Twelve Days of Heat: Day Nine
Their teammates leave on the nineteenth. It’s exactly a week since the competition started, so they’ve been away for just over a week.
They’re still waiting for Reese’s heat to break. Reese is in increasingly rough shape; he drifts in and out of consciousness. There’s plenty of patches in his memory, black-outs and blurry images that don’t quite make sense. (He’s really not sure he’s that flexible, but …)
Mel assures them that it’s perfectly normal; she and Gabriel spend a bit of time talking about it in hushed tones, as though Reese can’t hear them discussing that his heat is taking a long time to resolve, that he seems to be getting worse, not better.
Mel’s incredibly protective too, and she threatens Gabriel with bodily harm, in no uncertain terms, if anything should happen that Reese doesn’t like. Reese would laugh if that wouldn’t tip them off that he’s eavesdropping.
His fever is still running high, and he’s slipping between lucidity and bouts of delirium. The only upside is that he’s actually sleeping a bit now. Gabriel tries to nap when Reese does, because he’s not sleeping otherwise—Reese won’t let him if he’s lucid, and when he’s delirious, he’s nothing but noise and flailing limbs (or so Gabriel says; Reese doesn’t remember, so he can’t really say what he does. Nor does he apologize for it).
Heat makes zero evolutionary sense to Reese; it doesn’t make sense for this to happen to an omega female, never mind omega males.
Mel tells them to make sure Reese drinks water—dehydration is likely the biggest danger—and to make sure he eats and sleeps at least a bit. Gabriel rolls his eyes; like he doesn’t already know. Reese doesn’t care; he’s not concerned about thirst or hunger, water or food. Even sleep feels unnecessary, although he knows he does sleep sometimes, because he wakes up disoriented and confused.
Mel advises them not to re-book the flight until Reese’s fever is lower than 102 for a solid eight hours, maybe longer. Once it drops off and stays steady, she says, the chances of him lapsing back into a hard episode are virtually nil. Before that, however, he could have a relapse; his temperature might temporarily lower and then shoot back up, so she warns them not to be too eager.
It’s difficult, though. Reese’s fever still hasn’t broken, he’s still sweaty and flushed, and Gabriel rocks into him in the early morning light, a little less frenetic than either of them have been over the last couple of days. Reese squirms around him, pants and moans. His voice is so raw it hurts; he feels like he could choke up blood from his shredded vocal chords.
He doesn’t though.
He’s well enough that Gabriel convinces him of a shower (not that it really matters, since they don’t even make it out of the bathroom before Gabriel’s made a mess of Reese again, fucking him on the counter, steam swirling all around them, Reese’s hands tangled in his wet hair, tugging insistently). Gabriel orders up breakfast, and Reese actually puts on clothes of his own volition for the first time in days, lays on the couch and shifts uncomfortably.
The day is a warm one, the sun shining bright, so Gabriel opens up the balcony door, lets some fresh air into the suite—which smells like sex and musk and sweat and come and blood. Reese asks Gabriel if he can’t smell flowers, an almost nauseously sweet scent, and when Gabriel shakes his head, he bursts out laughing, crying, “You smell like a freaking flower shop!” because he’s finally confirmed that scent is Gabriel.
They sit outside for a bit, because Gabriel’s convinced it will do Reese good to get some sunshine and fresh air, but Reese shivers in the wind, and Gabriel gets annoyed and finally relents and they finish breakfast on the sofa—or at least, what little of it Reese bothers to nibble at.
“On the bright side,” Reese pants, because apparently he’s just having another lucid episode, “I’m probably so light right now, lightest I’ve ever been in my life.” His temperature is creeping up again, which means they’re not booking their flight home today.
It’s nice that the suite is finally, finally empty; their teammates are gone, and Gord is no longer lurking around. All of the assistant coaches have headed home. Even athletes from other countries, their support staffs, have left, and the hotel is emptier and emptier, the buzz of just a few days before now dying away to a murmur. There’s vacationers, of course, people who spend their Christmas holidays in foreign places; there’s others who don’t observe the Christian calendar and its holidays who are simply taking advantage of a couple of weeks before the new year, maybe using up their vacation time from work.
Mama always did that, but then, they’re Catholic, so the holidays are always a busy time. Reese remembers church performances. Megan was always in the choir, always in the pageant at church. Reese never was—he can’t sing, and he remembers the priest saying he was a little rambunctious, a little clumsy to take part in the play. They couldn’t come up with a good role for him, other than “not involved.”
