Author Notes: This starts during the end events of The Scientist (2.08), as such some of the dialogue and actions are directly lifted from there.
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Chapter 1: Future Past
He feels the knives puncture below his left kneecap without so much as a flinch in response. They're thin, fine, jutted in deep enough past dense muscle that he notices them through stifled breathing. Oliver's putting all his attention into just exhaling with cracked ribs that his thigh may as well be suffering from pins and needles.
That Alpha was way too strong.
Also, this mission established nothing, only so far confirming he was just as under-equipped to deal with this growing Mirakuru army as he'd previously thought.
Twitching slightly out of reflex, the skivers in his leg don't seem to impede much deeper, having him doubt their dagger nature. What the hell are they then?
He barely remembers being stabbed by the super solider, let alone the Alpha bringing any other weapons to the fight besides his fists. Not that he'd needed anything else, a couple direct blows and Oliver's mind was reeling just trying to manage all the pain he was in.
And although lightheaded, it was necessary to make sure he wasn't bleeding out from the sudden numbness paralysing him.
Shrapnel could be poking out of him and he wouldn't know any different.
From this angle, he couldn't try a direct glance down to assess his injuries all too well, neck protesting the sudden whiplash damage from the way he'd fallen.
Everything ached.
Without Dig or Felicity, Oliver didn't think he could stand, let alone walk out of this wreckage unaided. One arm trapped useless behind him—possibly pulled out of its socket—, he settled on pulling the easier right one out from underneath its personal rummage pile.
Half a dozen boxes and their contents fell over the place as Oliver pulled the last of his appendage free, bringing it up to rest against his chest. Wincing, he ignored the urge to cradle his bruised sternum, knowing full well he won't remain conscious for much longer to care. There were bigger things he needed to worry about.
Like the discomfort creeping through his veins that was becoming achingly more apparent, something he'd been on the lookout now for days about.
Abrasions and wounds Oliver could discount and he was far more equipped to deal with. Going into heat right now, would be an all new disaster unto itself.
It was possible he could even blame some of his bodily aches on the former, not just feeling like he'd been put through the ringer in his fight just now.
Last time he'd nearly gone four full months on the suppressants without breaking out in any significant symptoms. He'd have to go off the suppressants tonight if he wanted to make the experience even a tiny bit more manageable. These super soldiers had to be stopped, so this time he hoped he could bank on later rather than sooner before his biology betrayed him.
Apparently not, a cramp stabbing him in the abdomen as he attempted to alleviate himself off the floor. He doesn't have much time.
He's not going to be getting out of here alone. Fumbling around in his hood for the tracking transmitter, a small blip goes off. Oliver releases a sigh of relief, allowing himself to flop back downwards limbless.
Knowing the distress beacon would have gone off in the Verdant basement ceases one worry in his mind.
There's spots dancing behind his eyes and he blinks wearily, fingers-crossed the scent neutralizer would dampen the scent of his impending heat while he's out. At least Dig is a trustworthy-enough Alpha to be around, right? Dig was still with the Michaels woman, so nothing to worry about there.
Except neglecting to tell the people in his life one more secret.
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When the sirens go off in the substructure of Verdant, Felicity practically jumps out of her seat.
"What is that?" she asks herself, flittering through a few tabs on her computer before she locates the source.
Oh, Felicity nearly mouths aloud, programming off the alarm before spinning around on her chair. Diggle was there, his dark eyes meeting hers filled only with concern.
"Oliver's in trouble," Dig states matter-of-factly, striding over to the desktop setup.
Felicity shook her head absentmindedly before wheeling back over to the task at hand. She'd quickly deactivated the blaring but the noise had been enough to assault her ears and scatter her brain. "Right," she remarked, pulling up a screen that should give them a location. If Oliver hadn't remained at the bunker, the small GPS in his boot should give them his whereabouts.
Beside her, she feels Dig stiffen; too resisting her own urges to voice her frets. It was only every once in a blue moon that they were coming to Oliver's rescue and not the other way round. Trying her best to put those thoughts aside, Felicity pinpointed the signal. "Got it, still at the shelter downtown," she says, dashing out from underneath the desk to get to her feet.
