Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In hindsight, Alejandro should have listened to his instincts and gone into the house with Rudy instead of letting him enter alone.

Dragging Rudy out of the burning house, Alejandro swears he can still feel the flames threatening to melt his gear and skin together. The fire alarm echoes in his ears, and the tone Rodolfo used when he reported Hassan’s whereabouts… It was like he didn’t expect himself to make it, and even then, Rudy focused on the mission just as the army and Alejandro expected of him.

Fuck the army. Fuck expectations. Fuck Hassan.

Next to him, Rodolfo stumbles. Since they are far enough from the burning stash house, Alejandro lets them collapse onto the ground. He can smell nothing but gasoline, smoke, and blood, which is why, even though he should check on Rudy’s wounds first, he cups Rudy’s jaw and kisses him, the half-dried blood sticky against his skin, the taste of dust and blood drowning out the cotton and sand of the alpha’s usual scent. But it is there, faint but detectable, which means Rudy is alive.

‘Fuck,’ he says as he comes to his senses. Letting go of the iron grip he has on his own scent, he wills it to surround Rodolfo like a blanket; it won’t be enough to deal with whatever injury he sustained in the fight, but having his mate’s scent in his lungs will calm him down and help with recovery. Patting Rudy down, his brain automatically catalogues the visible damage: nothing but two gashes close to his hairline, but the swelling around them does not put him at ease. From the way Rodolfo can’t straighten his spine, he suspects something under the vest, and that’s along whatever fumes they breathed in - Rudy much more than himself - when they were in the fire. There are also two holes on the shoulder strap of his vest; the lack of bleeding means the vest did its job, but the bruising will be nasty even though he can’t see them yet.

Their gazes meeting, Rodolfo’s hand comes up to his cheek as Alejandro reaches for the push-to-talk. Rodolfo is looking at him with that soft look Alejandro is familiar with through the numerous injuries his mate sustained in their two decades in the army. ‘Watcher, I need a medevac.’

He kisses Rudy’s thumb. It physically hurts to shift his head to get Rodolfo’s hand off him, but he’ll need a full vision to pick out bits and pieces from his first-aid kit. A whine threatens to bubble up his throat and he swallows hard. Rudy is hurt, and he doesn’t need excuses to turn the focus on Alejandro now. He is cleaning one of the gashes on Rodolfo’s forehead when Kate finally replies, and this time, he has to close his eyes, pinch his lips, and let out a shuddering sigh to hide the whine. 

‘Negative, Colonel. The area is swarming with local PD. You’ll have to get to one of the checkpoints for pickup.’

‘I’ll live, Colonel,’ Rudy says in Spanish. His eyes are tender, as they always are when they’re looking at Alejandro. ‘The checkpoint isn’t far. Let’s get there.’

Alejandro hates this. Hates how his mind knows it’s the logical solution. Hates how Rudy is comforting him even though he was the one getting shot at and nearly burnt to his death. Hates how they probably won’t be given the time to recover, to process the experience, before being thrown into whatever mission that will no doubt follow.

‘Roger that. Out,’ he says to the radio. Then, switching back to Spanish, he asks Rodolfo, ‘Can you walk?’

A jerky nod. ‘Yes.’

Mindful of Rodolfo’s bruised shoulder, Alejandro pulls Rudy up and places most of his weight on himself. With the night and the shadows as their cover, they silently stumble towards the border together, as commander and second-in-command, as brothers in arms, and as mates.

Times like this make Alejandro appreciate his omega physiology. Kate told him that Ghost is an alpha and Soap is an omega so that he and Rodolfo won’t go in blind, but barely a second after the car door closes, he can feel the tension between Rodolfo and Ghost. A glance at the rearview mirror tells him that Soap feels the same. As they drive through Las Almas to where the cartel’s hideout is, the choice words Rodolfo throws at Ghost normally would have earned him a firm chastising, but they are barely 12 hours out of a near-death experience; Rudy seems to have stopped after the comment about the mask anyway, so he’ll cut his alpha some slack.

If both he and Soap release a bit of their scents into the air to calm the alphas down, it’s a secret between them. And if Rudy mentions it, he will kick him out of his nest for the night - assuming they have the chance to sleep in his nest in the first place.

It took them the morning and the afternoon, but after a fight involving too many close calls in the form of depleting ammo and too much property destruction for his style, they finally had Hassan in his custody. The fact that they have to let him go after a short interrogation leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but it’s the law, and he knows better than to start a war. By the time they return to the base sans one Quds Force major, it is nearly midnight and exhaustion is settling into Alejandro’s bones. He puts off the debrief in favour of seeing to Soap settling down; considering that the two SAS operatives already know where they’ll sleep, the excuse is flimsy, but thankfully Rodolfo doesn’t call him out on it and only gives him a fist bump, telling him that he’ll be in their shared quarters. Military omegas aren’t exactly rare these days but having them in special forces is still rare, so Alejandro guesses this is why he wants to seek out Soap so much.

‘There,’ he says to Soap after leading the other omega to his temporary quarters. ‘This’ll be your place. Rest, take a shower; you’ll need all the strength you got tomorrow.’

Soap shivers. ‘Urgh, dinna remind me.’ His nose wrinkles in disgust. ‘I’ve been neesing my nose off and I can still smell Hassan on my skin.’

The mention of Hassan makes Alejandro shiver too. As military omegas, they are trained to ignore their instincts and resist or even defy an alpha’s attempt to dominate through their scent, but it doesn’t mean it was pleasant being stuck in a chopper with an enemy alpha hellbent on stinking up the cockpit with his stench plus two other alphas racking up their own scent in response; stepping out of the helo into the cold night air for the interrogation was almost dizzying.

‘You sure you don’t want to come in?’ Soap offers, his hand already on the doorknob. ‘It’s nice meeting another special forces-trained omega. Not a lot o’ us around.’

Alejandro has to smile at the shared sentiment. ‘Believe me, I do,’ he gestures vaguely at the space behind him, ‘but I have an alpha waiting for me in my own quarters. With what happened yesterday, it’s best we spend the night together.’

Soap’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. ‘Rodolfo?’

Alejandro feels his cheeks heat up. ‘Are we that obvious?’ And here he thought they were being discreet for a mated couple.

‘Ye gravitate toward each other,’ Soap says, leaning against the frame of the door. ‘It’s adorable.’

If Alejandro’s face was hot before, it is practically burning by now. ‘Go rest, pendejo,’ he gives Soap’s shoulder a playful smack. ‘We can talk about it tomorrow.’

‘Aye, Colonel,’ Soap replies. With a pat on Alejandro’s shoulder, he disappears behind the door.

His heart lighter than it was before their conversation, Alejandro sets off to return to his quarters and barely manages to shut the door behind him before Rodolfo descends upon him and slams him against it, trapping his wrists next to his head, sliding a leg between his thighs. Instantly he is surrounded by his alpha’s scent, and tension drains out of his body as he exposes his neck - a sign of trust.

‘Took you long enough,’ Rudy murmurs in between nibbling Alejandro’s neck. Goosebumps appear on Alejandro’s skin from the whispers of breath, and when Alejandro sighs, his chest rumbles with a purr. ‘I’ve been waiting to do this for so long.’

‘It’s been a long day,’ Alejandro agrees as he buries his nose into Rudy’s neck and inhales deeply. It’s just him and his mate now, and he doesn’t realise how much he missed it, the intimacy of being alone with his better half. ‘How’s your shoulder?’

Rodolfo growls and one of Alejandro’s wrists is released in favour of snaking a hand into Alejandro’s shirt to touch his skin directly. Alejandro shivers from the touch, his legs going weak from something totally unrelated to exhaustion. ‘Need to get Hassan’s stink off you.’

Alejandro huffs a laugh. Placing a hand on the back of Rudy’s neck, he manages to catch his mate’s attention for long enough to say, ‘Lemme wash off then. It’ll work better when I’m showered.’

‘No,’ Rudy says with surprising firmness. He takes hold of Alejandro’s hands and, to Alejandro’s amusement, starts guiding him to the bathroom. ‘I’ll wash you.’

‘You’re eager to put your hands on me.’

A smile. They don’t bother closing the door after they enter the bathroom, and Rudy starts undressing him. ‘Always.’

Despite Rodolfo’s presence, the shower doesn’t take long. The gentle touches from his alpha make him purr, earning him an answering croon that speaks more than any words can convey. The air smells like a mixture of their scents and the shampoo and body wash they use, putting his mind at ease. He returns the favour when he is clean, and this time, when his hand brushes the gashes on Rodolfo’s head and the massive, purple bruise on Rodolfo’s shoulder, he doesn’t bother hiding his whine. He knows it is stupid to be distressed over wounds like this in their line of work, but dammit, he has kept his instincts in check for so long; let him worry about his mate. And Rudy, bless him, merely kisses him and ramps up his croon, surrounding him with his scent, comforting him.

‘I love you,’ he finally chokes out when he is drying Rudy’s hair. There is so much more he wants to say, so many more emotions swirling in his chest, but he is afraid that he’ll have a breakdown they can’t afford to have once he starts. So three simple words will have to do for now.

Rodolfo takes over the towel to dry Alejandro off. Afterwards, wrapping the piece of cloth around Alejandro’s neck, he pulls him down and kisses him again. ‘I love you too, Alejandro Vargas.’

As they are in the bathroom already, they take the opportunity to complete their nightly rituals, never leaving each other’s space and smiling whenever their bodies brush against each other. Afterwards, Alejandro smiles and hugs his mate for another kiss. They are both too tired to take things further, but the intimacy is nice, and they’ve learnt to cherish slow, quiet moments like this, parting after what seems like an eternity. Alejandro’s gaze wanders to the countertop where their dog tags lay tangled together, and he picks up Rudy’s and puts them on for him, tracing the chain with a finger until it reaches the spot where Rodolfo’s heart is. Rudy does the same to him, except his hands remain on Alejandro’s neck once the tags are in place.

‘Do you want your collar?’ Rodolfo asks.

Alejandro’s heart flutters. ‘Yes.’

Still naked, Rodolfo takes his hands again and guides him to sit down on the edge of their bed that Alejandro calls his nest, separating from him to retrieve a simple leather collar from the drawer of the bedside table. Craning his neck up, Alejandro holds his breath as Rudy puts the collar on and fastens it around his throat. It is loose enough that it won’t press against the pressure points on his neck and render him totally boneless, but the added weight is familiar, and he feels… blank, in a good way, to the point that he doesn’t even realise Rudy has been gone again until a pair of sweatpants lands on his lap. He puts it on and burrows into his nest. Rodolfo, now dressed in a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, moves as if he wants to join him, but a ping from Alejandro’s terminal changes his plans. ‘I’ll check that,’ he says, giving Alejandro’s forehead an apologetic kiss. ‘I’ll be right back.’

Alejandro’s chest rumbles in disgruntlement. But he knows this is their job and the cartel doesn’t care about their domesticity, so he watches with blurry vision as his mate wakes the computer to check what interrupted time that is supposed to be theirs and theirs alone. He wants to stay angry, to stay present to support Rodolfo, but he must be more worn-out than he thought he was, because by the time Rudy slips into the nest, he is already half-asleep. He curls up and nuzzles into Rudy’s neck, breathing in his scent.

‘René just reported back,’ Rodolfo says without being prompted, already knowing that Alejandro would like an update. ‘Hassan’s capture shook the cartel. There’ll be a meeting tomorrow night in one of El Sin Nombre’s Lugartenientes’ mansions. All the important people will be there.’

‘It’s our best shot,’ Alejandro murmurs. He knows he should stay awake for a bit longer, but the scent of his mate combined with their shared body heat and the weight of Rodolfo’s hand on the back of his neck only serves to lull him into slumber. His hands finding their way to Rudy’s hoodie, he starts kneading the soft material, purring.

‘It is, Colonel.’

‘You’re in my nest. Don’t call me colonel.’

‘Yes, my love.’ The hand on his neck tightens its grip at just the right points and Alejandro turns into a ragdoll. ‘Now sleep. You need rest.’

Alejandro is out like a light instantly.

Since the mad scramble off the oil rig, everything has felt… wrong. They have Valeria in custody now (and god, he is still reeling from the fact that she is El Sin Nombre), so he tasked Rodolfo with retrieving René’s team for a nice rest after so long undercover gathering intel, while he himself go with Shadow Company, Ghost, and Soap to the oil rig where one of the missiles are. (If his instincts are already going haywire at that point and sending Rudy away is mostly a precaution, no one will know.) The fight was batshit and dodging falling cargo containers while being shot at by terrorists was definitely an unforgettable experience, one that he hopes he will never go through again, and by the time they are tumbling their way back towards Las Almas still soaked in seawater, he thinks he has had enough of the ocean for quite a while. He doesn’t like how Graves insisted on going first, doesn’t like how his car isn’t the first in the formation, doesn’t like how he and Ghost and Soap were almost herded into separate vehicles. He knows it makes sense tactically; as commanding officers, putting them in separate trucks reduces the chance of the chain of command being rendered non-existent with a single well-placed mine or RPG, but it also means he is the only omega in a vehicle filled with unfamiliar alphas and betas, so although they are all concealing their scents, the ride back isn’t exactly pleasant for him. Thank god for special forces training.

When Graves announces that he is going to take over his base, Alejandro can practically hear his instincts screaming ‘I told you so, idiot!’

It’s a stupid mistake, really, lunging at Graves when they are outnumbered and outgunned. The back of his head hits the truck behind him more gently than he expected, but the momentary stun is enough for a Shadow to zip-tie his wrists together. Someone tries to scruff him but his collar prevents them from putting actual pressure on his neck. He tries to choke the same Shadow who put the zip-tie on, but then a sharp pain turns his world into nothingness.

When he comes to, he is lying on a cold, damp floor dirty with rust and god knows what else. The room is windowless, the only illumination being a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. Rolling onto his back, he cranes his neck to see that the door is similarly devoid of any openings. They took his gear, that much is certain, but when he subconsciously reaches under his jacket for where his collar should be, he discovers that they took it too, which means Shadow must know he is an omega now, which means he slept through other people touching him, which means -

He fights the nausea threatening to make him lose control. At least they left his dog tags alone, but to have the only comfort item taken away and be separated from his alpha for the first time in years in the form of being in captivity… Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he forces himself to be logical, to ignore his instincts screaming at him to seek out the closest alpha for help, and catalogues the reality around him: the room; the half-dried clothes on his body, still smelling of the salt of the ocean from the mission on the oil rig; the lack of unfamiliar scents, which indicates that no one has occupied the room for a long time apart from himself, the latter which is a huge relief because it means the Shadows didn’t do… things to him. He tries to stand up and his head pounds in protest; whether it is from the hit he took from the rifle or his instinct betraying him, he doesn’t want to know. Regardless, using the wall as support, he ignores the darkness taking over his vision and pulls himself to his feet. While he recovers from the dizzy spell, he pounds on the metal door with his fist, mixing frustration with a genuine attempt to gauge what is outside. ‘Let me out, arsehole!’ he growls, the low vibration in his own throat hurting his head. The cut where the rifle hit him throbs and he touches it gingerly, relieved that his fingers return clean. He strains his ears to listen for movement, but there is nothing at all.