It was sort of the same thing at school, except they couldn’t disinclude him entirely because being involved in the Christmas pageant was part of his mark for drama, so he usually ended up with a really dumb role, with maybe like one line, if anything at all.
Christmas at home with his family isn’t always a pleasant affair either; his brothers and sisters, his cousins, all get ooo’ed and ahhh’ed over, while he gets jabs about not being very smart, about not doing better in school, about being less than a stellar student. If Christmas dinner was at their house, Megan’s art would be on display on the fridge, and Tegan’s soccer photos would be pinned there too. Owen and Rhiannon’s tests would be pinned up, maybe a copy of the honor roll.
And of course, he’d be given some jabs about swimming, about how that was going, about how he better not eat too much at dinner or he wouldn’t float anymore, he’d just sink right to the bottom.
That was a lot from his dad’s side of things. Mama’s side is less concerned about that; most of his uncles, Mama’s brothers, are big people. Big people. Even Owen and Keenan are a bit on the hefty side, and Reese knows he himself would be like that too if it wasn’t for swimming. His dad’s side is way less …
Well, they’re more petite. Not a lot. Maybe they’re normal-sized. Reese doesn’t know.
And always mixed up in those subtle jabs, especially as he got older, were comments from coaches and trainers about his diet, about eating right, about how he maybe isn’t the right … physique for swimming. Maybe he should consider another sport.
Mama would slap an aunt’s hand, laugh tartly, and tell the auntie she didn’t know what she was talking about, tell Reese to eat up, but he felt like everyone was watching him.
He hates people watching him eat, so he glowers at Gabriel during breakfast, because the other swimmer is watching him, intently, keenly, and Reese, if he had any appetite at all, promptly loses it.
It’s fine, he thinks, because he’s still in heat. “’m not really hungry,” he mumbles and stares at the floor.
He isn’t kidding when he says this will likely be the lightest he ever is in his life. He doesn’t even want to think about when he has to stop swimming, when he has to get a real job.
But he won a couple of medals, so maybe he doesn’t need to worry about that for a while.
What he does need to worry about is that it’s December nineteenth and he’s not flying home yet, because he’s running a fever still, he’s still in heat. Mama’s asked him a few questions already; he’s been sparse on text, telling her only they’ve been delayed.
He’s going to get grilled when the rest of the team makes it back to the States and he’s still in Istanbul.
“Think of it like vacation,” Gabriel murmurs, and Reese thinks vacation should involve significantly more time on a beach, time suntanning and lounging—lounging—poolside with his shades on, checking everyone out, maybe sipping a cocktail or something.
Like, the fucking part is good, but he doesn’t really want to think of this like a holiday. He can think of better ways to spend a holiday, and he could get Gabriel to fuck his brains out in the comfort of his own bed, his own home, just as easily.
And then he could also arrange a flight back to Miami, spend Christmas with his family. Much as they’re not always the nicest people, much as they make fun of him, they’re still his family. He hasn’t seen Owen since the start of the semester, hasn’t talked to Keenan since he moved up to Baltimore, two weeks prior to classes. He talked to Megan around Thanksgiving, and he texts with Tegan frequently. He hears less and less from Rhiannon, but she’s busy—Talia is two now, and Rhiannon and her husband are adding to their family.
He’s even worse at staying in touch with the extended family—his aunties, his uncles, his cousins. He hardly talks to his grandparents. If they can leave soon, he can still get in, get to Florida. He wants to go to midnight Mass with them if he can.
But right now, he’s stuck in Istanbul, with Gabriel Foss, and he’s not getting on a plane any time soon.
Not with the way his fever is creeping up again; Gabriel administers the thermometer. He lifts his brows. “You’re 103.6 again,” he says.
“Mm,” Reese replies, relaxes back on the sofa. That’s bad, as he understands it. He’s hovering on the edge of danger; much higher and Gabriel will likely want to take him to the hospital. He needs his temperature to fall to 102—almost two degrees lower—before they’ll put him on the plane.
He sprawls out, stretches. His breath is coming short again; he’s teetering on the edge of it again. He looks up at Gabriel, spreads his legs. “Now that everyone’s gone …”
The bedroom’s a little disgusting and, frankly, a little boring by this point. Reese lifts his hips, as though emphasizing the invite.