Already ahead of her, Dig begins to ascend the stairs. Before making her way there too, Felicity snatches up her tablet, in case Oliver tried to make a move. Dig barely says anything, Alpha protective instincts likely kicked into overdrive at knowing Oliver was out there hurt—obviously, unable to return alone. Back with the job Dig started with, it had been his duty to protect Oliver Queen, that was still a given now.
What changed was before John Diggle did that out of assignment, moral obligation, where an Alpha should always take care of the lesser capable Betas and Omegas. Rich boy Beta Oliver had shown to be more than able at defending himself, yet now Dig was protecting a fellow brother in arms, a friend.
They ascended the steps two at a time, only turning back at the top to check that the basement door was secure. None of the club staff were in yet so they were able to hurry through the foyer inconspicuously. Felicity huffed slightly as they scrambled outside and into the small limousine parked there.
Running in heels, this just isn't my day.
"You ready?" Dig asked, casting her a sideward glance as he keyed the ignition. She lets a smile tug at her lips, imploring that it looks genuine, hoping she doesn't look as nervous as she feels. Diggle's sight doesn't leave her though, car starting with a vibrant whir, when Felicity mentally slaps herself, buckling her seatbelt.
"Don't worry," Dig assures her, "he'll be fine."
She wants to believe him, but she knows better.
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It takes them seven minutes, thirty-two seconds to reach the A.R.G.U.S bunker. Not that anyone was counting, Felicity even pleading with Diggle to speed here and there. Reaching the edge of the Glades meant a detour, bypassing several unusable streets, until they reached the blockhouse which looked no worse for wear after an earthquake.
Or, having a super solider rip through it, Felicity mused.
The back roller doors were left distinctly open and Dig breathed a sigh of relief when they drove through undiscovered. They were lucky to be the first, preferably only, ones there.
"Let's go, Felicity," Dig pressed, pulling the safety pin out of his glock.
Felicity dropped her notebook from where she'd been watching Oliver's eerily stagnant signal, again scuffling out of the vehicle in her stilettos.
It's quiet within the fortified building, although they cannot be certain they are alone.
"Oliver!" Dig calls, not sure whether to expect a response, advancing through the dilapidated ledges and ravaged wares.
Behind him, Felicity's shoes clacked nosily on the concrete. She likely wanted to avoid tripping over, yet wanted to lookout for Oliver's safety as much as he did. Managing to keep her balance, Felicity catches up next to him, calling out just as he did.
Arms outstretched with his pistol at the ready, Dig drops them when he hears Felicity shriek. When he wheels around to where her voice came from, he sees the young Beta crouch beside Oliver's limp body. Not good. From the way his body was crooked awkwardly, legs outstretched atop the broken shelves, he could have been…
"Is he alive?" Dig falters, Felicity going over Oliver's injuries.
Oliver hadn't been de-hooded so his identity likely wasn't out; they had that going for them. "Pulse is weak, but it's there," she offered, bringing her hands away from his neck.
Unconscious, but alive, that was better.
Not great though, Dig thought, hovering to the side while Felicity tried to stir their fallen comrade.
"His pupils are dilated," Felicity shouted, "running a fever and he's sweating," she lists off symptoms, bringing her hands away from Oliver's face to wipe them on her jeans.
She goes to pull away, get to her feet when she notices the needles protruding from Oliver's calf. Diggle perks up at Felicity's quiet gasp, taking notice from where he'd been keeping watch.
"What the hell was that?" Dig called, leaving his position of lookout.
Felicity was slowly easing both injections out of Oliver's leg as painlessly as possible.
Oliver doesn't spark, remaining immobile. From unseen wounds or the drug's contents? Diggle doesn't get much of an answer as Felicity only responds, voice frantic, having as little knowledge on the situation as he did.
"I don't know, it's coded," she cried, referring to the needles' indecipherable writing.
Taking the tubes, once containing who knows what, Felicity darted to the computer near the wall, leaving Oliver to Dig.
Its surface was cracked, glass shattered, maybe even from the Vigilante's fight with their thief earlier. "Dammit," she shouted, monitor practically dead, "I can't break into the dispensary files." Diggle's at her side then, though the computer is useless to them.