Somehow, that feels worse than knowing that something bad is about to happen.

Cupping the back of his neck, he squeezes it in a pale imitation of his collar or, hell, Rodolfo’s touch. Thinking of his alpha proves to be a big mistake as a whine tears out of his throat without warning, and his free hand flies to cover his mouth and nose, muffling the whines (he refuses to call them sobs) that he can’t stop for the first time in years. By the time he can breathe without falling onto his instinct to attract the nearest alpha, he can discern three unusual things happening to his body.

One, the headache is definitely not a result of the bump on his head.

Two, he is running a light fever.

Three, there is a dull cramp in his abdomen.

For the last observation, he could have blamed it on not having eaten much for the day and sailing through choppy waters, but the location isn’t right for a hunger- or seasickness-induced stomachache. He wants the headache to be a result of stress. The fever could have been a result of him dressing in drenched clothes for the better part of the last two days - a simple cold. But with all three combined, Alejandro knows it most likely means one thing.

Pre-heat.

With the suppressant he is on, he shouldn’t even be able to go into heat unless there’s another drug interfering with its functions, or when he is extremely stressed and his body decides that the only way to re-cement his bond with his alpha is with a heat. Considering that it’s been what, three days? since Rudy nearly died in the fire, the theory is sound. And if his muddy memories are accurate, he will have at most one day before the heat fully kicks in - a day that may never come because he would have been executed by then. Even if he is alive, he will still need to take back his base. He doesn’t have time for a fucking heat, and the only supply of neutral shots he has is in the base.

He is so fucked, and not in the literal way.

With newfound knowledge on his body’s changes, he decides to keep an even tighter control on his scent for now; no need to give his enemies more arsenal in case they end this silent treatment. In the silence of his cell, the only things he can hear are the buzz of electricity through the wires connected to the light bulb, his own heartbeat, and his own breaths. There is a security camera at the corner, the red light indicating that it is functional. Otherwise, he is alone. He doesn’t even bother trying to breach the door; he knows its make and model, and nothing short of a high-power explosive can breach it. Certainly not with his cold, fleshy, pre-heat body.

He hopes Rodolfo is still out there somewhere, and so are René and his team. He hopes his cowboys - wherever they are, though most likely they’re being held in the same prison as he does - are alive and are taking care of each other. Ghost and Soap attacked the Shadows right after Alejandro did his fool-headed manoeuvre; he hopes they are alive, too. There is no way to tell the current time, but for a while, he allows himself to hope that rescue is on its way. He would have done the same if the situation had been reversed.

He doesn’t want to think of the alternative.

He has been pacing in his cell rubbing his neck for god knows how long when the door opens inwards. Not wanting any Shadows to get the jump on him, he grabs the guy’s vest and slams him against the wall, his right fist raised just to see -

‘Soap!’

Familiar scents blanket him and force him to relax despite his training. A gentle hand circles his right wrist and the same person places their other hand on his chest, and he hears his mother tongue in a voice he knows from the bottom of his heart.

‘Rudy!’ he can’t help but grin at the sight of his mate. God, he misses him so much. Then he catches the figure hovering behind the frame of the door. ‘Ghost!’

Soap extends his hand and Alejandro gladly clasps it. ‘Didn’t think we’d leave you, did ya?’

‘What took you so long, pendejos?’ Alejandro closes his eyes and gently knocks his forehead against Soap’s, seeking comfort in a fellow omega. He feels Soap lean into the touch and inhales to scent him.

‘Place is crawling with Shadows,’ Ghost’s low voice brings him back to the task at hand. ‘There’ll be hell ahead.’

He pulls away from Soap and accepts a rifle from Rudy, but not before Rudy manages to drag him into a quick kiss.

‘Let’s fight fire with fire.’

By the time Alejandro feels like he can breathe again, the day has already broken.

He miraculously only lost two people. Once they are back at the ranch, it is a flurry of tending to the wounded and getting their stomachs filled with whatever rations they can put their hands on. He notices how his cowboys are sleeping on the hay in piles when there are perfectly clean bunks for everyone; normally he would scold them lightly and force them to get some rest in a proper bed, but after what happened last night with most of them having been ambushed in their sleep, he understands perfectly the desire to be in someone’s company instead of alone in a bunk. God knows he himself wants to burrow into a nest and block out the world for a day and a night. They come up to him in small groups, asking if he is alright. He always says, yes, I am alright, worry about yourself first, and they will huddle even closer so that he can scent them, and they will retreat to their pile, letting the next group come forward. 

René and his men check in through the radio at 0800, having spent the whole night trying to evacuate whoever they can from the city and are now settling down the ones who can’t go far. He already heard about the bloodshed from Soap on their way back from the prison, but to have numbers backing it up, to see the usual flirtatiousness gone from his third-in-command’s face from exhaustion, to see the list of supplies they need in order to keep everyone alive… It will take years for Las Almas to recover, if at all. Those people trusted him to deal with the cartel, the corruption, and he failed them and made them pay with their very lives.

‘I know you kept an eye on the gringo from the very beginning,’ René says as he runs his hand through his hair. He normally gels it, but now they fall onto his forehead in chaotic strands. ‘You did what you could. Sergeant Major Parra is with you, no?’

Despite the circumstances, Alejandro smiles. ‘Yes.’

‘Then I’m not worried,’ says René, grinning. ‘With you two together? The gringos don’t know what’s coming for them. Take back our base, Colonel; I’ll be taking care of the civilians.’

‘Thank you, Major.’

‘Just doing my job. Major René Velasco out.’

The call ends and Alejandro vacates the seat to let Price have the laptop. The beta gives him an indecipherable glance but he ignores him, instead leaving the back room and searching with pure scent alone for his alpha; for work or for personal reasons, he does not know. Last he heard, he and Rodolfo are practically the same file in the brass’ eyes, have been for years; as far as he knows, they are the only mated couple who share command of the same unit, allowed only due to a mixture of actual, proven result from their past operations, and the fact that no one would dare to separate a couple who have been bonded since they graduated from high school. Sure, they refer to each other by rank on the field and sometimes in private too, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? The line between professionalism and personal feelings has never been clear for them and that’s exactly why they work so well together; with their lover’s life always on the line, of course they will give their hardest to stay alive, to make sure that they go home to each other.

Finding Rodolfo at what the cowboy dubbed ‘the war table’ in the garage, he unleashes his scent right before hugging Rudy from behind. Rodolfo tenses and then relaxes instantly, covering Alejandro’s hands on his stomach with his own. Closing his eyes and burying his nose into the back of his mate’s neck, Alejandro lets himself bask in the scent of his alpha for a while before asking, ‘How’s your head and the shoulder?’ He remembers Rodolfo carrying enough guns for all the cowboys into the prison; it can’t be light, and that’s on top of the bruise from taking a bullet through a vest.

‘They’re fine,’ says Rodolfo, his chest rumbling with a low croon. He shifts in Alejandro’s arms so he loosens his grip, allowing Rudy to turn around to face him. ‘How’s your head?’ he asks as he gently touches Alejandro’s head with the pads of his fingers. ‘Soap told me you got hit with a rifle.’

This should be the part where he informs his mate about the suspected pre-heat, the headache, the low cramp in his abdomen, the elevated temperature. As his mate, Rodolfo expects him to be completely honest about himself. As his commanding officer, however…

‘My head is fine,’ he answers. Not exactly a lie. He takes a glance at the mess on the war table to indicate that he is talking about it, and then, ‘Is this urgent? Any updates?’

Rodolfo frowns. ‘No. Graves went after the combatants first. The rest of the staff fled through the tunnels. They’ve rendezvoused with René and are taking care of the evacuees. I told them to take René’s orders and not come back until we let them know it’s safe to.’

Alejandro sighs. If anything, that’s a silver lining - someone manages to get out unscathed. ‘I’ll kill Graves the next time I see him,’ he swears. Then he comes to himself. ‘I need to steal you away for a moment.’

‘Oh?’

He leads Rodolfo across the living area into their bedroom and closes the door behind him. As if they share the same mind, he and Rudy instantly descend upon each other, their kisses rough, their teeth clanking. Experienced hands divest them first of their gear, then at their clothes, and Alejandro’s pre-heat- and scent-clouded mind registers a hint of amusement when once more he gets pushed into the en-suite bathroom. ‘And here I thought we’re doing something else,’ he says.

Rodolfo huffs in amusement. ‘We haven’t slept for a whole day.’ He turns the water on and holds the showerhead away from them as they wait for it to warm up. ‘We’ll pass out once we lie down. I need to confirm something anyway.’

‘Confirm what?’

Rodolfo doesn’t answer him and merely lifts the showerhead over their heads. Knowing that there are 40 people sharing the same water system, they make a quick work of ridding themselves of most of the visible dirt and grime, and the way Rudy’s nostrils flare as they rinse off the soap doesn’t escape Alejandro’s notice. His scent is so thick and heavy in the air that it nearly knocks Alejandro to his feet. By the time they get dressed in fresh sets of combat-ready clothes, Alejandro already knows what Rodolfo is going to talk about.

‘You’re in pre-heat,’ says Rodolfo. It isn’t a question. Alejandro sits heavily on the edge of the bed and then nods. Instantly Rudy’s hands are on him, his fingers rubbing into the mating bite on Alejandro’s neck with Alejandro’s face buried in the fabric of his hoodie. ‘Since when?’

The sheer relief of having the tension in his body forcefully drained out of him, even just for a few seconds, nearly makes Alejandro sob. ‘Since I woke up in the cell.’

Rodolfo’s scent turns sour with anger. ‘If those arseholes touched you -’

‘They left me alone,’ Alejandro cuts his alpha off before he can work himself into a rage. They’re the leaders of Los Vaqueros, an elite unit of the Fuerzas Especiales; he has already let himself loose when Valeria entered the scene, and they can’t afford to lose their minds to emotions, now more than ever. The hand on the back of his neck tightens and he groans.

‘But how?’ Rodolfo asks. ‘You’re on suppressants.’

Alejandro cranes his neck upward such that he is peering at Rodolfo’s eyes through his lashes. He just notices the light dusting of stubble on Rudy’s jaw; he must have been too busy to find time to shave. He looks good in it, and Alejandro nearly says it out loud before he reels his mind back to the original topic. ‘Nearly losing you and being betrayed will do that.’ At that, Rodolfo cups his jaw, sits down next to him, and kisses him, his eyes soft and affectionate. ‘It won’t be the first time I have a stress heat.’

He meant for it to be reassuring, but from the way Rudy shakes his head, it probably doesn’t work. ‘It’s the first one we have without the means to deal with it. We don’t have any neutral shots here.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Alejandro says. ‘We just need to take back our base by today.’

‘What if we can’t? What if your heat hits early?’

Alejandro gives up on controlling his scent. Rudy’s inhale is so sharp that it cuts through the air. ‘That’s why you’re my second-in-command. Tell René to rendezvous here, and you two lead Los Vaqueros and take back our home.’

Rodolfo frowns. His grip tightens even more on the back of Alejandro’s neck, liquifying his body and making him topple over and fall onto his lap. ‘And leave you here? Alone?’

The pressure on Alejandro’s neck lessens and he feels like he can speak again, but he doesn’t bother sitting up from where he is. ‘I won’t be defenceless,’ he whispers, already dreading the prospect of spending his heat alone no matter how short it will be. ‘We’ve got more than enough gear for everyone. My heat won’t wait, but neither does Las Almas. Graves is…’ his nose burns. ‘Graves is slaughtering our people as we speak. He spent the whole night sweeping through the streets we grew up in and painting the ground with civilian blood; René is good, but it’ll only be time before Graves finds the survivors. We need him gone as soon as we can. Price is trying to contact General Shepard as we speak; what we’ll do depends on the general’s explanation.’ He sits up, not missing the growl from his alpha, and then takes his hands, bringing his pulse to his lips. ‘If - and I don’t think I will - I need to spend my heat alone, I’ll feel better knowing that you’re out there protecting the city we love.’

The corner of Rodolfo’s lips wobble. He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but in the end he closes it and nods. Pulling his hands out of Alejandro’s clasp, one grips Alejandro’s thigh tightly while the other smoothes up his stomach, his heart, his shoulder, and finally settles on the side of his neck, his fingers splayed wide to frame Alejandro’s jaw and ear. ‘If that happens, I’ll fight like hell to come back to you. I promise.’

Alejandro feels a lump in his throat. Dammit, he is supposed to be the intense one. He tries to hide whatever the fuck he is feeling with a grin, but from the thumb wiping a tear away from the corner of his eye, it isn’t working at all. ‘You better.’ He kisses Rodolfo and blinks the remaining tears away as he pulls back. ‘Come on, let’s see if Price has made any progress.’

There are already a few cowboys milling about in full gear when they emerge from the bedroom. They make sure to check on each and every one of them, knowing that the body armour and helmet won’t protect them from whatever inner demons causing them to forgo sleep in favour of standing guard for a safehouse. The scent of coffee is in the air so they go to the kitchen for some, and he is pleasantly surprised that Gaz is behind the distribution. Alejandro scents the air; alpha.

‘Oh, Colonel, there you are,’ the SAS operative perks up and puts down the rifle he is cleaning. Alejandro tries to approach the coffee maker but Gaz beats him to it. ‘I’ll handle it. I slept enough on my way here.’ 

He pours the coffee into two mugs and leaves them at the centre of the table, and it is Rudy who reaches out to grab the mugs and gives one to Alejandro. Thanking the sergeant for the coffee, they exit the kitchen sipping on the sludge. Alejandro wishes he has the time to add sugar and then pushes the thought away; sugar craving is yet another pre-heat symptom shared by many omegas, and he doesn’t need to remind himself of the situation at hand.

‘Alejandro! Rodolfo!’

