicking the lighter on and bringing it up to the end of the cigarette. “What’re you doing out here by yourself? Everyone else is inside.”
Follo’s eyes fall to Enjin’s mouth. To the burning stick gripped between his teeth and the smoke curling out past his lips.
It stinks.
“Can I have one?”
Enjin raises an eyebrow at Follo as he asks. The cloud he exhales as he voices his next question somehow smells worse.
“You want a… a cigarette?”
Enjin’s real smell is often masked by his cigarettes. The smell of them always got stuck deeply in the back of Follo’s nose; pungent, overbearing, and noxious. He has no idea how Zanka can stand it every single day. Follo had been doing his best to make sure he arrived here smelling as good and clean as he possibly felt he could. He sort of decides in this moment that he doesn’t care about any of that anymore.
“Yeah.” Follo confirms, then repeats. “Can I have one?”
“Uhhhh…” Enjin scratches the back of his head, looking a bit unsure about how to parse this request. “I mean… I guess?”
The first drag Follo takes makes his eyes water. The second makes his lungs burn. He breaks into a small coughing fit halfway through the third before a hand grabs his shoulder and spins him around.
“Are you smoking?”
The person asking the question attached to the hand on his shoulder is Gris not Enjin this time and he almost lets himself get distracted by getting excited about seeing Gris at all before he remembers, oh, right, he’s mad at him. Follo bites down the butterflies in his stomach and responds in a low, dismissive voice.
“I’m an adult, I can smoke if I want to.”
Gris’ nose wrinkles up and he looks like he just caught wind of something particularly unpleasant.
“I guess that’s true, even if I’d really prefer you didn’t…” Gris trails off as he grabs Follo’s wrist that’s holding the cigarette. He plucks it out of Follo’s fingers before dropping it on the ground and grinding it under the heel of his foot. He lifts Follo’s hand up to his face, sniffs at his wrist and frowns. “Just don’t smoke Enjin’s cigarettes, okay? I don’t like when you don’t smell like you.”
Follo pulls his hand back, out of Gris’ grip and turns his body away.
“Why do you even care what I smell like?”
“Enjin was right, you are in some kind of mood…” Gris reaches out towards him again. “Did something happen? Why didn’t you come inside? I was waiting for you.”
A hand settles on his shoulder. Follo kind of wants to lean towards it. Instead he narrows his eyes.
“Were you?”
“...Yes?”
“And yet you don’t seem to mind having other people all over you. Does that happen a lot? Is that why you like coming here all the time?”
A silence falls between them for a few moments before realization dawns on Gris’ face.
“Is that what this is all about?”
Follo’s eyes fall and wraps his arms around himself defensively. Gris exhales a disgruntled sound out of his nose.
“I don’t control other people’s actions, just my own. And I think it would be obvious nothing happened with whatever you thought you saw since I’m out here talking to you now. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive about these kinds of things.”
“I’m not–”
“You are. Maybe I should have noticed that sooner.” Gris says, taking a step towards him so suddenly that Follo almost takes a step back on instinct. “Come here.”
Follo feels himself jerked to the left as Gris grabs a handful of the front of his shirt and walks him into the alleyway next to the bar. His back hits the rough brick texture before two large hands start to maneuver his arms around.
“You’re so wound up by some imagined scenario in your head you’re not thinking straight and I don’t think making yourself smell like another alpha’s cigarettes while spiraling is a productive way to work through those feelings.”
Follo’s two wrists are pulled up and then one of Gris’ hands is holding Follo’s two, pinning his arms in place above his head.
“So let’s do it a different way.”
“Gris–”
Follo starts but before he can get whatever he was about to say out, Gris’ free hand fits against the side of Follo’s face, tilting it up as his head turns and he forcefully connects their lips.
There’s no soft build up, no preamble, just an aggressive shove of lips and teeth and pheromones pushing up against all of Follo’ senses.
Gris will sometimes scent him when he’s particularly riled up or upset about something, allowing edges of his alphian scent to wind his emotions down into an easy, comfortable calm. It’s usually never in public or close to being overbearing in any way but it seems Gris has decided that neither of those things matter in this instance, pushing his scent out and coming on overwhelmingly strong.
Follo feels his body react almost instantly as his inner omegan desires stir up against the edges of his lucid mind. He lets out a groan and Gris takes that opportunity to shove his entire tongue into Follo’s mouth.
Gris’ fingers fit themselves to the side of Follo’s neck, pressing up against his scent gland there. They start to move, making small circular motions as they stimulate the sensitive skin. This action could be soothing in certain contexts, but it manages to prickle at the edges of his quickly growing arousal right now. Follo makes a high, keening sound as sharp, tingling sensations run down his spine all the way to his toes.
