Work Text:
“Officially, the presence of Omegas within Her Majesty’s Royal Navy was strongly discouraged1, yet no doubt many more Omegas found a life at sea than what records remain1-2. The 1830’s brought widescale societal upheaval with an increase in access to safe3 and reliable4-5 heat suppressants for the first time in Victorian society6-8, and many of the previous arguments against the employment of Omegas lost their sway2. Male Omegas, while still statistically rare in the population, were now being openly employed by the British Navy at higher rates; most commonly as stewards9. The role of the steward became one quickly entangled with Omegan stereotypes as subservient caretakers best seen and not heard. While stewards were often seen as privileged (having access to private sleep quarters and perceived as doing less manual labour than the typical seaman), they were also barred from any form of upward mobility as strict rules still dictated than only Alphas and Betas could become officers10-16. These attitudes reflect the great paradox of male Omegas in Victorian Britain: their value as able-bodied men conflicted with their value as ‘fragile birthing stock’10, with their only chance at success being to either hide their nature or carving out their own path in the face of great societal alienation.”
– E.E. Spring (2014), Shifting attitudes towards Dynamics in the British Royal Navy (1830–1850).
--
When Thomas hears the loud crash from the dining room, he is on his feet in an instant. He rushes through the galley, mind racing with what next disaster has befallen them now. Surely the great white beast hasn’t gotten inside the ship. With so few crew remaining on Terror, the options to defend themselves are limited. Behind him he hears the Captain stumble, no doubt the whiskey making him slow to act. Perhaps that is for the best, Thomas can charge ahead of him as a human shield if need be.
The small room is packed tight when Thomas arrives, and he has to nudge Gibson out the way to get a look inside. The subordinate steward is standing stock still and useless, and Thomas is too impatient in the moment to be polite about it. The lieutenants had no doubt been conferring with each other in the wardroom as they often do after supper. Hodgson and Irving are stood on one side of the table, speaking in panicked voices to the first lieutenant sprawled out on the floor before them.
“He just collapsed.” Irving says, face white as a sheet.
“He’d been looking peaky all evening, but I hadn’t thought anything of it…” Hodgson drifts off as Crozier appears in the doorway, leaning heavy on the wooden frame.
Lieutenant Little is laid out prone, matted hair curled over his face. It will be hard to describe later, but in the moment, Thomas feels a cloying, sweltering heat inside the room, despite all those present being bundled up in coats and scarves. It makes no sense for the dead of winter, but Thomas suddenly fears a fever has taken the man.
“Give him air.” He barks, crouching down as the officers around him remain frozen. He pulls at the lieutenant’s scarf as someone else reaches over to help Little onto his side. A quick glance reveals Blanky, always calm in a storm, has moved in to help.
True to Thomas’ fears, he can feel the heat radiating off the man beneath him. As he finally pulls the scarf free, he is struck with a new concern. His nostrils flare as a heavy scent fills the air: sweet and a little salty. He looks back to Blanky, whose wide-eyed expression confirms he can also smell it. A part of Thomas wants to hiss, to push the older Alpha away from Little in such a vulnerable state, but he remembers Blanky is mated and with Omega daughters of his own. There are other, more pressing concerns in the immediate proximity. No one else is close enough to have smelled him, but it’s only a matter of time before the scent permeates the space.
“Everyone out, give him some space. Lieutenant Irving, fetch a doctor.” Blanky’s steady voice gives nothing away. Clever, Thomas thinks, as the young Alpha hurries the room. Hodgson (Beta with self-confessed weak olfactory skills) follows alongside Gibson (Omega, uncertain from a glance if he knows what is happening), leaving only Crozier (Alpha, but probably too drunk to be an immediate issue) in the wardroom.
Little groans quietly as he comes to, Blanky helps him sit up as Thomas fetches him water. He looks dazed, face flushed and dark eyes glassy as he accepts the cup from Thomas with both hands. After a few careful sips, he begins to claw at the collar of his coat.