Soap materialises from the door leading to one of the bathrooms. He looks pale and there are dark bags under his eyes, but his smile is bright, and his posture is relaxed. As he approaches, Alejandro can smell the scent of gunpowder and charred wood that seems to cling to the other omega wherever he goes. It must be his scent.

‘Soap!’ he stops when they are an arm’s length away. ‘Good to see you.’

‘Good to see ya too, Al.’ Soap’s smile brightens. Reaching out with both his hands, his gaze flickers between Alejandro and Rodolfo. ‘Mind if I steal you away for a bit?’

‘What for?’ Rudy asks.

Soap puffs his chest up and meets Rodolfo’s gaze head-on. ‘Omega business.’

Surprisingly, Rodolfo seems to be satisfied with the response. Nuzzling into Alejandro’s chin right in front of the other omega, he inhales deeply and says in Spanish, ‘I’ll be at the war table,’ and disappears into the garage, Soap’s eyes glinting with amusement as they follow Rudy’s vanishing figure.

‘So that’s what having an alpha is like,’ Soap muses. Turning to Alejandro, he takes hold of Alejandro’s hand and starts dragging him towards… somewhere, stopping next to a nook squeezed between a gun cabinet and the wall. Within the nook is a pile of hay on the floor arranged into the shape of a red blood cell, with tactical gear, rifles, and magazines surrounding it in what seems to be a haphazard manner. It is a nest, albeit temporary and made with unconventional materials. The only ‘usual’ piece of material is the piece of black fabric spread out on the side, and it takes all of Alejandro’s willpower to not raise an eyebrow at the un-Soap-like cloth. Soap lies down on one side with his back on the hay and pats the space next to him. ‘Join me, Al. I won’t bite.’

Alejandro does as the sergeant asks and lies on his side facing Soap, the lack of space between them letting him feel the warmth radiating off the other man and smell the scents surrounding them. Apart from Soap and Alejandro’s scents and the smell of hay and gunpowder clinging to every surface of the ranch, there is also a hint of tea and mint and something crisp that reminds Alejandro of cold winter air, but before he can ask Soap about that, the other omega beats him to it.

‘I need you to be honest with me, hermano.’ Soap’s uninjured hand is resting on his stomach so Alejandro takes it. At the contact, Soap turns his head to face Alejandro. ‘Are you in pre-heat?’

The question is asked so softly that the hustle and bustle around the ranch nearly cover it. Which is probably Soap’s purpose, given how much Los Vaqueros worry about Alejandro already; they don’t need to be distracted by the fact that their commander will go into a stress heat within the next day or so. Brushing his thumb against Soap’s knuckles, he answers, ‘Yeah.’

Soap nods. ‘How long do you have before it kicks in?’

Alejandro shrugs as much as he can in his position. ‘Few hours at least.’ He picks up the way Soap’s heart races and his scent shifts, so he releases some calming pheromones, hoping to calm the other omega down. ‘Most likely more.’

‘Have you got any neutral shots?’

‘Back in the base.’

‘Bloody Jesus,’ Soap curses. Suddenly his tone changes. ‘How heavy are you?’

‘What?’

‘Just answer my question.’

Alejandro scours his brain and rattles out the first number he remembers.

‘Oh thank God,’ Soap says, suddenly sitting up and starting to rummage around the gear in his nest. ‘Fuck, where’s my god-damn kit…’

Alejandro pushes himself up by his elbows. ‘Hey, tranquilo, hermano,’ he says, placing a comforting hand on Soap’s back. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘My neutral shots,’ comes the gritted reply. ‘Our weights are similar. We can’t risk you going into heat in enemy territory. You can use mine.’

The proposal stuns Alejandro. On one hand, it is like seeing the light on the other hand of the tunnel; most neutral shots are designed to be effective for 12 hours, and though it doesn’t seem long compared to the entire duration of a heat, half a day can mean him being forced to stay out of the fight versus being able to fight alongside his mate and his men. On the other hand, the shots are a temporary fix, and from experience, they tend to make his heat more intense when they arrive. Which means he probably won’t have the time to clean up after they retake his base - if at all.

‘Got ya, ye bastard,’ says Soap as he plucks a black bag out of the pile. It looks like any standard pouch that soldiers bring onto the field, but when Soap unzips it, it unrolls to reveal packets of filled syringes. Specifically, the type of syringes with pre-loaded springs that are most commonly used for neutral shots so that they can be administered quickly. Showing them to Alejandro, Soap explains, ‘I’ve got enough to last you a week, but I trust you to know you’re not supposed to do that.’

‘How about you?’ Alejandro asks even as he touches the plastic wrapping like it is his lifeline.

‘I’m not the one goin’ into heat in the middle of looking for a missile, hermano.’

‘I -’ Alejandro loses his train of thought pretty quickly. Must be the pre-heat clouding his brain. He sighs like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders and leans forward to press his forehead against Soap’s, cupping the back of his neck in the process. ‘Muchísimas gracias, brother.’

‘Por nada,’ Soap says. Gesturing at one of the syringes, he asks, ‘Need one right now?’

Alejandro ponders his options. Normally he would ask Rudy to administer the shot for him, but that was limited to one or two doses before he was safe to let his heat run its course; with the logistical and administrative nightmare awaiting them once they retake his base, not to mention that, in the case the missile is still in Mexico, they’ll need to go after it, plus the bodies to retrieve and bury… It won’t surprise him if a week is barely enough for him to perform his duties. His body won’t like it and Rodolfo will be pissed that he is metaphorically burning himself to light up his surroundings again; best to do it first, and then crawl back to his alpha and present his neck to beg for forgiveness later.

‘Please.’

Soap’s inhale is sharp as he tears open one of the packages and takes out the syringe. Craning his head to one side to give Soap easy access, Alejandro shivers as the cold swipe of a disinfectant wipe touch his skin, then holds his breath when the cold is replaced by the sharp poke of a needle sinking into flesh and the jolt of the pre-loaded spring being released, unleashing the medication into his body. Soap removes the needle and presses a ball of cotton against the injection site to stop the bleeding. Alejandro’s hand flies up to take the cotton, and he doesn’t realise he is whimpering until Soap is taking his cheeks in his hands and kissing his forehead and shushing him.

‘It’s goin’ to be fine, hermano. We’ll take back your base. We’ll be alright.’

Alejandro grapples at Soap’s shirt and opens his mouth to scent the air through the roof of his mouth. His heart slows down, his body sags, and he lets Soap cradle his skull. His arm comes around Soap’s waist, and even though it should be impossible, he swears he can feel the contents of the neutral short coursing through his body. He is aware that he’s being guided to lie down but doesn’t fight it as exhaustion suddenly overwhelms him. The desire to sleep is strong, but he can’t sleep, not yet, so he feels around for the mug of coffee he put down, finds it, and sips on it. The bitter taste wakes him up, and he opens his eyes and lets his gaze drop to the bandages half-hidden by the sleeve of Soap’s shirt. ‘How’s your arm?’ he asks. ‘I remember you took a bullet.’

A small smile plays on Soap’s lips as he brushes the dressing with his fingers. His cheeks, pale compared to when Alejandro first met him, turns pink. Interesting. ‘It’ll heal.’

Alejandro carefully touches the edge. ‘You dressed it well.’

Soap clears his throat, his face turning even redder, his scent turning sweeter, like honey. Oh, Alejandro does have an idea on who Soap is thinking about even before he speaks. ‘Actually, Ghost dressed it after he stitched it up. Made me take some antibiotics for my swim in the tunnel. Pulled rank to get me to shower.’

Alejandro’s eyebrows fly up. That explains the tea and mint, but the behaviour in general is… ‘Someone likes you.’

Jesus, how red can Soap become? ‘He’s just making sure the men under his command are okay.’

Alejandro takes a sip of his coffee so that he doesn’t make a premature sound. ‘And the shawl?’

‘He wants to dry it,’ Soap says as he reaches out to steal Alejandro’s coffee. Alejandro lets him and doesn’t bother hiding his amused giggle as Soap mutters something too heavily-accented for him to catch. ‘Not that I believe him. It’ll fade anyway,’ says Soap. ‘I doubt Ghost is the bonding type.’

Knowing that Ghost has been watching over the two of them since they settled into the makeshift nest, Alejandro doesn’t bother correcting him. Maybe later he will meddle, but for now, as he wraps his arms around Soap’s waist and rests his head on Soap’s shoulder, he lets himself enjoy the company of another military omega. ‘You never know,’ he whispers, running his hand through Soap’s mohawk. Soap’s hand finds its way into Alejandro’s hair, and they find themselves grooming each other. Alejandro starts purring first and Soap follows not long after; the rumble of their chests, their scents, their touches - they all calm and lull Alejandro into that unique state between slumber and consciousness. Once in a while one of the cowboys - always a beta - will come up to them to report how the boys are doing, but they are otherwise undisturbed. He doesn’t know how long they stayed in Soap’s nest before Ghost’s voice, low and carefully monotone, cuts through the space, the smell of tea and mint and rain and winter announcing his arrival.

‘Johnny, Alejandro.’

Alejandro opens his eyes and straightens his spine. Next to him, Soap does the same, but they keep their hands on each other as they turn towards Ghost, who is standing a whole respectful metre away. Behind him, the beams of light on the ranch’s floor are thin, as if the sun is nearly right above their heads. He can’t read Ghost very well because of the mask, but he swears the Brit’s expression can be described as tender.

‘Price just reached Shepard’s office,’ Ghost says. ‘He’ll be on the line in a few.’

Soap rubs his eyes and reaches for his vest. ‘Right behind you, Lt.’

Alejandro stands up. ‘I’ll gear up.’

He leaves with the bag of neutral shot in hand and pretends to not see how Ghost immediately steps into Soap’s space. Later, when Price announces the formation of Ghost Team, the shock of seeing Ghost’s face almost - just almost - covers up his amusement at seeing Ghost’s shawl wrapped around Soap’s shoulders. It is always nice to see love blossom in the most unlikely situations, and as he and Rodolfo check each other’s gear one last time before they set off, he points it out to his mate; the nest, the shawl, the lack of personal space between the two.

From the way Rudy merely smiles and puts a finger on his own lips with a raised eyebrow, he knows he isn’t the only one who has noticed.

Chapter Text

Alejandro is sad to see Soap and Ghost go but knows his work has just begun.

The fight to retake his base wreaked havoc on the whole facility. Offices are littered with scattered paperwork and bullet shells, the walls are painted with bullet holes and shrapnel scars, and Graves, that bastard, took a fucking tank to their training grounds and damn nearly blew up Soap and his Rudy. Sure, Rodolfo grabbed him and pressed him to the side of the truck for a good, long smooch and scenting right after the helo took off with the SAS operatives because holy fuck Rudy survived bringing a gun to a tank fight and they fucking deserve to celebrate before they jump back into the fray again, but the cleaning up, the paperwork, the healing - that’s the drawn-out part. In private, he pushes neutral shot after neutral shot into his veins whenever he feels the fever coming up again to rid him of his consciousness. He knows Rodolfo knows and doesn’t approve of him poisoning himself like this, but they both know they have their responsibilities: to make sure that their cowboys are OK, to aid the survivors of the massacre, to scour the places they have been to in the past few days for bodies of their own, and bury them or inform their next of kin accordingly. Rodolfo, despite being an alpha, has always been the more cordial between the two of them, and for once Alejandro is glad that he gets stuck with the paperwork while Rodolfo calls number after number informing the other side that their child, sibling, or friend, or partner will not go home alive. There are a few who have no one but Los Vaqueros, and two days after their prison break, they bury them in the fields next to his ranch in a ceremony consisting of no one but their unit. That night is the worst since the one when Graves betrayed them; after the funeral, they don’t bother to retire to the base, and some of the cowboys practically begged for their coronel and sargento primo to sleep in the same puppy pile as them. Even with his pre-heat looming on the horizon, Alejandro doesn’t have the heart to refuse them, and he lies awake for the whole night with his mate at his side, surrounded by the scents of those he calls his brothers and, if they are young enough, children. At first light he tears himself away to make breakfast for everyone; it’s not the carne asada he promised his men, but something simple and warm - it’s all he can manage for now, his skin clammy with cold sweat, his eyes tired and blood-shot, his hands slightly trembling from the effects of too many stims, caffeine, and neutral shots. Now that he isn’t in immediate danger and the neutral shots are doing their job, he has long given up controlling his scent, and if the boys are scenting him, he pretends not to notice.

‘They’re worried about you,’ Rodolfo says when they are back at the base and are now moving on to the relief work.

‘I know,’ Alejandro answers, leaning into Rodolfo’s space. It is second nature by now, the two of them taking comfort in each other’s aura, and he lets himself kiss his mate in broad daylight. ‘A lot still depends on us. I can worry about myself later.’

Rodolfo cups his jaw. ‘What if you don’t have a later?’

Alejandro gives him a sad smile. ‘We’ll cross the bridge when we see it. Come on, Kate should arrive soon with supplies.’

Despite what she declared, El Sin Nombre is still in custody, and without their leader, the cartel has scattered, leaving what remains of Las Almas vulnerable and fending for themselves. Part of the city also flooded in the rain, damaging homes and washing away any evidence of the crimes Shadow Company committed. Alejandro knows Los Vaqueros’ reputation won’t be the same anymore, not after how they failed to protect Las Almas so miserably, but dishing out aid, listening to people vent their grievances, comforting the wounded and distressed - it is something. They see Colonel Vargas, the man who somehow managed to climb the ranks in the military while resisting corruption left and right; when they smell his scent, it is one that belongs to an omega, and almost all will instantly relax and believe that he understands and shares their pain. They will rebuild and learn to live without the cartel looming over them, just as Alejandro and Rodolfo had in their boyhood.

For years he dreamed of a cartel-free Las Almas, and now he isn’t sure if the cost - a through and thorough Pyrrhic victory - is worth it.

The helo carrying much-needed relief supplies arrives at noon on the third day after the final missile was found. As she emerges from the belly of the aircraft, Alejandro tries to school his expression into something neutral and not as devastating as what he knows it has been. Rodolfo being at his side helps, and by the time Kate is standing in front of him, he has a smile on his face. ‘Kate,’ he greets with a nod. He hopes his voice sounds as firm as before.

‘Alejandro, Rodolfo,’ Kate says, nodding at each of them and keeping her distance. Despite being in an open space, he can catch a faint hint of her alpha pheromones, and it is only with special forces training that he resists the urge to sneeze. At this point, his nose will fall off by the end of the week.