"I have no idea what he was injected with!" Felicity looks down at the contents in her hand, like hoping it would give them the solution to their problem.
"Poisoned with," she says, watching Dig replace his gun by his hip, fishing his phone out of his pocket.
"What are you doing?" she queries, beeps coming from Dig's cell, and she thinks she has a pretty good idea why.
"Calling 9-1-1," he verified sternly, and Felicity almost snatches the phone out his hand at the notion of it.
"Dig, wait!"
Oliver could be dying, but they couldn't detriment his life, he wouldn't have one either if he went to prison.
"Can't wait," Dig breaths back at her, clearly just as on edge as she was.
His eyes were alive and Felicity knows she's never seen Dig like this before. Worried beyond anything, where a solider was supposed to press on in wake of their lost comrades.
Their team wasn't like that, should never become like that. They joined Oliver to help him, which also meant protecting his secret. No matter how much Felicity might have disagreed with Oliver's crusade in the beginning.
"How are we supposed to explain this? Everyone's going to find out Oliver's the Vigilante!"
Felicity tries to reason, making sure Dig had ceased calling an ambulance. There was no way they could hide this, not this time. Replacing Oliver's clothes and passing his condition off as another motorbike accident could have worked, stupidly enough. Yet, they didn't have time for that now. Felicity was running out of ideas.
"Which won't matter if he's dead," Dig asserted again, possibly sealing Oliver's fate as the mobile rang. She grabbed it off him, dismissing the line before an operator picked up, even as Dig berated her, "that they couldn't save him".
"I know, you're right," Felicity huffed, acknowledging that to Diggle.
"We can't."
He hadn't won the conversation though, yet. They still had one last option.
Turning back to Oliver, Felicity had to hope they could trust the young Beta in mind.
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Oliver remembers the first time he had sex with an Alpha. Like actual sex, Alpha-Omega, the way it was supposed to be. Or so they said, but Oliver had never brought into that to begin with. It wasn't just a drunken haze of sexual debauchery or swollen hickeys like they always used to be with him. Not just an Alpha female that thought he was a Beta either.
No, this had been real; there had been no secrecy there.
He had to admit, it wasn't hard to pass as a Beta; they were more common than any other dynamic and keeping company with them had like scent rubbing off on you. Oliver, as usual, hadn't expected the signs of his heat to appear so fast before he caved into them. Not helping either, Helena's return had reopened wounds he didn't want to admit still existed.
He'd been better than that before the island, managed to brush aside relationship scars like water off a duck's back. Sure, Helena had been great for recreational intercourse, though he'd never let her knot him. Alpha female or not, she'd probably rolled over for her late Omega partner in the past and let him take charge.
She'd done the same for Beta Oliver Queen, they always did, and it made his life a lot easier. Only having to avoid sex during his heats and having a plethora of willing candidates to choose from made his life awfully fulfilling. At least in his teenage years it did, where a good shag the day after would usually settle his body from its accursed cycle.
Touch-starved on an island for several dozen heats definitely changed his way of dealing with them.
The first month afterwards was generous though, suppressants and Beta spray would have him living as a free man again. Three months, four maximum, was his limits and he knew better than to push his limits or expect those barriers to buckle.
Go off the blockers once every season, or rather, when his body forced him to, and then just go back to being a Beta.
Right?
No, it couldn't be that simple.
That's why when Helena had showed up on his doorstep—or rather inside his house, on the sofa—, he was not in the least bit prepared for it. Having her show up again makes his skin crawl, heat bubbling up inside him in the presence of an Unbonded Alpha he'd once been intimate with.
Right now he had Beta Mckenna to worry about being attached to the hip to, not an ex-girlfriend he might feel the unexpected need to Bond to.
It doesn't happen; Helena keeps her hands, for the most part, off him. Oliver was mainly thankful she didn't weed him out as an Omega, scent neutralizer as the Hood and Beta deodorant otherwise managing to keep him covered. Shoving her on a plane off to Europe could have become a lot harder had she has one more secret of his under the belt.