“What happened?” He croaks, brushing back the hair from his forehead now damp with sweat.
"You fainted.” Blanky says carefully. Crozier sits now at the table but says nothing.
Before he can ask anymore questions, Doctor McDonald enters the room. Thomas is relieved. For a Beta, the doctor has a skill with putting his Omegan patients at ease. He’s polite and punctual, two features Thomas appreciates in a man. The same day each month without fail he finds Thomas to give him his dose of suppressants. Other ship’s surgeons have been less diligent in Thomas’ previous experience; some he even had to chase down to administer the dose on time.
With McDonald’s arrival Blanky leaves, although no doubt he’ll station himself nearby in case he’s needed. Thomas wonders if he too should leave but decides against it. His instincts tell him not to leave the vulnerable Omega alone.
Omega? That couldn't be right, could it? In the years he has worked alongside Little he had thought it obvious he was a Beta. Of course, Thomas knows stories of Omegas who'd disguised themselves rather successfully as Betas, but had never suspected that of Little, a man seemingly unskilled at deception. Looking at him now, swaying as he sits on the floor, it is clear he is unaware of what is happening.
"You're burning up." McDonald notes mildly as he checks the swollen glands at the base of the patient’s neck, thick Omegan scent rising in the air again. McDonald glances at Crozier, but the Alpha appears unmoved by the scent, so he continues his examination. "What happened before you collapsed?"
"Dizzy, I suppose." He rasps.
"Have you eaten?"
"I haven't been hungry"
McDonald hesitates before he asks, "Any pain?"
"My stomach"
"What type of pain? stabbing? burning?"
"Stabbing, then aching."
"You must tell me, has this happened before?" McDonald asks carefully, quietly.
Little seems confused by the question. "No."
"Are you sure?"
He nods, frowning.
"How old are you, Lieutenant?"
"Thirty-three"
"Late," McDonald supposes. "But not unheard of."
"What is late?” The worry on his face deepens.
“There’s no easy way to put this,” The doctor sighs, “but it would appear you’re in heat.”
After a beat, Little shakes his head. “That can’t be possible.”
“Have you any Omegas in your family?”
“Two of my sisters, but- but I’m a Beta.”
“How old were they when they presented?”
“I don’t know. This can’t be happening, this can’t be-” The words die in his throat when Little’s eyes land on his captain, still seated at the dining table. Thomas can smell his panic immediately.
Crozier clears his throat. He speaks measured and slow, an imitation of sobriety. “It’s alright.” He then nods to McDonald. “What do you suggest, doctor?”
“It’s likely too late for suppressants to be of any use. But first heats are usually quick; it would be best to wait it out. I could give you something to ease the pain,”
“No.” Little shakes his head.
No one argues with his refusal. McDonald shrugs. “We ought to move you below, then.”
Thankfully, there are so few people aboard they get the lieutenant down to the orlop without being seen. He’s heard the crew whisper their fear of ghosts that haunt the lower decks, but Thomas is not superstitious, and he has been aboard ice locked ships before. The screams and wails of the ice crushed against the hull is nothing more than a nuisance to him. The cold, however, is more of a pressing issue. Thomas will need to see to the brazier. Little sways on his feet, watching as Thomas unlocks the door to the storeroom cupboard with one hand, a bundle of linens wedged under his other arm.
This is all happening so quickly, Thomas thinks to himself as he opens the door for Little to be ushered inside. The room, which is scarcely more than a closet, is designed to lock away an Omega in heat from the rest of the crew. As the Captain’s Steward, the key has hung unused on his key-ring so far this expedition. Inside, a low berth, somehow smaller than the one squeezed into his cabin upstairs, takes up almost all the floor space. He wordlessly huffs at the thick layer of dust that covers the straw mattress, brushing it aside to replace with fresh linens.
“First heats are typically quick,” Thomas informs the officer as he works. From the small snatches of conversation, he heard between Little and the doctor, he doubts the man knows much about Omegas at all. It was not unusual for Betas to receive less of an education in this regard. “It should only be a few hours, a day at most.”
