Part 1: Flamma fumo est proxima (Where there's smoke, there's fire)

A/N: Lots of Omegaverse smuttiness in this one, folks. Also underage (teenaged) sex. It was originally going to be a lot longer, thus the "Rome never fell" worldbuilding, but I realized I will just sit on it forever so I decided to make it a two parter instead. Both parts are already written so there will be no waiting on this one. Enjoy!

Londinium, 1886

She's helping her father when she sees him, the Alpha she's positive is destined to be her mate. She's fifteen and he's maybe a few years older but what difference does it make when her blood burns for him? She's had one Heat and she can tell she's about to have her second one, right here, right now, and all because of him.

He scents her presence before he sees her; she watches avidly as his nose quivers and his eyes dart about the cluttered room, seeking her out in the semi-darkness. They are surrounded by the trappings of death, here in the basement of her father's mortuary. Coffins and death-masks, shelves of neatly folded winding sheets and trays of copper rounds meant to cover the eyes of the dead lie all around them. Blank, until her father etches the chosen designs into the metal. It's a skill he's been teaching her, one at which she shows some small talent and of which she's extremely proud.

That's why he's here, he and his older brother, members of the prestigious Holmes family. She knows his name is William and she knows he's meant to be hers and she's meant to be his, no matter the differences in their classes. Those who handle the dead are barely a step above slaves in the eyes of the nobility; distasteful but necessary.

She doesn't care. All she cares about is that her Alpha has stayed behind, lingering because of her, or so she hopes, while his brother and her father have moved to the offices upstairs to arrange the details for the burial. Not of a family member, but a trusted retainer, a slave who'd died in service and whose ghost must be appeased by a proper funeral even if his station in life is even more lowly than her own.

Since presenting as an Omega she's been warned over and over that a marriage will be difficult to arrange, not only because of her father's humble position but because her scent has been tainted by spending so much time by his side in the mortuary. Her parents never would have allowed it had they believed it possible for her to grow into anything but a Beta like themselves and their parents before them.

Her Alpha is still testing the air as he searches for her. "I know you're here," he growls, his voice deep and lovely and warm, as rich as the scent wafting her way and making her mouth water. She shivers when she hears it, but remains silent. If he truly is her mate, he'll find her; it's all instinct driving her now. She must hide, and he must find her on his own, prove his suitability and demonstrate his skill at the hunt.

He must want her as badly as she wants him.

She slips backwards, long familiarity with the quirks of the oddly shaped basement easing her passage between an Egyptian-styled sarcophagus leaning against the wall on one side and several bulky rolls of fabric – meant to be used as altar covers – leaning against the other. The door between is narrow, and leads away from the public areas of the mortuary, into a series of narrow passageways and small rooms before eventually emptying out into the room where the dead are actually prepared.

The four metal slabs used to hold bodies during the purification rituals and other preparations – including post-mortems when the local constabulary need to discover or confirm cause of death – are freshly scrubbed and covered by simple white cotton sheets to symbolize their cleanliness. She would know this even without the evidence of her senses because she's the one tasked to tidy up after the bodies have been removed. She climbs up onto the table furthest from the door, pulls her knees up to her chest, wraps her arms around her bent legs, and waits.

Far sooner than expected she catches his scent, and a thrill of excitement/fear shivers through her body. Her own scent seems overwhelming to her nostrils and she wonders if he can smell her over the lingering whiff of decomposition beneath the oils and chemicals of her father's trade.

She's sweating beneath her loose tunic and skirt and has an unpleasant itch between her legs; her underclothes are wet from a combination of sweat and arousal, and all she wants is for him not to reject her. His reaction when he comes close enough to separate her personal scent from the lingering odors of the mortuary - that will give her her answer: either he'll be repulsed by the fact that it's been tainted by the death that surrounds her, or he won't.

She very much hopes he won't.

"Found you." She jumps a bit at the sound of his voice so close to her ear. How did she not hear him slipping through the darkened doorway, how did he move so silently she didn't hear his footfalls on the cold tile floor, or not notice his scent growing stronger? In the end it doesn't matter: he's here, standing behind her, sniffing at her neck as she tilts her head to allow him access, and he's not leaving. No, if anything his own scent - musky, heady, pure Alpha - is thickening, filling her lungs and making her tremble with want and need for things she's never had before but knows now she doesn't want to live without.

"Your scent," he says in a low voice, and she shivers, partially from the rising tide of her Heat and partially from fear that he's about to reject her after all. His hands land on her shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into her flesh as he continues speaking. "It's incredible. But I imagine it's not something every Alpha can appreciate."

"You're the first one who hasn't been disgusted," she whispers, dropping her head and closing her eyes in a mixture of shame and relief.

"You were allowed to assist your father because they thought you were a Beta, at least until you had your first Heat...six months ago?"

"Four," she replies, still whispering.

"And yet here you are, going into Heat again, two months early." His breath tickles her ear; he's bent his head down again and is nuzzling at her neck. His hands slide down her arms, capturing her wrists, and she feels the sharp nip of his teeth as her body flushes fever-hot, spreading from her abdomen outward until her scalp and the very soles of her feet feel as though they're on fire. Sweat prickles at her hairline and between her breasts, sliding down her spine and pooling in her joints.

"My brother and your father will be at least an hour finalizing the details of the funeral." His chest is pressed against her back now, and one hand has moved from her wrist to her body, fingers splayed across her abdomen. He presses against her thighs with the other hand and she obediently lowers her legs so that they're lying flat against the cool surface of the narrow table. "Your Heat will last at least three days, possibly longer. So where can we go? I don't know Londinium as well as I'd like to; we've just arrived from Rome and our family manor is in Somerset. I can't bring you back to the townhouse; Mycroft wouldn't approve, he'd try to find some way to keep us apart."