In spite of putting Helena out of the picture again, that evening is where the real problem catches up to him.
He's still going into heat, and fast.
But at that point, he can't really bring himself to care.
Tommy sits with him in the club after Mckenna's broken it off with him. He's apologizing a lot and Oliver can't help but want a hangover to accompany his burning insides. It might soothe his grief, but not the prickle under his skin that's just starting to hammer him now.
Ugh now, really?
"Do you want a drink?" Tommy offers, having the same idea he had. Oliver nods, knowing better but falling prey to his misery anyway.
Tommy's not a Bonded Alpha, he'll understand.
The Alpha leaves his side for the bar, while Oliver's heart and head wrestle with the idea of casual sex with his 'best friend'.
Do it you deserve it, his weary heart would press. What about Laurel, she wouldn't appreciate this, his conscious mentally would press him. He's not her Alpha though, and it's not like Oliver intends to Bond Tommy.
That settles it; he squashes his higher reasoning as Tommy brings back multiple shot glasses and a bottle of Russian Standard.
"Did you have to grab the Russian?" he groaned, only able to get it so far through importing.
Dropping the vodka on the table, Tommy smiles and Oliver wonders at what point will his pheromones overwhelm the Beta spray. It was before going to the hospital he'd reapplied it, so it'd been on for a couple hours.
Not long now.
"Of course I did, I haven't had this one yet and it looks good," Tommy mused, breaking the silence.
Watching him pour shots for both of them, Oliver hopes Tommy can forgive him.
Maybe not for lying about being an Omega, or just lack of telling the truth, but for what he's about to do—or at least try to.
Its aftertaste was harsh, scalding yet still weak enough to drink straight. Tommy coughs lightly, where Oliver has to refrain from laughing, knowing he could no longer stomach alcohol like he used to. It's probably better if he doesn't; getting wasted made for poor sex, ill-coherent movements, let alone if he wanted to be knotted, which is the end goal here. Hiccupping, Tommy grabs the bottle again preparing another round.
This goes on for a while, drowning their sorrows and ill trust with one another in alcohol, until half an hour or so has passed.
This was so low of him to do, but he feels like his heat will kill him, especially because he'll never become used to avoiding sex. Tommy looks up at him eventually, wide-eyed, possibly from the alcohol yet when he looks up at Oliver there's genuine shock there. He avoids pulling back instinctively when Tommy snatches his palm up from the table, pulling it to his nostrils, scenting him at an awkward angle. A smug grin spreads across Oliver's expression.
"Were you ever going to tell me about this?" Tommy demands, frowning, pushing the liquor aside.
His eyes are glassy and he's slurring his words marginally. Tipsy, not drunk.
Oliver inhaled heavily, the air bringing with it his natural pheromones he always seemed to forget the smell of. Musky, with subtle metallic undertones; still distinctly that of an Omega's.
"Well, this is how I've decided to reveal myself," Oliver chuckles, alcohol having gone straight to his head.
Maybe Tommy would see the humour in it?
He reached for the bottle, pouring himself another drink as his friend just glares daggers at him.
"Speechless, are we?" Oliver pried, wanting the quiet to suspend.
Head tipping forward, Oliver knows he's probably beginning to look worse for wear. Stomach contracting sharply, he grumbled softly. His metabolism sure wasn't what it used to be. His body didn't agree with him further poisoning it at the moment either.
Tommy begins to observe him like a wounded animal.
"Are you okay?" Tommy pushes, eyebrows softening and pulling the vodka away from his grasp.
Oliver looks at him offended, responding anyway.
"Y'know, I've had just one heat since being back from the island," he said, acknowledging his dynamic aloud, "And it was hell. Knowing I also could have done something about it just makes it even worse."
Tommy looks at him unblinkingly, Oliver's voice cracking.
So that's what this was about, it would have been funny to Tommy—best friend being an Omega, had it not been such a weird situation… and a serious one.
"But why me? Wouldn't you prefer… y'know a girl?"
Tommy looks at Oliver, usually so strong, vigorous, since he'd come back from the island, and doesn't understand how he's supposed to be an Omega. The idea of it was almost ludicrous yet his scent undeniable.