“We could go outside,” Gabriel murmurs, “into the sunshine.”
“It’s cold out,” Reese objects.
Gabriel drags his hands down his sides, callouses catching along his ribcage. Reese shivers. “I can keep you warm …”
Reese groans, mostly because that’s a terrible line. “But we might get caught,” he says.
Gabriel’s eyes flash—excitement. He likes the idea. He wants the danger. Reese stares at him, dumbfounded. He’d never pegged Gabriel for that kind of guy. Figured he was into super-vanilla things like love-making on a big bed with fresh sheets scattered with rose petals, candles burning all around, soft music in the background. That kind of shit.
Not let’s do it on a semi-public balcony where people could definitely see us, so we’ll need to be careful or we’ll get caught.
“I dunno,” Reese says, his stomach knotting—one strand is excitement and one fear, so it makes for a weird mix, and he’s just not sure he’s up for it. He’s been feeling pretty weird, going through a lot of strange new things in the last eight days.
Maybe he’s the vanilla-kinda guy.
“C’mon,” Gabriel says. “The air’s nice—it’s a little warmer now too, the sun’s really up.”
He takes Reese by the wrist, hauls him up from the sofa. He leads him outside again, into the chill of the December day. It’s almost noon now; the sun has reached its zenith. The wind has died away for the moment, but the air is still crisp, cold. It’s definitely not warm by any stretch of the imagination.
Gabriel leans back into one of the lounge chairs, reclining it all the way. He’s all long, lanky limbs, sprawling everywhere, so casual, so relaxed. He pulls Reese in close, guides him to straddle his hips.
Reese hesitates, shivers a little, then sits down on him, pressing his full weight against him. To be honest, he’s a little tired, more than a little sore, and if it wasn’t for the building heat, that all-too-familiar pressure, he wouldn’t want to do anything more than this. He’d be content to simply sit there or lie there, lounge.
He thinks Gabriel feels pretty much the same, judging from the way he’s moving, syrupy slow and languid. There’s no rush.
Reese rocks his hips experimentally, then crinkles his nose. It’s also more difficult to scent Gabriel out here; the wind picks up every now and then, and all he can smell is freshness.
Maybe they should have come outside sooner. There’s little doubt they’ve been feeding off each other’s pheromone-laden scents. Reese can’t scent himself, but he knows he’s affecting every alpha he encounters like this, because they can scent him. And while the sunshine and oranges part of his scent is his own unique smell—an aromatic calling card—there’s more to it than that. Underneath the personal touch, there’s pheromones that essentially answer the old chat room questions—age, sex, location. It also broadcasts information about his status—that he’s omega, and that he’s in heat.
Gabriel’s scent is much the same. The floral scent (which Reese still thinks is hilarious) is unique to him, but Reese is also getting other information every time he inhales—that Gabriel’s male, nineteen, and very proudly alpha. It suggests that he’s single (probably—maybe), that any needy omega can expect to be well-taken care of. Reese has picked up on a subtle change from when they started, too. Gabriel now smells possessive, like he has something to protect. It challenges other alphas, suggests they should back down. Underlying that, there’s a hint that maybe he has an omega he’s taking care of, and he’s doing a very good job—he’s a very competent alpha.
Reese doesn’t know what he himself is projecting—perhaps that he’s been possessed by an alpha, that he’s owned. Maybe that he’s happy about that, that he feels like he’s being well taken care of. Gabriel hasn’t told him he smells bad, in any case, which means he’s likely not broadcasting any sort of negativity, that he’s dissatisfied.
He’s not dissatisfied.
But it’s harder to scent Gabriel out here, which might be why they feel a bit more sluggish, calmer. Pheromones are incredibly influential in most situations, and even worse in heat scenarios. Essentially, they’ve been scenting nothing but each other—Reese broadcasting he’s ready to go, Gabriel responding—for three days, and that’s been mixed with the intoxicating aromas of sex and musk and come.
It’s little wonder they’ve been marathoning like they have.
Reese gazes down at Gabriel, who curls his hands lightly over his hips as he rocks against the alpha underneath him. “You sure about this?” he asks, tipping his head to the side.
“Mm,” Gabriel replies.
The balcony overlooks the courtyard, which is almost deserted today. The pool is shimmering down below, the wind rippling across its crystalline waters. There’s no one in the water; it’s just a bit too cold for that. There’s a few people lounging on deck chairs at the far end, away from them, but no one else.