"My uncle's moved to the country to keep bees," Molly says, a low moan escaping her lips as her Alpha slips his fingers under the edge of her bunched-up skirts, gliding them teasingly up her thighs and toward the part of her body that aches the most for his touch. "H-his house is empty, no new tenants until the next full moon." It's considered bad luck to move into a new home before then, but their stay will be temporary, so it hardly counts. At least, she prays the Gods see it that way.

"Tell me your name." It's not a request; it's an arrogant demand, exactly what she'd expect from an Alpha as strong as she can tell he is.

"Molly," she breathes, tilting her head submissively to the side, silently begging for the scrape of his teeth on her throat again. He obliges her, nuzzling at the tender flesh below her ear, the hot swipe of his tongue bringing another soft moan from her throat. He nips at her, sucking hard, working a red mark into her skin that she's thrilled to bear, knowing it as the harbinger of something more permanent.

No, she reminds herself as William's fingers dance closer and closer to her aching cunt. She doesn't 'know' any such thing. In spite of the strong pull between them, he might choose to deny the Bond, to simpy mate with her and then slip away, never to be seen again even if he leaves her with child. No matter what the Queen had decreed, there are unacknowledged children of such liaisons all over Londinium. And there is the difference in their class; his family will object if he chooses to Bond with the lowly daughter of a mortician...there is so much she needs to keep in mind, even as the fever of her rising Heat threatens to overwhelm all reason.

"Molly," he says, and a shiver goes over her at the sound of her name on his lips, a thrill that sets off sparks in her core and raises the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck and erases all worries about the future, at least for now. "Molly," he says again, his voice a deep growl as he suddenly thrusts his hand between her legs, seeking out the opening in her modest, knee-length drawers. Even though it's only there to make it easier for her to use the commode, she realizes how perfectly suited the split in the cotton fabric is for William's long fingers to stroke against the gathering wetness between her legs. She arches against his touch, keening high and desperately as she reaches back to touch whatever parts of him she can reach.

"No," he snarls, snagging both hands by the wrists and holding them against her chest with one of his own. His hands are large and easily wrap around her slender wrists. "Not here. Not until we're at your uncle's house." His clever fingers are still moving, sliding up the wet seam of her sex, delving inside, working her into a writhing, sopping mess.

She nods to show she understands, even though her hands are aching to touch him, to feel the warmth of his manhood, to explore the protrusions at its base that will swell and form his Knot when they mate. She's never seen them on a living man, only stolen glimpses of them on the dead that her father prepares. He would be quite cross if he were to find out about her secret investigations, not only to answer her curiosity about Alpha anatomy but about how people are put together in general.

Of course, were he to walk in on them right now, he'd be more than cross: he'd be absolutely furious, and William's brother as well. But it's hard to focus on such things when William's fingers are pressed inside her and all she wants to do is throw her head back and howl her pleasure to the skies.

She does spare the energy to wonder if William would be repulsed by her interest in anatomy, if he's a typical arrogant Alpha male. She's seen more of them than she count in her short life, especially members of the upper classes who parade by, their Omega mates silent and submissive by their sides. She's often wondered if that's how they behave in private as well, or if they're more like her friend Meena's parents, who consider themselves equals even if the law doesn't recognize that profound truth in any way.

William is nobly born, and from Mater Roma. Will he value her intelligence or force her to hide it as she has done throughout her young life? There's no way to tell without asking, and right now isn't even close to being the right time to broach it. Not when he's bringing her so close to physical bliss she can practically taste it on the air. She darts her tongue out at the thought and hears him give a little groan. She feels him shudder and then suddenly he pulls her body tight to his. It takes her a moment to realize that the hot bulge pressed so snuggly against her bum is his prick. As soon as she does her body clenches around the tips of his fingers and she gives a soft, surprised cry at the pleasure that washes through her, biting down hard on her cheeks to keep louder noises inside.

"Liked that, did you?" William asks, sounding pleased with himself. But his voice is a tad rougher than it was before, and she can smell how his own arousal has spiked. All she can do is nod, still trembling in the aftermath of her first...oh, how she wishes she knew the proper word for it! She opens her mouth, daring to ask him, but he somehow anticipates her question. "Orgasmus," he breathes against her ear, licking her as soon as the word leaves his mouth. "Although the Gauls call it orgasme, or la petite mort, which means…"

"The 'little death'," Molly translates, and she can certainly understand that interpretation.

"Clever and well educated," William says, sounding approving. Or is that just wishful thinking? Molly can't tell; she's too busy shuddering and shaking as her body recovers. "I can't wait to have you, Molly." He pulls his hands away and she whines at the lack of contact, half-turning to reach for him. He takes her hand and intertwines their fingers, his still soaked and sticky with her feminine juices. "Let's go. We'll stop at a market for food and drink on the way, I presume there is one?"

She nods, too far gone to argue with him about anything. All she can feel is the ache between her legs, the fire in her blood inflaming her senses and stealing her ability to think. Less than five minutes later they're gone, slipped out the back while Molly leads him to the market center nearest her uncle's closed-up home. William never lets go of her, showing his teeth to the few Alphas they encounter who sniff eagerly at her and make smacking noises with their lips. A few times she thinks it might actually come to blows, but he's clearly superior to those who challenge him, and her heart sings in triumph. She's chosen well, and their child - dare she hope 'children'? - will be magnificent.