When he’s finished with the sheets, he glances over at Little, failing to disguise where his hands clutch at his stomach under his coat. “Would you like me to bring any of your things down for you, sir?”
It takes a moment for him to understand the words, he looks up, sweat rolling down his temples and asks, “Would that make a difference?”
“It helps to be comfortable, sir.”
The lieutenant shrugs, easing himself down to sit on the mattress. Thomas waits to be dismissed but isn’t entirely surprised when he isn’t. He remembers his own first heat vaguely but had been terrified at the thought of facing it alone. With experience, the fear lessens, but never truly abates.
“Have you used this room before?” Little asks, low and quiet. His hands remain clasped tight on his lap, fingerless gloves leaving the exposed skin colourless with how tight he is holding on to himself.
“No, sir. I can usually manage until I’m back on shore for a time. The suppressants work well, you’ll see.”
Little’s head hangs low. Thomas feels a little guilty, he had only meant to reassure the man, not remind him of the new life that now stood before him. If the stress of a sudden heat wasn’t enough. “You should relax, sir, try to make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring down some more blankets-”
“Jopson.” He pants. “I believe there has been some sort of mistake. I can’t be an Omega.”
“Sir?”
Little pauses, bracing himself heavily on the wall. “It’s just a fever.”
“Your scent, the glands on your neck, there’s no denying it.” Thomas reminds him gently, wondering how deep the man’s mental spiral has gone.
“I can’t be an Omega.” He insists, hand reaching up to feel the base of his neck for himself.
“How so?”
Little runs a hand through his hair. The white collar of his shirt has turned partially translucent where it clings to his neck from sweat. “If I am in heat, shouldn’t I be in want of an Alpha? This must be something else.”
“Not necessarily, Sir.” Thomas says.
“No?”
“There are some Omegas whose preferences lie elsewhere.” He explains diplomatically.
Little eyes him with disbelief. “How can you be so certain? Is it not an Omega’s true nature?”
“I can assure you,” the late hour must be making him tired for he tacks on: “from my own experience, want of an Alpha is not necessary.”
“Truly?”
He nods.
“Betas, then? Or…are you not inclined at all?”
Thomas shoots him a look. There has been one dynamic absent from Little’s questioning. After a moment Little nods, finally understanding. He sits back on the mattress, huffing out a laugh. “You must think me naïve.”
“No, sir.”
“But I am.” He sighs. “I’ve never…Perhaps I’d have known then if I had.”
If someone had told Thomas this morning, he would be listening to the first lieutenant explaining his virginity to him of all people, he’d sooner believe the pack ice had carried them all the way to Oahu and spat them out on the sandy shore.
“Sir,” Thomas begins, unsure what to say.
“Christ, call me Edward. I think this conversation is beyond rank, at this point.”
“Edward,” he concedes.
The man groans suddenly, handsome face twisting into a grimace as he curls over in pain. Thomas rubs the man’s back, wondering if he should fetch a bucket so he isn’t sick all over the floor, but he manages to keep his dinner down.
Thomas has never been in such close proximity to the first lieutenant before. He has spent years serving the man tea and watching him carefully, as any good steward would, but knows deep down he has paid much closer attention to this man than any other on the expedition. While Crozier has had his doubts about the man’s polar experience, Thomas has only observed him as a diligent and dutiful lieutenant. He’s quick to bark an order to the men but is more reserved in conversation. He may be quiet, but Thomas has never found appeal in someone who speaks just for the sake of filling the silence. Unfortunately, Thomas finds much more than the man’s temperament appealing. He can admit to himself, if not ever aloud, that Edward has striking features: a straight nose, a noble brow, and thick eyelashes that frame gentle brown eyes. His dark hair, which has grown longer since they’ve been frozen in, looks soft. At the time Thomas had been surprised to find himself so attracted to a Beta.