Gabriel plucks at the waistband of his shorts, and Reese glances about, slides them down. It’s awkward to get out of them; he has to lift up, then lift one leg, step out of the one side, then repeat on the other. Gabriel rolls his eyes. Reese wads up the fabric and smacks him in the face with them.
“Could you be any less sexy?” Gabriel asks.
“Shut up, you do better.”
Gabriel grunts, hooks his hands in the waistband of his own shorts, slides them down, until he meets the barrier of Reese’s body. He hesitates, and Reese feels him tense—he’s readying himself, and then he thrusts up, lifting clear of the chair, with Reese still on top of him.
He doesn’t get up very far, of course—Reese is almost two hundred pounds of muscle, and strong as they both are, fit as Gabriel is, it’s not something they really do often. But he slides his shorts down enough that he can likely finish sliding them off, before Reese presses down as hard he can, forcing the other swimmer to collapse back into the chair. The chair rocks a bit, its legs squealing on the tiles of the balcony.
Gabriel kicks his shorts away. “You said sexy,” Reese hisses, leaning over him, then capturing his mouth in a kiss.
One of the alpha’s hands trails over his bare ass, teases along his crack.
Gabriel quirks a brow at him. “That wasn’t sexy?” he asks. “I mean, got a lot of power in these hips, know how to work ‘em, I’m gonna pound you, so hard, Pieces–”
Reese grits his teeth. Like, okay, yeah, maybe it was kinda sexy? And he likes the idea of Gabriel pounding him (even though his ass is sore, so sore), but he doesn’t want to let the alpha win.
Gabriel’s hands slide up, under his shirt. Reese lets him roll it up, then finishes stripping it off. He glances around, but there’s still no one in sight.
He leans over Gabriel, grabs the hem of the other swimmer’s shirt with his teeth, tugs it up a bit, then lets his hands slide under. He dips his head, licks at Gabriel’s abs—such nice abs, he should ask if he can slather Gabriel in whipped cream or something, maybe syrup, maybe they can do that tomorrow at breakfast or something. He swirls his tongue in the alpha’s navel, licks his way up his abdomen, his chest. His hands are still ahead of him, helping Gabriel slide the shirt off entirely. The alpha pitches it elsewhere.
Reese clamps his mouth over a nipple, sucking on it, rolling his tongue around it, biting as the flesh rises in his mouth. He nips and licks a little more, glances up at Gabriel, who is flushed and panting, watching him.
He nips again, then offers the abused flesh a kiss, before moving to the other side, lavishing attention on the already turgid flesh; it is cold out, after all. He pinches at the other nipple, rolls it between his fingers.
“Pieces,” Gabriel breathes.
Reese continues his journey up the length of Gabriel’s body, nipping at his collarbones, his throat, then nipping along his jawline. Stubble bites at him; neither of them have shaved in days now and they’re both a little prickly.
Reese nips at Gabriel’s lower lip, then plants a kiss on his mouth, before pulling away.
Gabriel’s hands are on his ass; his grip tightens. Reese likes it, he thinks, likes the way Gabriel’s looking at him, likes playing with his body, seeing how he reacts. It’s kind of fun and he hasn’t paid much attention to the alpha over the last few days at all. He’s been pretty wrapped up in his own needs, and Gabriel’s been more than willing to cater to that.
Like, it’s not that Gabriel hasn’t been getting off, getting something out of this whole arrangement. It’s just that their focus has definitely been on Reese’s wanton, fevered body.
So this is kind of a nice change of pace, and despite the heat building in his belly, Reese kind of likes taking it a little slower, taking his time to explore, to touch and feel Gabriel under him.
A finger probes at him, pressing to his entrance, then slipping inside. Reese leans forward. It’s a bit of an awkward angle; he has to really push into his hips to do it. But he spreads his legs more and gets his cock lined up with Gabriel’s, their heads pressing together, sliding against one another as Reese rocks forward with Gabriel’s ministrations.
“This is nice,” he sighs, rocking himself back onto Gabriel’s probing digits—there’s a second one now.
“Mm,” Gabriel says, spreads his fingers wide. Reese humps him a little harder. It feels good when their cocks are twined, rubbing against each other, but they keep sort of flopping about, missing each other—Gabriel presses up against Reese’s stomach, and Reese prods Gabriel in the pelvis a couple of times before he figures that has got to stop. He reaches down and grabs both of them, squeezes them together, and that keeps them much more aligned, much more consistent.