Appealing, though this was his best friend he was thinking about.
"Tommy, seriously. I need someone who can fuck me. The list of Alpha females I know at this stage is practically non-existent, and there's even fewer people I'd trust to do something like this," Oliver scoffs, shoulders stiffening and beginning to look readily in distress.
Up swiftly, Oliver pulled Tommy with him, hands-on his shoulders.
"What about Laurel?" Tommy stops him, brushing the other's palms off his torso.
Oliver wants to growl at him, bites his tongue. There are few who would dare refuse his advances and he's becoming readily irritated, what he wants just within grasp. Pride marginally hurt, Oliver tries again, with the more open approach.
"Tommy, I know you love her and I wouldn't ask you, unless I didn't think this was going to drive me absolutely insane. You can still hate me that won't bother me, I just need you to bed me and be done with it," Oliver admits, ending with a slight growl.
When was the last time I had sex?
Thinking back, it was early December—ugh, Helena—three months ago, he deserved a medal for that level of restraint. The Alpha quirks an eyebrow back at Oliver, looking like he might be mildly persuaded at this stage.
'Just like old times, no commitments, no worries," Oliver jokes, half-seriously.
"So, like friends with benefits?" Tommy seems to spark up, lust possibly overriding his sense of reason at having a ready Omega before him.
Okay, good, just a little more.
"Yeah, I guess—but I'm really just keen for now. Anything else can wait," he said, resisting the urge to reach out for the Alpha in front of him.
Everything inside of him felt like it was burning with the intensity of the sun, a Vertigo overdose only he wouldn't be getting the release of death from it.
Having heats was so much easier to buckle down on back when he still had his father around. His father who would breathe down his neck if he thought someone knew the truth.
Oliver feels his face flush, Tommy breaking his thought process, and having him realise he's holding the other's hands. Tommy doesn't retract away.
"I still don't know."
Bitting back a snarl, Oliver's almost to the point of grabbing a random Alpha off the streets if Tommy won't help him.
"I have spent every one of my heats alone, and those I didn't weren't spent being rutted," Oliver confessed, prying for the Alpha's sympathises.
It wasn't a total lie, not a whole truth either.
Tommy visibly pales. Maybe he wanted to ask 'why', but refrains from doing so, probably having heard enough of Oliver's secrets for one day.
"Okay," Tommy weakens, smiling glassy-eyed.
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"Right here?"
"Yeah, right here," Oliver confirms, half-stumbling down the steps into the basement, pulling Tommy along behind him.
Turning around, Oliver quickly claims Tommy's mouth unrelentingly. The Alpha smells like leather interiors and warm amber, Tommy's scent—one that he's grown up around his whole life smelling, never seemingly affected by.
Until now when Oliver was wild with heat and need, hauling the other downstairs too eager to wait.
Tommy makes a muffled groan, back slamming into the wall as the Omega pins him there. Oliver silences any notion of noise from him, lips grazing over his own while the Omega's hands settled on his collarbone.
His hands were rough on Tommy's torso, kneading into his skin, yet his lips were soft. Those years without Oliver had been harsh, and it makes the realisation of what's happening now all the more real.
Forget about Laurel.
The warmth of Oliver's mouth sends tingles throughout his body, Tommy pushing back against him, fisting the other's sweater up to bring him impossibly closer. Their heads bump lightly, Tommy opening his eyes momentarily while Oliver claws at his shoulders and neck.
Oliver needs you.
He's barely finding time to breathe, Oliver being invasive and dominant all at once, as he allows deeper passage into his mouth. His knees nearly buckle as Oliver slides his tongue over his own, hands readily moving from Tommy's shoulders to his shirt buttons.
Pulling back swiftly from the kiss, Oliver puts his full attention into undoing the Alpha's shirt. An erection was already beginning to tent at his pants; Oliver couldn't wait much longer, stretching parts of the fabric in his haste to undo it.
"I noticed that," Tommy says out of the blue, shrugging out of his shirt.
Oliver looked at him dumbfounded while in the process of tugging his own shirt off. He's already growing hard too, knowing Oliver will possibly skip all elements of foreplay just so he can be knotted.