His own scent starts to waft out into the air between them, dissipating the lingering smell of cigarettes and mingling into the haze of Gris’ own. Follo can tell the moment Gris can smell it too as a low growl rumbles out of Gris’ throat and vibrates into his mouth. The hand holding his wrists tightens. Follo flexes his fingers uselessly. His skin is starting to feel too warm.
Gris often takes his time with things, doesn’t rush and doesn’t push. Half the reason Follo even decided to come to this stupid bar tonight was to try to see if he could figure out a way to get Gris to finally come onto him stronger in one way or another. In a way, this is exactly what he wanted to happen. In another, the journey from point A to B is nowhere near what he anticipated.
One of Gris’ legs presses up between Follo’s two and Follo feels the heels of his feet lift a little off the ground. He tries to adjust to regain better footing with his toes but only succeeds at grinding forward up against Gris’ leg. The sudden sensation from the friction pulls a stuttering sound out of his throat. Gris hums back affirmatively in response.
Gris’ free hand moves downward to the front of Follo’s pants and he cups the growing bulge there. Follo’s heart rate speeds up as he truly starts to wonder if Gris is really about to get him off in this dirty alleyway next to a dive bar with a handful of their coworkers inside. It’s not really Gris’ style as far as Follo was aware but there’s something about the idea of it all that’s making him really, really wet really, really quick.
Gris seems to notice this shift too and his hand shifts from the front of Follo’s pants to the back and he skillfully slides a hand under the waistband before pressing his fingers down into Follo’s ass.
They’re big and wide and, despite his body being slicked up, when Gris pushes two in, Follo can feel himself tighten up at the intrusion as they try to work their way in comfortably. He starts to drool and leak as both Gris fingers and tongue press into different parts of him simultaneously. He only barely remembers to breathe.
Follo’s inner omega really, really can’t get enough of this. The edge of every sensation he’s feeling in this moment is permeated by Gris’ presence, his touch, his smell, in one way or another. Fuck, Follo can’t even remember exactly what he was mad about right now. He’s preening at this unique kind of overpowering and directed attention. The only thing his brain is able to latch onto is the swirling thoughts of yes yes yes yes yes yes and more more more more more–
Gris can’t read minds but it’s moments like this that really make Follo question that truth. Maybe he’s just got a lot of experience. Maybe he’s far too keyed into all of Follo’s tells. Maybe he’s just that good of an alpha.
It gets both better and worse when Gris’ fingers start to move.
Each shallow thrust and angle adjustment has Follo shaking. When Gris’ fingers curl inside of him after a particularly deep push, something shifts and all the tightness in his body loosens as a gush of slick squirts out and coats Gris’ hand. Follo shudders and feels Gris smile against his mouth.
He arches his back, pressing both backwards into Gris’ hands and forward into his mouth as his legs start to shake. His front is so hard and his back is so wet and Gris is simply refusing to give him a moment to catch up with himself as if he’s trying to literally finger fuck the insecurity right out of him.
And Gris is good at it. Like, really, really good at it.
Because, fuck he’s never had anything up his ass feel so good his whole life. Gris’ fingers alone are even better than some dick he’s had in the past. Each thrust, each curl, each wrist rotation only enhances and increases the tight feeling pulling at the pit of his gut. He’s hit with another wave of pheromones at the same time Gris bites down on his bottom lip. Follo can feel the tips of his fangs press into the sensitive skin inside of his mouth and that’s the moment he absolutely can’t take anymore anymore and he fully falls over the edge as he cums in his pants.
Follo doesn’t even feel embarrassed about the pathetic sound he’s sure he made as his brain falls into a daze and his whole body goes slack and he completely decides to give up on trying to hold himself up. The hand pinning his arms above his head loosen and his whole body is pulled forward to rest against Gris’ chest.
Gris tilts Follo’s head to the side and presses his nose into his hair, against the side of his face, up against the glands on his neck. Follo can feel Gris’ lips move against his skin when he speaks.
“That’s better. You smell more like yourself now.”
Gris stands up a little straighter, holding Follo against him as he removes the two slick-wet fingers Follo hadn’t even realized were still buried in his ass. The sudden loss feels wrong but Follo’s inner omega is so blissed out he can’t even muster up the energy to complain. Instead he tilts his head to the side and watches Gris press those same fingers up to his own neck, smearing Follo’s slick over his scent gland there. Gris repeats the action on the other side before finally bringing his hand up to his mouth where he licks it clean.
It’s hot.
It’s so hot.
It's the fucking hottest thing Follo’s ever seen in his entire life. He might legitimately pass out from all the blood in his body rushing to his head from the visual alone. He’s surprised he hasn’t started leaking again.
Gris looks back down at him and smiles. His lips look wet.
“And now I smell like you too. Let’s go back inside. I’m sure everyone will be more than aware of who I’d rather have hanging off of me now.”