He pants a little, thrusts harder, faster. Gabriel slides a third finger into him, groans, and Reese feels precum pearling over his hand, warm and sticky—he’s not sure if it’s his or Gabriel’s, but it doesn’t matter. He slides his hand up their shafts, then down again, rocks a rhythm against Gabriel, jacks them both off.
“Yeah,” Gabriel breathes, and his pupils are blown, the usual mocha of his irises almost entirely subsumed by darkness.
Reese pumps a little harder, bursts all over them—his hands, Gabriel’s cock, both of their stomachs.
“Fuck,” Gabriel breathes, and Reese grits his teeth, keeps moving. He tightens his grip on Gabriel, even as he softens.
“C’mon,” he pants, “c’mon, come for me–”
“Yeah, Pieces,” Gabriel breathes, then stills and spills all over Reese.
They stare at each other for a moment. Gabriel grabs Reese’s hand, lifts it to his mouth and licks a long line through the mess splattered across his skin, curling his tongue through it.
“Oh fuck,” Reese groans, “that’s fuckin’ hot.”
Gabriel glances up at him, then drops his gaze, closes his eyes. Reese groans again. He shakes free of the alpha’s grip on him, slides down—Gabriel’s fingers come out of him with an audible pop—and slaps his hands on either side of Gabriel. He laps at the mess they made on the other swimmer, licking it up enthusiastically, shudders at the taste (salty. Maybe chlorine? Fuck, they spend way too much time in pools.).
He licks a path across Gabriel’s abs, tongue tracing the dips and crevices, feels the muscles twitching underneath his caress, likes that he can make Gabriel tremble.
A hand in his hair, tugging insistently. He pauses, glances up at Gabriel, who simply stares at him with those blown eyes, whispers, “You are so hot,” and Reese shivers with delight.
Gabriel pushes him up, back, a hand insistent on his forehead, and Reese sits on his haunches for a second, while Gabriel slides to his knees, gestures for Reese to lie down instead.
Reese slides down onto his stomach, glances over his shoulder at Gabriel, who shakes his head.
“On your back,” he says.
Reese flips over. Gabriel leans over him, fusses for a moment, then manages to drop the bottom portion of the lounge chair. Reese curls his legs toward him as Gabriel scoots in, tucking up close.
“Think you can be quiet?” he asks, and there’s mischief in his eyes.
“Sure,” Reese replies breezily, then bites the inside of his cheek again. If this is going where he thinks it is, this is not gonna be easy.
But if Gabriel wants him to be quiet, then he’ll be quiet.
The alpha nods, then lowers his head between Reese’s legs. He wraps his hand around Reese’s cock, mouths his balls, then licks his way down to Reese’s hole, swirling his tongue there.
Reese clutches at the sides of the chair. Holy shit, this is a bad idea. He’s shuddering and shaking already and Gabriel’s scarcely touched him.
The alpha glances up at him again, then slides his tongue inside, lapping at him. Reese nips the inside of his cheek repeatedly to stop himself from making noise.
Gabriel tightens his grip on Reese’s cock, squeezing harder as he runs his hand up and down along the shaft, and Reese lets his head loll to the side. His eyes want to roll back. He breathes through his nose—calm, controlled exhalations.
He tenses, gasps when Gabriel nips him, then slides a finger into him. Then a second one, and he nips at the inside of Reese’s thighs. He closes his mouth over one of Reese’s balls again, sucks lightly, his tongue flicking against sensitive flesh.
Reese bites his lip hard. He’s gonna break the damn chair, he’s pulling on it that hard; his knuckles are blanched.
Gabriel sucks the other one into his mouth, and Reese’s breath hitches. He exhales through his nose, but it’s short and needy, noisy. He doesn’t know that he can stay quiet very long.
Gabriel twists his wrist and jerks him a little faster. Reese tilts his head back, looks up at the sky above them—pale, wintry blue and scattered with fluffy white clouds, the sun burning overhead.
Gabriel licks a path down his perineum again, flickers his tongue against his entrance. Reese tastes blood, but he can’t help himself. He grunts; he manages to swallow the rest of the noise, but he’s not going to be able to hold back much longer.
It feels so fucking good.
Gabriel slides his tongue inside again, thrusts in and out, and Reese undulates with the motion, rocking back when he thrusts in, pulling away when he draws back.