"What?" Oliver panted; skin prickling as he brushed out of his clothing.
He shivered, heat intensifying every sensation he had with a burning desire. Discarding his shirt, Oliver waltzed back over to Tommy, still by the wall.
He goes to wrap his arms around Tommy's neck when the Alpha halts him, stopping his advance tenderly. "Your scars," Tommy whispered, looking gingerly downward as if afraid the Omega might bite his head off for it.
Oliver visibly cringes, having forgotten the severity of what his chest looked like. Every scar a visual reminder of the hell he had to endure on the island. A past that wouldn't stay buried.
It was never much of an issue before, partly because he'd avoided that sort of intimacy and when he didn't-or couldn't-the lights were down, his partners couldn't care less. The last person he'd gotten that sort of a reaction from had been Thea, who'd immediately been out for the truth as well.
"Not right now," Oliver pleads, slick beginning to glide down his inner thighs.
Tommy's moved from the wall now, studying the mars and tattoos that littered his body.
Tommy cautiously places a hand on his bicep where a large scar runs its length. Its texture is softer than the hardened muscle there. Oliver meets the Alpha's eyes where he looked back at him solemnly.
"I would never hurt you," Tommy assured.
The Alpha's touch was attentive on his body, easy, and Oliver nods briefly giving him further permission to trace his damaged flesh. Every brush of Tommy's skin against his own sent Oliver's insides wild, natural lubricant dripping out of him. Grabbing Tommy's hand he leads him over to the table, the only one not occupied by his weapons and Hood arsenal.
"I trust you," Oliver whispered, pulling the Alpha's hand to rest over his stomach.
Tommy's growls at him, nudging him backwards onto the cool, stainless steel, with which he willingly complies. Lying back, Oliver writhes slightly, as Tommy makes for his waistband, unzipping them. When Tommy looks up at him again, as if asking permission, he can only nod vigorously in return.
"Stop asking, just go," Oliver bites out, the Alpha now ungraciously tugging his jeans down.
Sure, Tommy was showing a lot more courtesy and restrain than the Alphas Oliver was used to, but he doesn't really care about that right now. He lifts his lower back, allowing Tommy better leverage to pull his denim down, sticky from his body's natural preparation.
Finally kicking his pants off at the heels, Tommy's arms quickly snaked around his back, pulling him into the other's grasp. His shorts were damp, chilled against the rest of his fiery body, though Tommy doesn't seem to mind.
It was a different experience for Oliver, letting someone hold him again, though not an unwelcome one. Exhaling heavily, he tried to let himself relax in his friend's hold, while the Alpha's hands danced over his spine, knowing the other meant him no harm.
His heat might have been scorching every inch of his skin with sensitivity, but that didn't mean he was going to give into those urges easily.
Oliver lets out a whine unexpectedly, the Alpha necking him at the nape as he gripped at the contours of Tommy's back in return.
He ground his teeth to silence himself, Tommy chuckling in response as he nipped softly at Oliver's collarbone. Oliver retorted by grinding his hips up against the Alpha's erection, enticing moans from both of them. Tommy straddles his hips roughly, pushing him back onto the table, steadily rocking beneath them. His teeth grated hard over the tendons in Oliver's neck, having the Omega hook his legs up over the Alpha's back in response.
"You know what you're doing?" Oliver huffed, letting Tommy draw back from him and onto his haunches. Legs still locked around Tommy, the Alpha began to make short work of his belt and pants before Oliver detached from him, letting him toss the fabric aside.
"Yeah, I've done this before," Tommy finally responded.
Oliver leans up on his forearms, body clenching itself in expectation for what it thought was about to happen. Or really, what Tommy better deliver on if he didn't want an arrow in him for leading Oliver on.
In the past, he and Tommy had done their fair share of mucking around, though never with each other. Malcolm had always been displeased with Tommy's taste in Omegas, stating that Rebecca would never have approved of any of them. This eventually led him to pull males into his bed too, where Oliver was careful to do exactly the opposite—being not that.