‘Thanks for the assist, Kate,’ Alejandro replies as they start walking towards his office, Rodolfo falling into step behind them. The corridor is still riddled with bullet holes, and there is a patch of blood on the floor that refuses to be washed away. He is thinking of keeping them as a reminder of what happened. ‘After the bloodshed, Las Almas needs all the help we can get.’

‘It’s the least we can do after dragging you into this mess,’ Kate says. ‘You look like shit, Alejandro.’

Alejandro barks a laugh. It sounds bitter even to his own ears. It isn’t far from the truth, though; he hasn’t shaved since the day they arrested Valeria, has had no more than 8 hours of sleep since he pulled Rudy from the fire (and no, according to the doctor Rodolfo dragged him to, that nap when he got knocked out doesn’t count), and the neutral shots are probably doing him no favours as well. It is only when he notices the lack of response that he turns around to face the two alphas, and their concerned looks tell him everything he needs to know. He must have forgotten to actually give a reply.

‘Mi amor,’ Rodolfo frowns, placing a hand on Alejandro’s shoulder and crowding into his space, ‘necesitas descansar.’ My love, you need rest.

Alejandro doesn’t like how his scent turns sour from worry. With a shake of his head, he places his hand on Rudy’s. ‘Nothing food and coffee can’t fix.’ It isn’t exactly a lie; he is hungry. He can’t see the look Kate has from this angle, but it doesn’t mean he can’t guess what is on her face from how stormy Rodolfo’s expression becomes. So he releases what is hopefully a soothing cloud of pheromones and adds, ‘I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.’

Rudy brings Alejandro’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles through his gloves. ‘Kate, would you mind waiting for us in the canteen?’

‘Take your time,’ is all Kate says before she leaves them in the corridor and begins her way to the canteen. Puzzled by his mate’s request, Alejandro stares at Rodolfo with an inquiring look. A reassuring smile appears on the alpha’s lips, and Alejandro lets him guide him to their quarters.

‘We need to meet Kate for lunch,’ he says after the door is shut behind them. The sight of his nest makes him want to collapse in it, so to avoid the temptation, he stays at the door. It doesn’t help much, however, because once he scents the air and catches the scent of home, his body immediately deflates.

‘It can wait,’ Rudy says as he rummages around in one of the boxes delivered to the base not long ago. ‘I have something for you.’

Curiosity piqued, Alejandro can’t help but take a step forward. It earns him a raised finger and a shush, and he chuckles nervously and waits at his spot far away from his nest.

A few seconds later, Rodolfo seems to have found what he is looking for. His movements cease, but he doesn’t turn towards Alejandro. ‘Close your eyes, my love.’

‘I’ll fall asleep on my feet,’ says Alejandro. It was meant to be humorous but came out more truthfully than he intended it to be.

‘Maybe that’s the point.’ Rudy has stood to his full height now. He is still shorter than Alejandro by a few centimetres, but it is enough to hide whatever he is holding. ‘Close your eyes. Trust me.’

Alejandro does as he says. ‘You know I do, my heart.’

With his sight gone, he is now acutely aware of Rodolfo’s footsteps as he quietly patters towards him. The scent of his alpha amplifies with each step closing the distance between them, and by the time he can feel his alpha’s body heat, he finds himself holding his breath.

Rudy’s hand finds its way behind his neck. ‘Relax, Colonel.’

An exhale. Suddenly Alejandro is the smaller one again, just as he was for the most part of their childhood; in his mind’s eye, Rodolfo still has quite a few inches on top of him, and he knows it will be jarring to see his mate’s hair at his eye level once he opens his eyes.

‘Chin up. I want to see your neck.’

Alejandro swallows and obeys. A small creak is the only warning he gets before something cool and soft and distinctly not Rodolfo’s gloves touches his neck. The rubbery tips of Rudy’s gloves brush against his pressure points as the alpha fastens the collar and tests its tightness by hooking a finger into the loop, and the familiar weight on his neck, the scent of his alpha surrounding him, the gentle swipe of Rodolfo’s thumb against his mating bite as his hand settles on the back of his neck - Alejandro suddenly can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think. His nose burns, the corners of his lips wobble, and something wet and hot starts pouring out of his eyes and rolling down his cheeks as his chest heaves and ugly, broken sobs get torn out of his throat. Forcing his eyes open, the image of his mate is blurry from tears, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking that Rodolfo is the most beautiful, amazing man in the whole universe. He cups Rudy’s face and smashes them together in a desperate, lingering kiss that tastes like home and tears, their foreheads knocking together even as they pull back to breathe. ‘I love you, I love you,’ is all Alejandro can come up with to press into Rodolfo’s skin, and those three words do not even begin to encompass the supernova of emotions swelling in his chest, threatening to burst and taking him with it. Sensing his inner conflict, Rudy pulls him into his chest for an all-encompassing hug, his chest rumbling in a soothing croon. Alejandro’s fingers twist into the fabric of Rodolfo’s hoodie, and all that can come out of his mouth is Rudy, Rudy, Rudy. Like a mantra. Like his lifeline.

‘Do you want to see what you look like?’ asks Rodolfo. A nod, and Rodolfo’s hands first rise to Alejandro’s face to wipe away his tears, then drop onto Alejandro’s belt to lead him to the bathroom such that Alejandro is standing facing the mirror. Rudy settles into the space behind him, his arms coming around Alejandro’s waist. ‘Look at you,’ he whispers in Alejandro’s ear as the omega continues staring at the thick, black collar resting around his neck. A kiss on where Alejandro’s mating bite is, and then, ‘All mine. So perfect for me. I can’t ask to be anyone else’s second-in-command and mate.’

‘Stop, my heart,’ Alejandro says without any heat, ‘or my chest will explode.’

‘Then let me hold you, just for a while.’

Alejandro nods, not trusting himself to speak. With one hand touching his mate’s hands on his stomach, he raises his other hand to touch the collar, feeling the skin-warmed leather under his fingertips and the notches indicating that it can be further tightened to dig into his pressure points. Rudy really thought of everything. His heart skips a beat and he winces from a mixture of physical discomfort and what it reminds him of - his responsibilities. Sensing the change in Alejandro’s mood, Rodolfo sighs as Alejandro says, ‘We shouldn’t keep Kate waiting.’

‘She can wait,’ Rudy grumbles but does let go of Alejandro. Turning the omega around, he stands on tiptoes to kiss him again. ‘Tonight, I will tighten that collar against your neck. I guarantee you.’

Alejandro shivers at the thought. Normally he would close his eyes and inhale deeply, but right now, he can’t afford the gesture. ‘I look forward to it, my heart.’

Hand in hand, they emerge from their quarters together smelling of each other.

The meeting with Kate went as well as a meeting about the fate of a whole damn city could go. Sure, Rudy and Soap destroyed Graves’ tank, but until they can get a positive ID of the man, it is better to stay guard in case he or General Shepherd retaliates. Kate will continue sending supplies before the Mexican government and military finally send their own aid to Las Almas, though from past experiences, the aid will never come, so in the end it will all be up to the citizens themselves plus Los Vaqueros. 141 is staying in the US for the time being to try to track down the remaining Shadows and Shepherd, and the news that his new friends will stay close to them comforts him. By the end of the meeting, Alejandro is leaning onto Rodolfo and the air he breathes out is feverish, but still he escorts Kate to the hangar to bid her goodbye in person, trying hard to clamp down his pre-heat scent so that she won’t spend the last few moments of the visit lecturing him. Then he parts ways with Rodolfo to sneak into the toilet to jab himself with a neutral shot, having developed a habit of carrying one with him so that he can deal with the pre-heat as soon as it threatens to rise. The shortening duration between the shots - from the usual 12 hours to around 10 right now - scares him and at the same time smacks some much-needed sense into him, and though he still has five shots left, he knows he needs to make preparations for when he runs out or decides to forgo them and finally let the heat come. He’ll need to ensure that the chain of command is intact when he and Rodolfo are out of commission. The rescue and relief effort will have to go on without their coordination. They’ll need to stock up on food and clean sheets, both of which are in tighter supply than usual because they have donated most of their extras to the people of Las Almas.

Fuck. That’s why he’s on suppressants to begin with.

Even with the heat warded off, there are countless different ways his body reminds him that he should not be on his feet right now. He can feel every stitch, every weave, every little crease on the clothes he is wearing. As members of the special forces, most keep their scents on a tight leash unless the situation calls for its use, but even then Alejandro can smell every single one of his men acutely as if they have all lost control of their scents. His brain is suspended in a body of water and is bobbing up and down to the ripples caused by every single motion, and by god, the ripples won’t fucking stop once they start. His stomach aches from a mixture of constant hunger (yet another symptom of pre-heat) and his usual pre-heat cramps, and he only eats because if he is getting nauseous anyway, he might as well get some fuel into his system first so that he doesn’t pass out in the middle of distributing another box of food. People are looking at him weirdly but he pays them no mind; he can’t afford to be distracted.

It doesn’t surprise him that he is exhausted by the time he returns to the base late at night. He isn’t at his best, he has to admit; worn-out and cold and hungry, it is pure muscle memory that carries him through the base and into their quarters. The fact that he doesn’t mingle with his men should’ve ticked him off that something is wrong, but his brain is too far gone into whatever predicament he is in for rational thoughts. His skin feels tender as if he spent the whole day scrubbing it until it is raw. The plethora of scents stuck to his gear and clothes makes his head swim. A shower is in order. Even the simple act of stripping himself feels like drawing lines of fire on his skin, and as he steps under the spray of the shower, he has to pause to identify where the distressed sounds come from.

He doesn’t recognise his own voice.

Knowing that there is one last routine to do before he can retire properly, he keeps his mouth shut to prevent any more noises from coming out and makes a quick work of showering - as quick as one can when he needs to completely get everyone else’s scent off his body, anyway. He is babbling nonsense to call for an alpha’s help, he knows, but it isn’t like anyone can hear him. Any semblance of self-control is given up as he drags his towel across his body and the fabric burns against his skin, and by the time he is done and is putting on a pair of trousers, his vision is blurry from something other than the constant dizziness. It hurts. He doesn’t want to put on a shirt.

The plastic package of the neutral shot reflects the bathroom lights from its place on the counter, the glare sharp enough to Alejandro’s oversensitive eyes that it hurts to look at. He has handled worse before, so he reaches out and grabs the package and opens it. Or, more accurately, tries to open it, because his hands are shaking so goddamn hard that he can’t even separately grasp the two detached flaps on one of the shorter edges. The frustrated tears leaking out of his eyes do not help with things, and he makes the mistake of wiping his face clean with his hand; all it does is make his skin slick up with saltwater and the task of opening the package even harder. He has half the heart to just throw the thing at the wall and give up, but then he remembers his cowboys; remembers the image of dead civilians in the streets, the corpses bloated and blue because they had been soaking in the rain for days before being discovered in a pile as tall as Alejandro himself, in a dead end of a district that is now empty thanks to the Shadows; entire fields and buildings on fire and bullet-ridden, all because they want to hunt down one man who doesn’t even care.

All the innocent people dead, and what for? What even is he struggling with himself for?

Right. Los Vaqueros. Ever since their capture, they can’t quite sleep properly without him and Rudy making the rounds and assuring them that they are there for them. The dead are gone, but there are things he can do for those who are still alive, and after the ordeal they have been through, tucking them into bed (for the lack of a better description) is the least he can do. And now, thanks to the fucking pre-heat, he can’t even do that, not without just fucking getting this neutral shot out of the package and jabbing it into his neck -

‘Alejandro.’

His alpha’s voice startles him out of his spiral. Sobbing in a mixture of fear and relief, he turns and clutches the neutral shot tight in his fist, the package crinkling in his grip. Rodolfo is standing outside the bathroom, his expression unreadable, and Alejandro is both grateful for and infuriated at the one metre and a half between them. His alpha is right there so why the fuck is he not helping him now? But at the same time, he doubts he can withstand another person’s touch right now; he doesn’t even want to touch his own skin.

‘Rudy,’ he rasps.

‘You need to stop taking them,’ Rodolfo says in his Sergeant Major voice, the one that somehow manages to sound calm and intimidating at the same time and will make even the most disobedient recruits bow to his will. He rarely needs to use it on Alejandro because Alejandro usually listens to him and if not, Alejandro outranks him anyway; it simply doesn’t work on Alejandro - until now. ‘I won’t let you.’

‘I need to,’ Alejandro replies. More tears stream down his face and he can taste the salt on his lips. ‘The cowboys need me. Las Almas needs me.’

Rudy’s face scrunches up in something akin to a frown, an expression that ages him 5 years at once. Alejandro isn’t sure because he can’t see straight now. ‘We have Kate’s supplies. Our men can handle those.’

Alejandro shakes his head, trying to form words with his increasingly foggy mind. ‘On the surface, yes. But you’ve seen how they were in the past week. There’s a reason why they seek us out and don’t seem to want us to go every night when normally they would shoo us away.’

Rodolfo takes a dangerous step forward and his scent becomes more prominent. It takes most of Alejandro’s strength to not drop to his knees. Is Rudy using his pheromones on him? He doesn’t know. It’s probably the same to his pre-heat body anyway. ‘They’ll understand. They’ve all seen you run yourself ragged since Hassan. Since he tried to kill me. They’re worried about you.’

The thought of the fire makes Alejandro’s stomach lurch. Why does Rudy have to bring that up? Regardless, ‘Please, Rudy,’ he begs. He must look pathetic, crying half-dressed in the bathroom with a crinkled pack of neutral shot in his hand. At this point, he won’t be surprised if what he’s saying turns out to be incoherent. ‘I’m… I’m not ready yet. I’m so tired. I need this -’ he extends the ruined neutral shot package and it trembles between them - ‘I need rest. I can’t do it if the pre-heat is claiming me so quickly. This is my second last one, I promise. We can make preparations tomorrow morning so that Las Almas is taken care of while we’re gone. Then I’ll stop. I promise.’

He collapses right afterwards, his brain dissolving and turning into broken jelly at the last word. Rodolfo darts forward and manages to hold him up by his armpits, and the sheer relief of having his alpha touching him is so overwhelming that the tears that have stopped during their brief conversation return in full force. His mate is whispering something in his ear but he catches none of it. One of his arms is placed around Rodolfo’s shoulders, and with one hand holding that arm and the other around his waist, Rodolfo hoists him to his feet and drags him out of the bathroom and lays him into the familiar cocoon of his nest. He then cups his cheeks and kisses him gently. This time, he hears what his alpha is saying.