Fingers below his cock, Gabriel’s palm warm against his balls, and he keens, high-pitched and needy, through his nose, tries to choke it off.
He glances down at Gabriel, but that’s apparently not gonna get him in trouble. He exhales again, hopes he can calm himself.
Pressure below his balls, along his perineum. It’s okay, he guesses, and he’s relaxing, but then Gabriel presses up and there’s something right there, something right underneath his touch.
“Oh,” Reese groans, unable to hold it back.
Gabriel presses again, holds it this time. Reese tosses his head back, groans, “Oh, Gabby, please–”
Finger’s gone, tongue’s gone, hand’s gone, and Gabriel’s standing across the balcony from him. Reese pants a bit, shell-shocked, tries to comprehend what the fuck happened.
He narrows his gaze at Gabriel.
“I told you to be quiet,” Gabriel offers, his voice low and dangerous.
Reese licks blood from his lip. “I can be quiet,” he says.
Gabriel lifts his brows. “Can you?”
Reese nods, closes his eyes. He’s lying through his teeth, but he wants it, needs it—
Gabriel can’t tease him like this. It’ll be the death of him.
Slowly, Gabriel crawls back between his knees. “You make another peep,” he says, “we stop.”
“Got it,” Reese pants, nodding. He worries his lip again.
Gabriel lowers his gaze and plies his tongue again. His hand coils lovingly around Reese’s cock, gives him a tight squeeze. Reese bucks his hips, lets his eyes flutter shut.
The alpha’s tongue slides back into Reese, and Reese exhales through his nose—relief this time. He needs this.
Gabriel doesn’t play with his balls, doesn’t press that spot again. Reese swallows down his cries as best he can as Gabriel licks him, almost expertly now, swirling and biting and nipping.
Then he cups his balls again, and Reese moans.
Gabriel’s off him like a flash, and Reese groans again, this time in disappointment. “Gabby,” he pants.
“I told you,” he says.
Gabriel shrugs. Reese grits his teeth, glares. “I can’t help it,” he says, “you’re too fucking good at it. It feels fantastic.”
Gabriel’s gaze narrows a little.
Reese tips his head to the side, says, “You can’t leave me hanging like this, I need–”
“Who said we weren’t gonna finish?” Gabriel asks. “Get inside. On the sofa. I’m gonna call down for room service, and then I’m gonna finish you off while we wait.”
Gabriel can be such a cocky bastard. Reese isn’t sure why, but he likes it. He gathers up his clothes from the corner where they pitched them, wriggles into his shorts. He heads back inside, the fabric of the shorts rubbing up against him in all the wrong ways. He glowers at Gabriel as he passes him.
He flops down on the sofa, notes how his cock is trying to escape the confines of his shorts already, his tip peering out at him. He kicks the offending clothing off again, grabs himself and jerks, coaxing himself back to full-flag, as though trying to convince his dick that it’s okay to come out, no reason to hide.
Gabriel steps in, closes the slider until there’s only a crack. They still want the fresh air. True to his word, the alpha steps to the phone first, calling down for room service. He stands there, the phone cradled in one hand, the other hand fussing with the waistband of his shorts, like he can’t quite get his junk settled right either.
Serves him right. The douche.
He hangs up and steps over to the sofa, looming over Reese. Reese looks up at him, squeezes himself harder.
“Twenty minutes,” the alpha says.
“Gosh, think you can do it?” Reese asks, letting his upper lip curl in a sneer. “That’s a lot to accomplish in just twenty minutes.”
“With you,” Gabriel replies, “easy as pie.”
“Fuck you,” Reese huffs, and Gabriel retorts, “No, fuck you,” and then he’s up-ended Reese, so that he’s flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, and the alpha’s got his mouth closed over the head of his cock, sucking him, and three fingers in his ass.
“Fuck yes,” Reese groans, and Gabriel swallows reflexively, so Reese bucks up into his mouth. “Yeah—fuck—c’mon, Gabby. Oh.”
Gabriel hollows his cheeks, increases suction, and Reese thrusts up into his mouth frantically, until the alpha slaps both hands to his hips and holds him down.
He whimpers, and Gabriel curls his fingers inside him, meets his gaze, and that’s it, Reese is done. He shakes apart with a cry, and fuck Gabriel and his stupid smirk.
“We have another fifteen minutes,” he says, and Reese wants to punch him.