So it doesn't surprise Oliver when Tommy looks at him, eyes filled with foreign knowledge, before he dragged Oliver's boxers down his length. Easing the jocks down to uncover Oliver's rigid erection. The Omega bucks up beneath him when Tommy ghosts his hands over the other's arousal. Using one hand to attempt to rid the rest of Oliver's boxers, the other lightly stroked over Oliver's length, making him wail with need.
Finally freed of his clothing entirely, Oliver fists his hands up into Tommy's hair, pulling the Alpha down towards his pelvis. Linking his legs around the other's neck, he narrowly avoids kicking Tommy in the head when he goes down on him. Curled up against his stomach, his cock tightened in the moist of Tommy's mouth. Tommy was slow and gentle with him, keeping a constant rhythm that was enough to keep Oliver interested, without driving him crazy with need.
Oliver whined when Tommy stopped attending him, diverting his attention to his now weeping hole. Poking inside him lightly with a finger, Oliver's muscles burned lightly at the unfamiliarity of it all. His biology welcomed it though, relaxing shortly after to allow the Alpha further passage. Biting his lip, the Omega's eyes met Tommy's.
"You going to slick yourself much more for me or not, buddy? Betas produce more lube than you do," Tommy laughed, carefully probing inside Oliver's entrance.
Oliver was supposed to be in heat, and although male, he wasn't being given much lubricant to work with here.
"I guess next time I'm bringing the lube then," Tommy finishes for himself, when Oliver only mewls in response.
"Ah," Oliver groans, as Tommy pushes another digit inside him, "too much testosterone likely."
Tommy brushes over his prostate, making him twitch from the fingers and toes. Pushing around gently, Tommy makes to feel for the Omega's secondary tract—the only sure way he'd trust male Omegas from Betas. Above Oliver's prostate, there's a channel in the flesh that no doubt leads to organs not found in other males.
Chuckling, Tommy's not surprised to find the entry closed, tight beyond anything. At least Oliver was playing it safe, though he wouldn't have been able to Bond with him anyway.
Fluid begins to leak from Oliver's cock, the Alpha increasing his fingering motions in a quick bout of preparation. Oliver knows the average Omega should never need artificial lube; it was usually reserved for Alphas that weren't expected to be on the receiving end of sex. Not having sex for several years on the island had possibly dented the intensity of his heats, and his estrogen levels were probably disgustingly low.
Not that Oliver Queen could ever be considered the nurturing type in the first place.
"Omegas are supposed to have a hard time packing on muscle, and by god you're ripped," Tommy states, and Oliver's not sure whether to take it as a compliment or not.
Tommy removes his fingers from him, Oliver feeling a small sense of loss which quickly fades as the Alpha slips off the table and strips out of his shorts.
Oliver nearly growled, Tommy was hard over him.
"Turn over, it will make this easier for both of us," Tommy advised, winking at him.
Rolling his eyes, Oliver willingly complied, turning over and laying his upper body down flat. Leaving his haunches up in the air, the Omega supported himself by his hands and knees. Flinching, Oliver feels the Alpha lie a hand over his back, rubbing him firmly.
"Relax, I won't hurt you," Tommy assures, moving his hands to Oliver's hips.
Swallowing around the growing lump in his throat, Oliver gives Tommy a nod, glancing back at him. Releasing a yelp, Oliver's happy he's half-lying down when Tommy buries himself up to the hilt inside him. Tommy kneads circles softly into his sides while giving Oliver time to adjust to the no doubt new sensation of being filled by an Alpha. Oliver rocks his hips warily, testing the waters, while Tommy inhales deeply, taking in his pheromones.
Pushing back against the Alpha, Oliver moaned as Tommy drew back from him before sliding in again with added force. The mere motion of it sent sparks shooting through his insides. It helped him disregard the feeling of his knees and elbows scraping against the steel table with every thrust, pain clouded over by his lust-induced state.
On the small of his back, Tommy massages, easing the process for both of them as Tommy picks up speed. Oliver draws in a sharp intake of breath, Tommy hitting his prostate continually, already stimulated from earlier probing.
His cock draws impossibly tighter against his abdomen, Tommy growling in response to his obvious pleasure. Oliver almost manages to fist up his hardened length, but having his hand crooked, upside-down and coordination gone to shit, he can't grasp it without vastly changing his position.