‘Wait here. I’ll be right back.’

It isn’t like Alejandro has another option so he does as his alpha says. Without the cloud of Rudy’s scent surrounding him, he suddenly feels cold and empty and therefore tries to burrow into his nest, but the task proves to be difficult when his limbs are about as useful as pool noodles and his head has been transformed into pure lead. The sudden onslaught of his alpha’s scent is followed by a dip in the mattress, and he doesn’t resist when Rodolfo pushes his head to one side and exposes the side of his neck. It is followed by a crinkle of plastic, and if he sheds a tear or two when the needle breaks skin - the fabric underneath his face soaks it up. At least he gets a kiss on his cheek after the injection.

‘This is your last one,’ says Rodolfo, pressing on the injection site with a tissue. A bruise has developed there thanks to Alejandro not caring about stopping the bleeding for most of the injections, and the pressure hurts. ‘I’ve already informed René about what to expect. He’ll take command of Los Vaqueros until the end of your heat.’

But Alejandro doesn’t give a fuck about who is in command of his cowboys right now. He can’t, not when what is left of his brain is devoted to clinging onto his alpha, not when his alpha is putting on his collar and tightening it so that the leather is pressing against every single one of the pressure points on his neck and choking every single gram of energy out of him. Suddenly he is sinking into his nest and floating into the sky at the same time, and there is nothing he can do when his alpha flips him over and closes his teeth on his mating bite. This bite is gentle and doesn’t break skin, but the pressure and the action are enough to make Alejandro mewl and be reminded that he is claimed, he is safe.

‘Rest well, my love. You deserve it.’

When Alejandro comes to, it is to his stomach feeling achingly empty and his skin on fire.

Inhaling sharply from the pain, he somehow manages to roll himself onto his back using his putty-like body. His breathes are laboured, his skin is clammy, and even the slightest movement of fabric against his skin causes him to shiver violently, which drags his skin against the sheets, which causes him to shake even more - 

He wants his alpha. He wants this to end.

‘Alejandro!’

At his name, Alejandro forces himself to blink through the haze of his heat and opens his eyes just in time to see a blurry shadow descend upon him. Together with the shadow comes the scent of his alpha, and the next breath he takes becomes a high keen as Rudy cups his cheek. The touch feels like lava.

‘I’m sorry, my love,’ Rodolfo says as he brushes away the strands of sweaty curls that have fallen onto Alejandro’s forehead. Instantly Alejandro feels better, but his breaths are still hot and a fire has started to travel from his spine to the space between his legs. He clutches around nothing and whines at the emptiness. ‘I shouldn’t have gone out. I should’ve been with you. Do you need anything, love? I’m here.’

I want you in me, he thinks as he can’t seem to stop panting. What actually comes out of his mouth is a pained groan, one that hurts his throat and rolls through his head like a bulldozer, and the kiss his alpha gives him - how can something be so soothing but at the same time fuel the fire in his veins?

‘I feel empty,’ is what he manages to say in the end. After that, his throat is gone, lost to the constant rumble of his distressed purr. His stomach cramps so he curls up, laying his hand on it to transfer whatever warmth there is on his hand into his body. It hurts. It burns. Someone brushes his collar and a growl escapes his throat before he realises it is just his alpha, and he whimpers and lets out a shuddering breath when the collar is removed. A fog seems to lift from his head and suddenly he can think again. A firm hand runs through his hair and down his neck, rubbing at his mating bite underneath which his swollen scent glands are.

‘Follow me. Deep breaths,’ his mate tells him as he lies down next to him. Placing one hand above Rudy’s heart, Alejandro feels more than hears Rodolfo’s deep, steady breaths and tries to match his own with it. And despite the scent of his alpha in his lungs and his body heat calming him down, the ache remains, causing him to hide his face in his mate’s neck for comfort. He hates heats.

‘You need to tell me what you want, my love,’ Rodolfo’s hand smooths down his spine and down, down, down until it reaches the waistband of his sweatpants. It slips in, stopping right above his crack. ‘I want to help.’

Alejandro cups the bulge in Rodolfo’s jeans and lets out a quiet chuckle. His other hand goes behind himself to take Rodolfo’s hand on his back and guides it to slide further down, Rudy’s fingers dipping into the slick that has gathered between his legs with a low squelch. Taking the hint, Rodolfo sinks not one but two fingers into Alejandro. At the stretch, he has to bite down on Rodolfo’s shoulder to muffle his moan. As Rudy continues fingering him slowly, Alejandro discovers that although it doesn’t hurt and he feels slightly better, it is far from enough. Once the short-lived relief is over, the emptiness returns tenfold. A whine escapes his throat, needy and breathy and an octave higher than his usual voice. He only hopes Rudy knows what it means because he himself sure as hell doesn’t.

Rudy croons, the vibrations soothing the little anxieties in Alejandro’s heart. ‘Take off your trousers then,’ he tells Alejandro. Alejandro manages to do as he says even with his clumsy limbs, and the action earns him a kiss. ‘Good boy.’

The praise rakes the coals in Alejandro’s body and causes him to get impossibly hotter. Panting heated breaths against the pillow, a firm hand on his shoulder pushes him down until he is lying on his front. As he doesn’t bother to move his legs, they are now folded up and trapped under his torso, making his position one of prostration. His eyes focusing on nothing in particular, he can’t see what Rodolfo is doing from this position, but it isn’t like he has to; Rudy’s hands only leave his body for a few seconds before they are back on him again, his still-slick right hand spreading slick all over Alejandro’s back as it travels from the base of Alejandro’s neck, down his spine, and stays on his arse to spread him out gently together with his left hand. Under any other circumstances Alejandro would be embarrassed by how exposed he is, but with his mind taken over by the heat, all he can think of is that he is still empty, that his alpha is still not breeding him properly. A particularly traitorous part of his mind tells him that it is a sign Rodolfo doesn’t want him and he tries to put it away, but not before he keens and his eyes start to well with tears. Then he feels his alpha looming over him, the warmth of his chest against his back, his scent covering him like a blanket, and he lets his eyelids droop.

‘So beautiful, my love,’ Rudy mouths at Alejandro’s bite mark as the tip of his cock starts to breach the ring of Alejandro’s entrance. Alejandro’s breath hitches from the pressure and Rodolfo shushes him. ‘You’re doing so well. So wet and tight for me. You’ve been so brave.’

Alejandro clutches at the pillow on both sides of his head just to release them almost immediately, kneading it and panting and whining and coaxing his alpha to bottom out in him until he finally does so. He is shaking, he realises. He clenches down slightly and it earns him a small bite on his shoulder, but it also lets him notice how full he is, how every single crease within him seems to have been smoothed out by Rodolfo’s girth. One of his alpha’s hands is rubbing circles on his belly, encouraging him to relax. The last bit of tension stored in his body dissipates as if they aren’t there in the first place, his shoulders sink into the pillow and his chest into the mattress. Above him, Rodolfo croons, the sound combined with his scent radiating calm and pride.

‘May I move now?’

A nod. Once Alejandro is used to Rudy’s size, his brain very helpfully reminds him that he isn’t actually bred yet, and all he wants right now is for his alpha to fill him until he is so full that he can’t walk. Still, he knows -

Rodolfo slowly pulls out of Alejandro’s body and the friction might as well be liquid fire on Alejandro’s innards. If his thoughts were liquid, they have been turned to steam. If he wasn’t already pliant on the mattress, he would have collapsed from his body melting. There is an inhuman sound in his ear and it takes him too long to realise that it comes from himself. Embarrassed, he tries to reign it in by pursing his lips, but then Rodolfo has retreated to the point where only the tip of his cock is in Alejandro and he immediately slams back in and finds Alejandro’s prostate on the first try, and Alejandro screams as he comes for the first time since his heat started. A fresh batch of slick gushes out of his hole, his come painting his thighs and stomach white. As his body spasms and twitches from the intensity of his orgasm, Rodolfo growls, dangerous and low and pleased.

It is the only warning Alejandro gets. By the time he even realises it is a threat, it is too late.

Strong hands grab his hips and pull them back against his alpha’s body. The tip of Rudy’s cock finds his oversensitive prostate once more, drilling and abusing the spot until Alejandro can feel nothing but the pleasure travelling straight up his spine. Every slam, every thrust, every slow slide of his alpha’s cock causes even more slick to pour out of his hole, staining his legs, his mate’s thighs and hips, the sheets, the mattress, whatever material he used to construct his nest; apart from the wet pop whenever Rudy pulls out, there is also the quiet drip of liquid into another body of water, so Alejandro knows he has lost enough slick that it has gathered into a pool in his nest. He is a puddle and his mate seems hellbent on spreading him out thin until he doesn’t know where his body begins and ends, and the lava rolling inside his body only serves to prove that he is achieving his goal. His mate’s scent blankets him, and when he tries to push himself up to kiss him, the hands on his hips release their death grip; Rodolfo’s left hand slams onto the pillow right next to Alejandro’s head but outside Alejandro’s arm, trapping him, and the other grabs his hair and yanks his head backwards. Yelping from the rough treatment, Alejandro only gives his alpha an opening to lick into his mouth in a kiss so sloppy that spit is smeared all over his cheek by the time Rodolfo pulls back. Not once does the alpha slows his hips’ movements, not when he is sucking Alejandro’s soul out of his face, not when he is pulling them up and manipulating their bodies such that his left arm is across Alejandro’s chest and his right hand is forcing Alejandro’s jaw open by hooking his thumb under his chin and pressing his pointer and middle finger on his tongue, not when he licks Alejandro’s saliva off his chin. Through Alejandro’s tear-stained and half-lidded eyes, he can see his mate make a show of swallowing his spit, forcing a collective groan out of both of them. Though he must already have recovered from his first orgasm some time ago, this is when Alejandro truly feels the painful throb of his cock and his channel, the renewed ache tearing another moan out of his throat.

‘There,’ Rodolfo rubs his cheek against Alejandro’s and Alejandro has to close his eyes so that he doesn’t pass out from being overwhelmed, ‘you taste so fucking good. Stuffed and drooling on both ends just for me. I can feel you shaking around me. I make you feel that good, huh?’

A third finger is added into Alejandro’s mouth as Rudy’s thumb presses into the space under Alejandro’s jaw. He obediently closes his mouth and starts to suck on his mate’s fingers as if they are his cock he is tasting, and the thought alone is enough to make him moan around the digits and squeeze around Rodolfo’s cock. Rodolfo chokes and curses.

‘Thought so.’

The rhythm of Rudy’s hips becomes frantic as Alejandro feels the first hint of his knot, the slight catch of inflated flesh against his rim sending sparks up his spine and down his legs, turning them into jelly. Whining from the constant onslaught of pleasure borderlining on pain, Alejandro can feel the flutter of his own heart and how fast his breaths are as he tries to breathe through his nose with three fingers nearly shoved down his throat. A particularly hard thrust lifts his knees up from the mattress and he accidentally bites down on Rodolfo’s finger, and he can taste blood, he can taste his mate on his tongue. Behind him, Rodolfo growls from the pain, and the low sound immediately makes Alejandro feel guilty. He tries to make his alpha feel better by licking the wound, but then the fingers withdraw, leaving him feeling horribly empty. Then he feels a wet hand on the back of his neck pushing him down, leaving him in the same position as when they started. The arm around his chest disappears, the grip on his hip returns, and with one more snarl, Rudy thrusts in one last time hard enough to shove Alejandro upwards, flooding his hole with his seed and his knot swelling into place. The pressure on his inner walls combined with the sharp string of teeth on his mating bite tells Alejandro that he is finally being claimed, being filled, and he shudders apart for the second time underneath his alpha. His mate is still coming and filling him by the time he comes to, and there is nothing he can say or do to stop Rodolfo from grinding the tip of his cock against his prostate and wringing another orgasm out of him, his tongue soft and warm against the sensitive wound of his reopened mating bite. Rudy’s hand travels down to cover Alejandro’s stomach as if to feel his womb catching and swelling, and if Alejandro hadn’t been drunk on endorphins then, the gesture surely would have done so.

Exhausted, his breath evens out, and he passes out to his mate nuzzling his neck and rubbing his belly, their bodies still joined together intimately.

Alejandro wakes up with a pounding headache and a pleasant fire smouldering in his stomach. He hisses from the pain and his head swims in a way that makes him regret moving at all, but at the same time he can smell his alpha, so maybe it isn’t all bad. Nonetheless, he lets out a whine, and the soreness in his throat intensifies. His alpha shifts, a warm, solid wall of muscles moving underneath him, and he tightens his arms and whines again so that he won’t go away. His mate’s chest rumbles in a soft, soothing croon, and Alejandro relaxes but doesn’t let go of him. The rumbling shifts, indicating that Rudy is saying something, but Alejandro catches none of the words. Something hard and cool pokes at his lips and he buried his face in the crook of his alpha’s neck where he smells the strongest, wanting to get away from the thing on his mouth. Rodolfo chuckles and kisses his damp temple.

‘It’s water, my love,’ he hears his mate say. ‘You need to drink. It’ll help.’

At that, Alejandro allows himself to be propped up, leaving the warm cocoon of his nest and causing him to shiver. He clings to the warmth of his alpha as his head is tipped back. The hardness returns, and instead of fighting it, he opens his mouth just a little so that Rodolfo can pour in some water. The joint of his jaw hurts from the motion and his head does not appreciate him moving again so soon, but the cool liquid is a much-needed relief to his throat, and the movement also brings his attention to the weight on his neck and he purrs from both the dissipating pain in his throat and the knowledge that his alpha staked claim to him in his sleep. He should thank his alpha for this, he thinks. As he shifts to sit up better, his hips protest from the strain, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing his alpha, doesn’t stop him from pressing their bodies together, doesn’t stop him from grinding his erection against the plain of his alpha’s stomach. At the taste of his alpha on his tongue, his arse clenches around nothingness, and the emptiness hurts more than the ache in his belly, more than the sting of his reopened mating bite. He wants something in it, and he knows exactly who can fill that void. One of his hands shifts to lightly grip the base of Rodolfo’s half-hard shaft, the organ swelling and hardening to its full mast from the touch. Either that, or their scents intensifying in the small bubble around their bodies, the little moans they both let out that they swallow through their kisses, the exchange of pheromones as they explore each other’s mouth. He is wet again, the trickle of his slick warm and slow down his thighs, but he knows he can be wetter. Shifting his hips lazily against Rodolfo’s using the rhythm the alpha has established, Alejandro steadily moves his hand up and down his alpha’s cock, applying just enough pressure with a gun-calloused hand to coax it into leaking precome. When it does, he gathers a drop on his fingertips and regretfully pulls away from the kiss he is still exchanging with his alpha. Baring his collared neck as a sign of apology, he meets Rodolfo’s dark eyes with his own half-lidded ones, first to make sure that the alpha’s attention is upon him, then to watch his reaction as he raises the fingers holding Rudy’s precome, opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out, and curls it around his fingers to savour the taste. It doesn’t take long for his original plan to crumble, however, as the taste of Rodolfo on his tongue causes him to close his eyes and then his lips around his fingers, plunging his world into darkness so that he can concentrate on his alpha on his tongue. He is aware that he is painfully hard, but right now, as he swallows the drop of precome through his sore throat, all he wants is more.  