It doesn't matter regardless, sensation still coiling in the pit of his stomach, a taut spring ready to come undone. Tommy howled behind Oliver, still vigorous in his thrusts, as his hips began to lock up, preparing to knot the Omega.
His knot swelled, ready to sate Oliver's heat, as the other contracted beneath him lightly. Oliver cried out in pleasure, clenching around Tommy's cock, as he came in thick, white ropes.
The Omega shuddered, slumping forward when Tommy slowed to accommodate him as much as possible, with his own knot than locking deep inside Oliver. Gracelessly, Tommy slumped forward onto Oliver as much as his body would allow it. Now spent and exhausted, Oliver could feel his muscles unwinding, even with Tommy leaking fluid inside him.
Later on he'd had to clean the table before Dig or Felicity showed up, but at least he knew he wouldn't have to avoid them for days like the plague. Heat now fading from his system, Oliver goes to tilt his head over his shoulder and thank the Alpha, before demanding he get off him. Though Tommy is for the most part collapsed on top of him, his eyes closed and his arms sprawled over the rest of Oliver, energy obviously spent.
Oliver chortles, prepared to wait out Tommy's knot so he can throw him off.
They might have done it again, but they'd never get the chance to.
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"Barry, what's wrong with him? He still isn't improving?"
It's been several minutes since they'd gotten the Warfarin into Oliver's system and Felicity was beginning to worry. Not only was Oliver still unconscious, but his movement had picked up and became jittery. Dig might have been content to take both eyes off Oliver and begin narrowing down an identity on their sedative-thief, but not her—she needed to make sure…
Make sure Oliver was still teetering closer on the edge of life than death.
Barry, who they'd managed to catch—or abduct—from the train station in the nick of time, was seated across from her. Her fellow Beta bites at his nails while contemplating a response.
"It's not the Warfarin, at least, I don't think it is," Barry stutters out, getting up stiffly from his seat.
Pacing the vicinity of their makeshift medical centre setup, he flashes a small torch in Oliver's eyes.
"His pupils are no longer dilated, so the rat poison likely worked. Unless he's got high blood pressure or a peptic ulcer—" Barry stops, Felicity looking at him morbidly, "both of which I highly doubt, he wouldn't be the Arrow if he did. So Warfarin shouldn't cause him to react this way, except maybe the sweating—but that's not life-threatening!"
Barry smiles warmly at her and Felicity knows she could be overreacting, no one else seemed as worked up right now as she was. Dig sparks behind her too though when Oliver groans from the table. Barry goes to step away politely, but isn't quick enough when Oliver seizes up his neck fiercely. Rushing over, Barry hacks in Oliver's grasp before Felicity and Diggle can pry him away.
Oliver groans, flopping back down for a moment before springing onto his feet. He still looks like half a wreck, but that doesn't stop him from turning hostile very quickly. For a moment he sways on his feet, gripping the table for support, and although not hurrying to help him, Felicity has to ask.
"Are you alright, Oliver?"
She's attentive, hoping to pacify him, yet Oliver lashes out at the young Beta again anyway.
"Just fine, Felicity. Though I'd feel better if I could put an arrow in him," Oliver hisses, turning back to face Barry.
Before Tommy died, he'd never been latent in protecting his secret. Why'd he have to go thinking about his late friend again anyway? It was bad enough he'd thought about him during that intense fever dream but…
This situation looked dire enough that he could break that oath again without too much lamenting on it.
God, I feel like shit.
Oliver's skin was overheated and everything still ached from earlier, yet he managed to drown out Felicity and Diggle's white noise, in favour of seething at the young scientist. Barry visibly swallows in front of him, and he should, if he had his bow and quiver on him…
The Beta loosens in front of him though, and Oliver knows all too late, from the expression on his face that he's only received once before.
"Mister Queen—you're an Omega?"
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Author Notes: Before anyone asks, I mentioned Helena never knotting Oliver, no? Is this implying Alpha females have dicks? Yes, if Omega males have ovaries, it seems just as plausible Alpha females have a retractable penis tucked up inside them.