So he does the only logical thing.

He opens his eyes into thin slits to see where he should be headed, closes them again, kisses his alpha’s lips, and begins kissing and licking his way down Rudy’s body. Rodolfo tastes good, as always, but there is something that makes him seem different this time, the scents enhanced and the appreciation in his heart twofolding as his mate’s hand finds his hair and gives it a gentle, encouraging tug. He allows himself to stay at Rodolfo’s neck for a while to coat his lungs with the smell of his mate before moving downward, the pads of his fingers serving as the vanguard of his exploration, mapping, from memory, everything in their way - the swell of his muscles, the scars he got from years of fighting at each other’s side; his hardened nipples, the goosebumps on his skin, the faded tattoos marking events both important and silly. He doesn’t have to look to know them all; just like the streets of Las Almas, just like the mountain trails and rivers they used to skip school to explore and play in, all he needs to do is close his eyes, and a perfect image will be formed in his mind’s eye. They are familiar.

They are his home.

It helps that Rodolfo is guiding him, sometimes holding onto his hair, sometimes his collar, sometimes the exposed part of his neck, bringing him closer and closer to the mating bite he, many summers ago, put on the alpha right above the line where the V of his hips begins on his right side. His gums don’t itch so he doesn’t bite down hard, but at the sight of his claim on his alpha, Alejandro nonetheless gives it the attention it deserves, using his teeth and lips to worry at the spot until it is purple with a fresh bruise. He pulls back to admire his handiwork and purrs.

This close to Rodolfo’s groyne, a salty tang laces his scent and Alejandro wants it in his mouth. Giving the bruised mating bite one last nuzzle, he grabs hold of Rudy’s weeping cock and gives it a tug from its base to its tip. Precome gathers in the circle of his hand, and it slides downwards once more to give Alejandro space to guide the tip to the back of his mouth, bringing the precome with the motion. Rudy’s scent explodes on his tongue and he would’ve purred louder if he could, but the fact is that his mouth is occupied, some of Rudy’s seed is escaping his lips, and he hurries to flatten his tongue on the underside of his alpha’s cock and relax his throat so that he can chase it. It is not the most well-prepared manoeuvre and he has to pull back up to breathe and readjust his position not long after, but the brief reprieve allows him to hear the hitch in Rodolfo’s breath, to properly tuck his legs under his thighs, to lick his lips and gather the last bit of precome that have escaped the confines of his mouth. Inhaling deeply, he relaxes his throat properly this time and takes Rodolfo’s cock to the root, letting it stay for a few seconds before pulling up and beginning to bob his head up and down the shaft. Whatever his mouth can’t cover is taken care of by his hand, the combined efforts making Rudy groan, the sound soothing the ache in Alejandro’s belly while intensifying the throb of his cock. From how tense Rodolfo’s muscles are under his hand, he knows the alpha is desperately trying not to thrust into his mouth; as a reward for being careful even when both their minds should be taken over by lust, he moans the next time he sinks down, sending vibrations down the length of Rudy’s cock. In response, Rodolfo’s hips buck up, his hand in his hair tightens its grip, and Alejandro would have smiled from the slight pain if he could. Rodolfo, to his credit, takes the hint and starts shallowly rocking into his mouth whenever Alejandro lowers his head, and the only sounds in the room are Rudy’s unrestrained moans, the gurgle of Alejandro choking on his mate’s cock, the low but constant rumble of Alejandro’s purr. Whenever Alejandro’s pleasure becomes too intense to ignore, his hole will reflexively clench around emptiness, the abundant slick making a small pop as he does so. It doesn’t take long for him to synchronise that with the motion of his head too, and the tension builds and builds until -

‘Fuck!’

Alejandro barely comprehends being yanked off Rodolfo’s cock before he finds himself thrown face-first onto the mattress. The next thing he knows, Rodolfo has sunk into him in one quick, smooth glide, the burn of the sudden stretch finally igniting the fuse and causing Alejandro to orgasm at once. Rudy fucks him through it, his fingertips sliding under his collar pressing against the pressure points on his neck to immobilise him, his other hand gripping Alejandro’s wrist tight enough to bruise as he seems determined to nail Alejandro’s womb and breed him so hard that he will get pregnant even on both suppressants and birth control. Sobbing in a mixture of relief and the now-familiar pleasure-pain of overstimulation, there is nothing Alejandro can do but take whatever his alpha is giving him. Every thrust into his body sends a jolt down his spine as the tip of Rodolfo’s cock rams into his prostate with what seems like his full weight, the brush of his spent cock against the sheets only adding to the cocktail of pleasure he is experiencing. Struggling to stay afloat, he tries to chase away the black spots in his vision by inhaling through both his nose and mouth, but all it does is fill his lungs with his alpha’s scent, further overwhelming his brain which feels more and more like smashed jelly than a functioning organ. He can’t even close his mouth and is drooling all over the pillow underneath his head. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he thinks he can let go like this, to completely lose himself to his mate and give him total control.

‘Don’t you fucking dare pass out on me, Alejandro.’

At his alpha’s order, Alejandro’s eyes snap back open just in time for Rodolfo to pull out and flip him onto his back. He lets out another sob as the pressure is taken off his neck and sensation suddenly rushes back to his limbs, but then Rudy’s cock is brushing against his hole and his hands are fumbling at the buckle of his collar so he freezes anyway, exposing his neck in submission and allowing his mate better access. Rodolfo doesn’t stop rutting into the space between Alejandro’s legs as he struggles with Alejandro’s collar, and Alejandro can hear him snarl:

‘Do you have any idea -’ the end of the collar finally slides out of the detachable loop - ‘what you’re doing to me -’ the leather squeaks as Rudy bends it to slide the pin of the buckle free - ‘sucking my cock like that -’ a snappy jerk of his hand tightens the collar by a notch and the force on Alejandro’s pressure points causes him to choke and his body to deflate like a punctured tire - ‘your hole practically gushing with slick, begging to be filled and bred?’

Alejandro can only keen as Rodolfo grabs his ankles and folds him into three parts. The tip of his cock finally catching onto Alejandro’s rim, Rudy presses in, this time taking his sweet time as if wanting to make sure that Alejandro can feel every single crease within him being smoothed out.

‘Can you hear that?’ Rudy says as he thrusts shallowly into Alejandro, making his entrance squelch. ‘I’m not as strong as you, my love. I can never resist this.’

Nor can I, Alejandro thinks as Rodolfo bottoms out, his body trembling from a combination of exhaustion and the weight on his prostate, but the pressure on his neck means he can barely think, let alone speak a coherent word. He doesn’t resist - he can’t resist - as Rodolfo grips his chin between his thumb and pointer finger and pries his mouth open. With blown, dazed eyes, Alejandro can only watch as Rudy wobbles his lips and then spits into his mouth, the glob of his saliva landing directly on Alejandro’s tongue. It doesn’t taste as strong as Rodolfo’s seed, but nonetheless Alejandro closes his mouth and slowly swallows it, wanting the scent to linger. As another orgasm wrecks through Alejandro, Rudy descends upon him, pressing their lips together, his thumb again peeling his mouth open to allow his tongue to enter. Filled on both ends, Alejandro’s moans are muffled as Rodolfo resumes fucking into him, this time slower but with no less force than before. He is overstimulated, he is surrounded by his mate, and he would have blacked out from his brain having been turned into soup if Rodolfo hadn’t ordered him to stay awake. When Rodolfo breaks the kiss after having finally finished re-exploring every single surface of Alejandro’s mouth, Alejandro’s head lolls to the side from the lack of support, conveniently exposing his neck to his alpha which the latter happily latches upon. A sharp prick under his ear is the only sign he can discern that Rudy has left a mark where no clothing can hide his claim on him.

‘Mine.’

Yours, Alejandro thinks as Rodolfo puts some distance between them and starts thrusting in earnest and dissolves what is left of his brain. All that remains is his alpha and where their bodies are joined together and perhaps his abused throat still managing to vibrate and make noises that seem to encourage Rodolfo to fuck him harder, to gnaw on his body like a starving man at the face of a hearty feast, to pump him full of his seed until he is soft and fat and bursting with their children.

At the swell of his alpha’s knot, the man known as Alejandro Vargas explodes in a kaleidoscope of pleasure and pain, melting completely, utterly with Rodolfo Parra into one inseparable being as told by the legends of old.

Chapter Text

Logically, Alejandro knows his heat has broken. His body, however, has a hard time catching up with the sudden change, which is why he is currently lying on the sofa cocooned by the few items from his nest that narrowly escaped being dirtied during his heat. He is freshly showered, and the collar is tight enough around his neck to prevent him from moving. At his request, Rodolfo had rolled him onto his side so that he is looking at the back of the sofa instead of facing his nest, and the distress threatening to bubble up his throat and out of his lips as he hears Rudy scurrying to carry everything else from his nest into the washer in the bathroom proves that it is the correct preventive measure. If the mere sound of his nest being dismantled for a much-needed washing is enough to make his skin crawl, he dares not imagine what he would have done if he had been able to see his mate disassemble it. Probably defy the pressure on his neck and tackle him anyway, and then turn into an unmovable rock in his nest even though it is soaked in slick and reeks of sex and sweat. God knows he wants to do the latter right now even though he knows moving is impossible. Either that, or at least help his mate move around what must be kilograms of fabric and other things that he added into his nest throughout… he doesn’t know. It’s been a long time since the last time they stripped the nest this bare, that is for sure. Sighing, he sinks into the sofa and curls up under the towel that he is using as a blanket, blocking himself from the outside world.

He doesn’t even realise he has fallen asleep until he is gently shaken awake. The only thing he can smell is himself and a faint trace of warm cotton and hot sand that he has come to identify as Rudy, and the scent alone is the only thing preventing him from punching his own mate in the face through the towel. He doesn’t exit his temporary nest at once, however, and merely shifts and pops his spine to indicate that he is awake. Rodolfo touches his head through the towel, the barrier between their skins making Alejandro whine. It is then that Rudy pulls the towel down to expose Alejandro’s head, revealing that he is sitting on the floor in front of the sofa. At this angle, he looms over Alejandro, but his eyes are soft, their corners crinkling. His hand finds its way into Alejandro’s curls and Alejandro closes his eyes and leans into the touch with a purr - a short-lived one, because what his mate says next gives him pause and forces him to focus.

‘Are you up to see a doctor?’ Rodolfo asks, his lips brushing Alejandro’s forehead in an apologetic kiss.

He loosens Alejandro’s collar so that he can speak. ‘What for?’ Alejandro rasps. His voice doesn’t sound like his own, and the whine blending into the words probably doesn’t help. The thought of having a person who isn’t his alpha by his side makes him ill.

Rodolfo pulls back. Alejandro doesn’t like the frown between his brows so he frowns too, anxiety brewing in his chest from the reaction. ‘How much do you remember about your heat?’

Alejandro can feel his brain heat up from thinking hard. He doesn’t have enough heats in his life to remember a pattern, but for the most recent one, he remembers the pleasure, he remembers being taken care of by Rudy, he remembers Rudy tightening the collar around his neck so that he can have his way with him. The thought of what they did causes him to blush, and he reaches out and pulls Rodolfo close by the back of his neck so that he can nuzzle into his mate’s scent glands. Rodolfo puts his arms around him to hold him even closer, his body radiating heat that Alejandro doesn’t even realise he lacks until then. Then it hit him - the burning, the persistent ache in his belly, the way the days and hours blur together.

How he walked around the base smelling of his pre-heat, how he jabbed neutral shot after neutral shot into his neck, how his head swam for the better part of last week. He hopes it is last week, because otherwise -

‘How long was it?’ he asks, finally realising that he doesn’t know what date it is. ‘My heat.’

Rodolfo clutches him impossibly tighter. ‘A day and a half -’ a pause - ‘plus two days of high fever. It’s around 1600 on the eleventh of November now, my love.’

Alejandro lost three and a half days.

Fever? He wants to ask. One of the reasons a heat is called as such is because of the slight temperature rise in an omega’s body during the event but everyone knows that; to have Rodolfo consider it a fever… ‘How bad was it?’

Rodolfo’s immediate response is to kiss him; not just any kiss, but a lingering, drawn-out one where he captures Alejandro’s lips with his own like there is no tomorrow, and even before he pulls back and speaks with a trembling voice, Alejandro can guess what he is about to say. The fact that he himself doesn’t remember the fever is a clue on its own. ‘Please, my love,’ Rudy whispers with his hands cupping Alejandro’s jaws and his thumbs brushing his cheekbones, ‘don’t make me do it.’

Alejandro doesn’t bother suppressing his unhappy whimper. His mate is sad and is hiding things from him and he does not like it. At the thought of Rodolfo’s pain, his training kicks in, and the whimper turns into a rumbling purr and a steady release of his scent as he sits up - his back aches but he doesn’t care - and slowly draws Rudy’s face to his chest. ‘I’m here.’ A kiss in Rudy’s hair. ‘I’m fine, thanks to you.’

Rodolfo lets out a shuddering sigh. ‘You were burning,’ he murmurs into the fabric of Alejandro’s shirt. ‘You… The pain in your belly was so great that you were emptying whatever I could get down your stomach. You spent more time passed out than awake that I wasn’t even surprised that you don’t remember. So please… see a doctor? We may do it here -’

‘No!’ the rejection comes out much harsher than Alejandro intended and he immediately regrets it. Heart hammering in his chest, he tries to scour out a coherent explanation to make the hurt expression on Rudy’s face go away. ‘I -’ He swallows through the lump in his throat. Tears threaten to fall from his eyes. His nose burns, and his chest rises and falls so rapidly that he feels lightheaded. ‘I’ll see the doctor. Just… not here. Not…’ he trails off, unable to find the words. 

As always, Rodolfo reads his mind. ‘Your office, then?’

His office sounds fine so Alejandro nods, and the smile on Rodolfo’s face is small but relieved. They set off to Alejandro’s office - their shared office, at this point, just like many other things - Alejandro leaning heavily onto Rodolfo and somehow managing to arrive without stumbling once. Rudy lays him on the sofa and throws a thin blanket over him, and he doesn’t even have the strength to protest or thank him. He hopes his eyes are enough to convey the confusing mixture of emotions - but mostly gratefulness - swirling in his heart. As he shifts to get himself comfortable, Rodolfo sits down on the edge of the sofa and places his hand over Alejandro’s heart, the weight familiar and comforting and a much-needed balm to Alejandro’s anxious mind. Red marks line the knuckles of Rudy’s fingers closest to his palm and Alejandro wonders if he was responsible for them, if he will be allowed to kiss them.

‘Do you want me to tighten your collar?’ he asks. ‘They told me they’ll do blood draws to determine if you’re really recovered from everything.’

Alejandro swallows and ponders his options. On one hand, he can still smell more scents than usual, which means his hormones haven’t gone back to their baseline level yet, which means there is a chance that he will lash out during the blood draw and injure himself and whoever they send to do the job; on the other hand, the thought of not having any control over his body when there are strangers in the same room as himself makes his stomach churn. Then again, if memory serves, he wasn’t exactly controlling himself after the whole shitshow with Graves and during the few days when he pushed his body to the limit by delaying the heat with neutral shots - shots that weren’t even fine-tuned to his physiology in the first place as they should have been - so technically speaking, the control thing has been out of the window a long time ago.

He tilts his chin and exposes his neck with a small, ‘Please.’

The delicious pressure is back and he melts into the sofa. As always when he is scruffed, what happens next is a blur, but he is aware of Rudy talking, of another person smelling of nothing touching his arm and rolling his sleeve up, of the sharp prick of a needle; of his own whines as crimson flows from his body into tube after tube, of his mate’s soothing croon, of the fingers carding through his hair, of the steady pressure applied onto the site where the needle went in after it is withdrawn. Then the arm not used to draw blood is squeezed, followed by a beep, a sudden flash of light into his eyes, and then his mouth being peeled open. There is some more talking and he recognises all the voices, but apart from Rodolfo’s, he can’t name them. He feels tired, like his strength was drained out of him through the blood samples the doctors took, and by the time the door clicks shut, he has already closed his eyes to rest. The pressure on his neck loosens and his senses sharpen by the slightest degree. A thumb resting on his lower lip coaxes him to open his mouth, and it is all the warning he gets before a straw slips in between his teeth.

‘Drink,’ Rodolfo orders. ‘All of it.’

He obediently takes a sip and is pleasantly surprised that it is something sweet. A sports drink, maybe? He is even more surprised when he manages to finish it all in one go plus an extra glass of water. Feeling slightly better, he lies back down the moment the straw is pulled away, still foggy with whatever ailment he is affiliated with.

‘Hey,’ he feels Rudy scratch his chin, ‘I need to get you back to your nest before you fall asleep, okay? Stay awake for a bit longer for me.’

Alejandro opens his eyes to see Rodolfo smiling at him with pure adoration. He never knows why an omega like himself can bring out a look like that; knowing Rudy, he’ll probably say, ‘Because it’s you.’ Despite the lack of verbal responses, Rodolfo offers his hand, and Alejandro takes it and is hauled up to a sitting position. And though normally he would feel guilty about practically draping himself on Rudy’s back, the fact is that he can barely walk, and the only thing preventing him from asking to be carried is the possibility that they will bump into another cowboy; sure, Colonel Alejandro Vargas being an omega who will absolutely kick your arse is one of the first things new recruits learn about Los Vaqueros, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an image to maintain, and if someone finds him still smelling like an omega in heat in a public corridor, leaning onto his alpha, where will he be? Logically he knows no one will care considering the amount of papi and papaíto jokes floating around, but his brain isn’t exactly at its most logical right now, so he worries - a lot. When he finally hits the mattress and the tightened collar chokes every single stray thought out of his mind, it is his heart’s turn to ache from anxiety, from worry, from whatever hormonal bullshit his heat brain decides to give him.

A blanket smelling of his mate is tucked under his chin and he is not ashamed at all to admit that he passes out instantly.

Alejandro is put on leave for at least three days.

Granted, it doesn’t mean anything when he can work through his terminal in his quarters, but it still marks three days where he can’t catch up with the people of Las Almas in person, can’t train with his cowboys, can’t keep an eye on the city and people he cares for as much as he wants to. Granted, given that he is still running a light fever and his hormones are still at abnormal levels, he needs the three days to rest and recover or he will risk becoming a liability in the field. It doesn’t mean he has to like it, however, especially given that the leave isn’t granted to Rodolfo, meaning that he will likely spend the next three days mostly alone - a bad thing to tell an omega still hormonal from his heat. Rodolfo, bless him, immediately croons to comfort him before promising that he will take his meals with him, but Alejandro’s fever-addled mind translates it to only a couple of hours in the span of the entire day, and if he cried a little (okay, he outright sobbed into Rudy’s hoodie until he was too tired to do so and had to lie down, but that’s a detail), he knows his mate won’t tell.

The laundry was completed at night when Alejandro was still knocked out from the blood draw, so it isn’t until the morning of the first day of his leave that he gets to rebuild his nest. The materials don’t smell the same anymore, but frequent use means that their scents linger even after a tumble through the washing machine and the dryer, and he has to pause a few times to shake himself awake so that he can complete the nest instead of falling asleep in a half-finished pile of blankets and clothes so worn that they aren’t functional as clothes anymore. But building a nest almost from scratch is a tiring matter; by the time he is done, there is little he can do apart from closing his eyes to take a nap, Rodolfo’s pillow cuddled close to his chest.

He misses his mate.

Oh, Rudy rouses him from slumber so that they can have lunch together in their quarters alright, but it doesn’t make the eventual departure any easier. As they eat, Rodolfo talks about their cowboys and how they’re doing. Alejandro is grateful for the update, but it also makes him realise how much he is missing out when it comes to his duties, and guilt nibbles away at his heart when Rudy goes quieter and quieter with the telltale sign of fatigue. A heat is straining to the alpha too, Alejandro knows. He’ll bet his ranch that his mate was unable to get adequate sleep while he was sick, and right out of it he has to shoulder the responsibilities of two people; to say that it can’t be easy is an understatement.

‘No, you’re not going to get back to duty before the doctors give you the go,’ says Rodolfo suddenly as if reading Alejandro’s mind. ‘I won’t be opposed to you looking over some of your emails, though.’ A small, mysterious smile. ‘They can get quite interesting.’

Alejandro frowns as he nods his affirmative. Making sure to scent his alpha before they say goodbye, he takes his laptop into his nest once he is alone and starts to go through the paperwork that has accumulated when he was unavailable, a task that proves itself difficult not ten minutes in when the screen gets too bright and his eyelids start to droop and he finds himself re-reading the same line five times before giving up, closing the laptop and digging a knuckle into his eye. As Rudy mentioned something about interesting emails, he goes through them and starts from the older messages, skipping the ones that are obviously regular reports and going for the ones which seem to deviate from the routine. Before he realises what he is doing, he has dug out the worn stuffed rabbit Rodolfo gave him back when they were boys and is clutching it to his chest as he scrolls through messages from his men. Some he can tell are meant to be encouraging, promising to finally eradicate the cartel for good once Alejandro is back on duty. Others are rambles that he is pretty sure were written under Rudy’s encouragement, letters chronicling the adventures and mischiefs the different teams are up to and obviously written by multiple people, if the inconsistency in writing style is anything to go by. Someone mentions the ‘sad lack of asada’ despite Alejandro’s promise, and he snorts at himself and makes a mental note to get the grill ready. Not today, given that he is currently reading the emails at 200% zoom and every blink makes keeping his eyes open harder, but maybe later. Probably tomorrow, and if not, the day after. His cowboys deserve it.

One email from Rodolfo catches his eye and sweeps away most of the sleepiness. It contains no body paragraph at all but it doesn’t need to; the title ‘check your private email. the one between us’ is enough to direct Alejandro to log into the email account they created just for each other. The thought of leaving whatever surprise his mate has in store for later as a treat crosses his mind, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to disappoint Rodolfo even more. Without reading the titles - an easy task, given how blurry his vision is - he scrolls to the bottom where the oldest email is and opens it.

Watching you

It breaks my heart and fills it with admiration at the same time watching you work. I can feel your body burning whenever I touch you, and yet you still move on for our men and Las Almas. I don’t know where your strength comes from. All I know is, the way you carry yourself even after what Graves did to us - it’s beautiful. Remember that next time when people give you shit for being a military omega. I saw you handle her expertly so I know you know, but still. Makes it hard to stay professional when we’re on duty. It takes so much for me to not declare that you’re my mate and how amazing you are to the whole world.

The email dates back to the evening of the 4th, the day after Soap and Ghost departed for the US to stop the final missile, and most of Los Vaqueros, including himself and Rodolfo, were busy helping the survivors of Las Almas. Did someone give him grief for being an omega in the military? Alejandro can’t remember. Knowing himself, he probably didn’t even notice it, as his focus would have been on getting supplies into the hands of those who needed them. Feeling giddy from Rudy’s sweet words, he buries his nose into his mate’s pillow and gives himself a few minutes to calm his heart before moving on to the next message. This one dates back to the morning of the 6th; the night before, they held a funeral for the dead Vaqueros without family on his ranch. Alejandro remembers the pile they slept in, the sleeplessness, the breakfast he made. Now that he isn’t drugged on a cocktail of drugs both self-prescribed and otherwise, he also remembers the way he scented all those who asked for it, be it by gravitating towards him or making their inhales audible. He and Rudy stayed awake until everyone was asleep, and kissed and nuzzled into each other’s skin until Rodolfo, too, fell asleep. Tearing himself from the memory, Alejandro focuses on the screen and starts to read.

Thinking of our plans

I know I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again - the way the cowboys move around you makes me think of how good of a father you would be even with a lot of children. It reminds me of the plans we made as teenagers. You wanted a big family. I wanted a big family too. We don’t get to start our family in the way we originally wanted to in the end because you got commissioned and I never stopped enlisting (and I won’t until you decide to retire) and I know it’s a bit too late to ponder about it now as we’re both nearing our 40s, but you are the cowboys’ brother and father at the same time. They worry about you like children for their parents. They asked about your scent but I didn’t answer directly because otherwise you would’ve stopped taking the neutral shots.

I counted because I don’t think you noticed: you were called papi 39 times last night. And that was within my earshot. We love you. Remember that.

Alejandro is now outright hiding his face into Rudy’s pillow as tears flow out from his eyes uncontrollably. A finger hooks into his collar and tugs hard in a pale imitation of being scruffed, which proves to be a big mistake because it only reminds him that Rodolfo isn’t physically here with him, and suddenly an invisible hand is squeezing his heart. A whine turns into a sob and the dam breaks, and he finds himself crying alone in his nest, his throat once more sore from whining for comfort that will not come anytime soon. Deep breaths, deep breaths, he tells himself. You’re a special forces-trained military omega. Control yourself. You aren’t in heat anymore.

He manages to calm down after what seems like too long. By then, a familiar exhaustion has set into his bones, but another familiar thing is working through his exhaustion by picking his battles; among the five emails that are left, he picks the most recent one. It was written at one in the morning on the 11th.

A break

Heartbreak seems to be a common theme recently. Seeing you in pain makes my heart ache. More so when I know you’re suffering because your heart is so big that you want to shoulder every single burden in Las Almas. The way you cried in pain… I’ll do everything within my power to not hear it again. 

Right now you’re asleep at last. You look so peaceful. I think this is it. I hope the dreams don’t find you and you finally get to rest. You deserve it. With that out of the way, I should sleep too.

I love you.

When Alejandro comes back to himself, a draft of a reply is staring at his face. Somehow he manages to type ‘I love you too’ but refrains from hitting the ‘send’ button, giving him time to think of what he wants to say. ‘Thank you for taking care of me,’ for one, except Rodolfo did more than take care of him; he would rather die in a fire than compromise a mission, had planned to rescue him and the cowboys all on his own before Ghost and Soap rendezvoused at the ranch, and somehow, when Alejandro was foolish enough to neglect himself, arranged everything right under his nose so that Las Almas and Los Vaqueros wouldn’t crumble when his heat took them out. He drafts a few sentences but none of them seems to encompass what he feels. There probably isn’t any language on earth that can help him express his feelings, but Rudy took time to write him seven emails during one of the busiest if not the busiest weeks they’ve had; the least he can do is to return the favour. The end product sounds generic to his ears but it will have to do.

Re: A break

I love you too.

Thank you. After all you did for me, and Las Almas, and Los Vaqueros, there is so much I want to say, but every time I typed something, it didn’t seem enough. It never does. I love you so much that I know I’ll spend the rest of my life thanking you for all you did. Wherever you are right now, I long to stand by your side again, be it to watch over and train our cowboys, to walk through fire, or just to be in each other’s space where we belong. I know you were with me throughout my heat and during the days leading up to it, but my mind wasn’t present and… I missed you. I have your pillow and the stuffed toy you gave me decades ago in my lap, but they never compare to you. Considering I could’ve just got dressed and found and told you everything in person, I feel quite silly right now, but the thought of leaving this bubble… not yet. It’s silly, I know, and I know I was opposed to the leave at first, but right now I’m glad you and the doctors stood your ground. If I were out there, I would just be a liability, another mess you need to clean up; I don’t want to be that. I’ll try to rest and get better soon so that we can be together on the field again.

I love you. I miss you. I look forward to seeing you. Thank you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Love you.

With a deep breath, he hits send and then closes his eyes, not even bothering to close the laptop before deflating into his nest. He feels like he poured his heart into the email and still it doesn’t feel adequate, like he is missing something. Maybe the other unread emails will give him an answer, but his eyelids are so heavy that they are practically glued shut.

It is one of those naps where he is asleep and yet is still aware of his body and his surroundings. When he blinks his eyes open, a glance at the clock tells him that only an hour has passed. Feeling oddly refreshed, he resumes going through his emails. The ones from the higher-ups he still ignores because they no doubt want an explanation as to why he let an American PMC commit war crimes on Mexican soil and he is not well enough to open that can of worms, but the ones from his men he does pay attention to, signing whatever that needs to be signed and acknowledging whatever that needs his approval. Knowing that their commander is back at work - if only partially - will also probably be good for morale, though there is no way for him to tell until he actually meets them. He saves Rodolfo’s emails for the last because he knows he won’t be able to concentrate on anything else once he reads them; when he finally gets to them, as expected, he doesn’t stand a chance against the onslaught of love from his mate, and he finds himself vibrating with pent-up energy that seems to have sprung out of nowhere. Flopping into his nest, he curls up under the covers with his arms tight around his drawn-up legs, his emotions such a mess that he doesn’t know if he should laugh, purr, cry, or scream, so he does none of them and remains relatively silent even as the door opens and Rodolfo enters their quarters with their dinner, even as they eat, even as Rudy talks about his day’s work when he waits for Alejandro to finish his meal. Rodolfo of course takes note of how quiet he is and asks about it once, his brows knitted together in concern.

‘My love, are you alright?’

Alejandro takes a sip from his glass of water to buy himself some time. He tries to put on a brave face and releases a cloud of his scent that hopefully smells like gratitude. ‘Just overwhelmed, Rudy.’

‘I see.’ Rodolfo relaxes and takes their now-empty plates. ‘I’ll take these to the kitchen. Will you be alright on your own?’

Alejandro nods. With a small smile, Rodolfo departs and shuts the door behind him, leaving Alejandro alone in their quarters. Their quarters aren’t close to the big kitchen so it’ll be at least a few minutes before Rodolfo is back. A few minutes is enough for a short shower and a shave so that’s exactly what Alejandro does, changing into fresh clothes for good measure. When he exits the bathroom, Rodolfo is still nowhere in sight, so he busies himself by making sure that his nest is immaculate and comfortable for both of them to relax in. The laptop returns to its spot on his desk, blankets are folded up or smoothed out to make space for two people, and he himself sits cross-legged on his side of the nest, fidgeting with the detachable loop of his collar as he awaits his mate’s return. Or should he wait on the sofa so that he can be closer to the door? Wrapping himself in a foetal position, he forces his chest to rumble in a self-soothing purr as he rocks himself back and forth, the lump in his throat refusing to go away no matter how many times he swallows. Lifting his sleeve to his nose makes him realise that he is wearing one of Rodolfo’s hoodies again, the smell of his mate both calming him and causing heat to build up in his lower belly at the same time. It isn’t the unpleasant, all-consuming kind he experienced during his heat; this is calmer, more like a smoulder, and is 100% on himself and utterly unaffected (okay, maybe a little) by external factors. He opens his mouth to scent the room and relaxes from the smell of home.

The door clicks open and enters Rodolfo, his aura one of tranquillity and peace. Their gazes meet across their shared quarters and Alejandro finds himself smiling softly, the love he is feeling somehow managing to make his heart swell and settle down at the same time. The distance between them disappears. The next thing he knows, Rudy’s hand is caressing his hair and toying with his curls. Alejandro leans into the touch and purrs, his eyes slipping shut. The purr turns into a whine when Rodolfo withdraws his hand.

‘I need to shower,’ Rudy explains as he retrieves his towel. ‘Wait for me, okay, my love?’

The fact that Rodolfo only takes a towel into the bathroom and nothing else doesn’t escape Alejandro’s notice. Rudy isn’t the type to wear day-old clothes, making Alejandro wonder what his alpha is up to. He certainly won’t complain if Rudy saunters out naked. At the thought, heat rises to his cheeks, and he covers his face with his hands to hide his blush.

The sound of the bathroom door opening yanks Alejandro back to reality from the fantasies his mind won’t stop conjuring. Towel wrapped snugly around his waist, Rodolfo approaches the nest, and Alejandro feasts on the expanse of skin he can see, drinks in the ripples of strong muscles so often hidden under loose clothing, forgets to breathe because of how fucking gorgeous his mate is with every single scar and tattoo on display. When Rudy gets within an arm’s range, he unfurls himself and shifts to a kneeling position, making grabby hands at him. Rodolfo chuckles and takes the final step forward to bring himself into Alejandro’s waiting arms.

‘Like what you see?’ he asks, pressing his hips forward and oh, he’s half-hard already, the outline of his cock noticeable even through the thick fabric of Alejandro’s hoodie. Before Alejandro can give him an answer, Rodolfo is gripping Alejandro’s hips tight and burying his face into his neck for a deep, audible sniff. ‘There’s no need to answer, my love. I could smell you in the shower -’ one of his hands slides down the waistband of Alejandro’s trousers and slips between his cheeks where, Alejandro finally notices, it is already slick - ‘how wet you are.’ His finger teases at Alejandro’s rim as his teeth close around his neck, and Alejandro’s brain freezes. ‘Was the heat not enough to satisfy you?’

Alejandro shivers as he feels more slick gush out of his hole. His breath hitching, he reaches for the helm of his hoodie just to have his hands batted away, and Rodolfo pulls the hoodie off in one smooth movement and discards it to one side, immediately attacking Alejandro’s exposed collarbone with his teeth and smoothing his hands down his flank. Alejandro gasps from the onslaught of sensations and the burst of Rodolfo’s scent in the air. They collapse into the mattress together with Rudy on top of him, and one of his hands finds its way to the back of Rudy’s head, cradling it. ‘Make love to me,’ he begs as Rodolfo kisses a trail down his chest. Hands inside the waistband of his slacks coax him to lift his hips up, and once his legs are free, he lets them fall wider to give more space to his mate. ‘I want to feel you. All of you. Unclouded by the torture of a heat.’

‘Alejandro,’ Rudy breathes. Shedding the towel around his waist, he climbs up and kisses Alejandro, his tongue teasing but never actually entering his mouth. ‘Of course.’ He nuzzles into Alejandro’s neck and nibbles at the skin with his teeth, sending sparks down Alejandro’s spine, vapourising whatever concise thought he has in mind. ‘You’re sweet.’

‘And I love you,’ slips out of Alejandro’s lips. ‘I want to give you all the attention you deserve.’

Rodolfo makes a sound between a croon and a growl. ‘I want to taste you,’ he says, and that is all the warning Alejandro gets before he lowers his head into the space between his legs and bites his inner thigh hard enough to sting. Alejandro keens and forces himself to breathe through the dull throb as Rudy licks the site clean, and all it does is fill his lungs with his alpha’s scent and turn his brain even foggier. Then, in perfect sync, Rodolfo licks a stripe from the bottom of Alejandro’s cock to the tip while sliding two fingers into him in one go, and Alejandro doesn’t know which one burns more, his mate’s tongue or the stretch of his innards. Both are equally pleasurable and he whimpers. As Rodolfo does the cleverest thing with his tongue and makes Alejandro feel painfully hard, his fingers find their way into him, stretching him out, squelching through wave after wave of warm slick, toying with the spot inside him that never fails to make him sob. As he closes his lips around Alejandro’s erection and sinks down, Rodolfo quickly finds a pace that has Alejandro trapped, timing it such that Alejandro has to choose to either buck his hips up into the warmth of Rudy’s mouth, or fuck downward so that Rudy’s fingers can slide deeper into him, into where he is the hottest and emptiest. His toes and fingers curl up and dig into the sheets, and his chest is rising and falling so quickly that he is feeling lightheaded from something totally unrelated to the arousal he is feeling. The heat in his belly continues to build. It is all he can feel.

‘Rudy,’ he chokes in between sobs. It sounds like a prayer. ‘I’m close.’

The warm wetness around his cock disappears. ‘Then let go, my love,’ he hears Rodolfo say. As if to accentuate his point, he presses the pads of his fingers hard against Alejandro’s prostate, setting his guts on fire. While the build-up was steady, Rudy now seems determined to make Alejandro come undone as fast as possible by swallowing him to the hilt and relentlessly kneading his prostate - and it works. Alejandro sees stars as his mind goes blank and his body pulls taunt and shivers and jerks and trembles. Rodolfo fingers him through his release and only stops when Alejandro’s spasms die down to small tremors, and when he pushes himself onto his knees so that Alejandro can see him, it is to meet Alejandro’s gaze and then raise his slick-soaked hand to lick Alejandro’s release off it. The sight, combined with the moan he lets out as his tongue laps his hand clean, causes heat to coil in Alejandro’s stomach once more even though he just orgasmed. The slick dribbling down his elbow, the bite mark right above the V of his hip, the contours of his figure - Rodolfo looks divine.

He tells him as such.

‘Thank you, my love,’ Rudy chuckles. Leaning down, he wipes the remaining slick off his arm on the closest piece of cloth he can grab and then presses his lips onto Alejandro’s, his tongue immediately invading Alejandro’s still-open mouth. Alejandro moans from both the sudden intrusion and the taste of himself on his tongue and can only take whatever his alpha is giving him; by the time they pull back, both of them have to pant for air, Alejandro has properly melted into the mattress, and Rodolfo’s eyes are so dark that they seem pure black. Within them Alejandro can find lust, adoration, and so many different things that naming them will be a lifetime’s job, and he smiles and reaches up and cups Rodolfo’s cheek.

‘I mean it, Rudy.’

Rodolfo’s smile is almost shy, one that he presses to the corner of Alejandro’s lips as a kiss. His hands guide Alejandro to cross his ankles behind his back and Alejandro’s breath hitches from the implications. At the first hint of the tip of Rodolfo’s erection against his entrance, he relaxes, the fingering and previous orgasm leaving him loose and wet enough that his mate can slide home in one go. Rudy groans and bites at Alejandro’s collar. The pressure within Alejandro brings back the slight tremors that have just subsided and he wraps his arms around Rodolfo’s neck, hanging on for dear life, shivering and whimpering from oversensitivity. A whine bubbles out from his throat and Rodolfo finally moves, dragging his cock out torturously slowly until only the tip remains before pushing in equally as slowly. Alejandro sighs from the friction and Rodolfo takes it as a sign to move forward with this rhythm. Gone are the frantic, primal urges the heat brought out from both of them. In the place of feral growls are soft groans and gentle sighs; touches are no longer bruising and are instead meant to soothe, to worship, to trace familiar outlines of tattoos and scars and stretch marks from memory; the roll of their bodies is fluid, calculated to bring pleasure to both of them instead of blindly chasing one’s own. Alejandro doesn’t get hard again but he doesn’t need to; all that matters is that they are holding each other, and he can actually experience Rodolfo’s every moan, every twitch of his muscle, every inch of his cock as he hammers deeper and deeper into him. He whimpers and sighs and whines, shivering when the first hint of Rodolfo’s knot teases his rim. Rodolfo must have felt it too, his scent intensifying, his hips shuddering.

‘That’s it, Rudy, that’s it,’ Alejandro whispers in Rudy’s ear. His legs tighten around Rodolfo’s waist to encourage him to stay inside him. ‘I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.’

And that is it for Rodolfo. A particularly hard thrust causes his knot to swell to its fullest, lodging into place and pressing against Alejandro’s walls so deliciously that Alejandro nearly passes out. But no, after adjusting to the stretch, all that is left is the revelation that they are connected, that they are together. Rodolfo collapses onto him and Alejandro holds him tight, cradling the back of his head, pressing kisses into his temple, his chest rumbling in a soothing purr, waiting for Rodolfo to come back to himself. It is obvious when it happens. Propping himself up, Rudy looks like a wreck as he presses a desperate, possessive kiss onto Alejandro’s lips, and then another, and then another, growing calmer and calmer until the kisses become soft and tender and they are both wearing dopey smiles. Then Rodolfo laughs.

‘We need to shower again,’ he says, ‘and do another load of laundry.’

Alejandro agrees. Their bodies are sticky with sweat, and now that they are not consumed by emotions, the sheets under his arse are starting to get unpleasantly damp from his slick. ‘Later.’ He shifts his hips and feels the tug of Rudy’s knot. ‘Not going anywhere right now.’

He receives a bite on his chest as a result of his sass. ‘Not my fault you’re irresistible.’

Alejandro merely nudges Rodolfo closer to his body with his heel. Hand in Rudy’s hair, he brings his lips to his mate’s for yet another round of kisses, feeling like he is the most fortunate man in the world.

To add the cherry on top of the cake, 141 is back the next day.

Having spent the morning doing the laundry as promised and preparing all the ingredients he will need for the asada, Alejandro is resting in his nest when the door of his quarters burst open and Soap barrels in. The only stumble the other omega suffers from is taking off his shoes by the door, pausing right at the edge of Alejandro’s nest with a frankly impressive pout on his face. 

‘Alejandro.’

‘Soap.’

Alejandro can tell that Soap is trying his best to control his scent so he smiles and pats the spot next to him to invite him in. Instantly Soap collapses into the mattress and wraps his arms around Alejandro’s shoulders, his nose buried into Alejandro’s - thankfully collared - neck. ‘I told you not to push yourself too hard, hermano,’ he mutters. Another deep inhale, and then, ‘You even smell different.’

That gives Alejandro pause. Soap pulls back to give him space and he raises his wrist to his nose, taking a sniff at his own scent. It just smells like himself, although - ‘Not having to hold it in for two-thirds helped a lot, brother.’ He hugs Soap again. ‘You’re back.’

Soap promptly launches into an explanation as to why the 141 aren’t at home on the other side of the Atlantic. Something about Shepherd having disappeared and how the cartel is their best lead for now, and Alejandro wishes the reunion happened under better circumstances. Still, he is glad that his new friends and allies are here; Soap is already relaxing in the presence of another omega and it is… nice, to have another person with a similar experience at his side, exchanging tales, comparing their methods to basically manipulate a battlefield using their scents and cues. Refreshing, almost.

‘So, Alejandro,’ Soap says when he is finally done recounting his adventures during his time in America. Alejandro decides to save the comment about how frequently Ghost pops up for later. ‘Rudy told me you’ll be on leave until tomorrow. Have you got any plans?’

‘Have you?’

Soap shakes his head. ‘Not until we sort out the logistics and where we can help. And I think your stress heat scared Captain Price so much that he’s going easy on me.’

Plans. He’ll have to go through a lot of them later. There’s a cartel to eradicate, a city to rebuild, leads to follow, and his instincts - now that he is allowed to embrace it, if only for a short while - tell him that it is not going to end anytime soon. But for now, without any duties to attend to, there is another thing that he has delayed for too long.

‘Let me show you how to make carne asada our way, then.’ He knows it is unlikely for Soap to say no, but still he adds, ‘We have a grill. Actual charcoal. A fire.’

Soap’s eyes light up.

‘What are we waiting for?’

With renewed vigour, they roll away from the warmth of the nest to light up a fire.