In the name of self-preservation Thomas knows he should leave him alone to save himself from the temptation now lain out before him, however cruel it would be to the poor man.
“Is it always this miserable?” Edward gasps, when the nausea briefly subsides.
Thomas chews at the inside of his cheek, remembering his previous refusal for pain relief, he doesn’t want to press the topic further. “You should try to rest, sir.” He means to stand, but Edward grabs the sleeve of his coat.
“Stay.”
“I need to see to the Captain,” Thomas says with earnest regret. “But I could come by afterwards,”
“Please.” He peers up at Thomas with dark, shining eyes.
“I’ll be back soon.” He assures the man. “Try to relax while I’m gone.”
Little reluctantly lets go of Thomas so he can leave, locking the door behind him as a precaution. It is a cold walk back through the orlop and up to the Captains quarters. He’s surprised to find lieutenants Irving and Hodgson waiting for him as he passes through officer’s country.
“Jopson!” Hodgson calls for him. “A moment, if you please!”
Thomas steels himself, turning back to greet the men with a smile.
“Is Edward alright?” He asks. Beside him, Irving fidgets anxiously with his gloves.
“All well.” Thomas eyes Irving, hoping the young Alpha cannot smell Little on him. While he doubts the scent could turn such a disciplined man as Irving into a frenzy, he suspects the scent of an Omega in turmoil would still distress him. “He is resting below.”
“Was the doctor’s assessment true, then?” Irving rasps.
Thomas says nothing, which is all the confirmation they need.
“Poor chap,” Hodgson murmurs sympathetically.
“Apologies, sirs, but I must attend to the Captain.” Thomas extricates himself from the conversation before it can sour further.
“If you see Edward, please give him our well wishes.” Says Irving.
“Tell him not to worry. You know what he’s like.” Hodgson gives a wry smile. Thomas nods, a little touched at the gesture. He hasn’t been privy to much of the comradery that have grown between the lieutenants. Perhaps it would relieve Little to know his fellow officers are not abandoning him at the sudden change in dynamic.
Crozier is waiting inside the unlit great cabin, empty decanter of whiskey in front of him.
“Good evening, Sir.” Thomas says when Crozier doesn’t so much as blink at his appearance, lighting a lamp for him as he sets to putting on a pot of tea.
“Jopson.” He coughs to clear his throat. “I was beginning to think you’d been locked down there too.”
“Sorry Sir.”
Crozier waves away Thomas’ apology. “Last thing we need is you out of commission as well. We might truly be doomed after all.”
Thomas has become an encyclopaedia at categorising his Captain’s moods. Tonight, it would seem he is balancing on a razor’s edge between cracking jokes and declaring futility.
“It’ll take more than this to knock me down, Captain.” Thomas reassures him, hoping to keep the mood light. Crozier hums in agreement, allowing Thomas to finish his duties for the night without fuss. There’s some cutlery left over from dinner still to be polished, but Thomas is willing to leave it be for tonight. Perhaps if he’s lucky Gibson will pick up the slack for once, although he doubts it.
He makes it down to the hold again in the dead of night, half hoping Little has found sleep. However, as he peaks through a crack on the door, he finds the lieutenant dressed down to his shirtsleeves pacing the length of the cupboard. The brazier in the corner has warmed the room properly, and Thomas ducks inside before more heat can escape into the frigid hallway.
“What do you think the Captain will do with me?” Little’s eyes are downcast, trained on the floor, like a man headed for the gallows. The man’s salty-sweet scent becomes bitter, like burnt caramel.
Thomas thinks for a moment. It would be wrong to supply the man with false reassurances, yet if anyone were to know Crozier’s thoughts on the capability of Omegas it would be his Omegan steward. Thomas sits down. The berth is small enough the two nearly brush shoulders. He is reminded of a conversation held in Terror’s wardroom one evening when they hosted Sir John for dinner. It had been an idle comment made by Lieutenant Irving just before desert had been served:
“I don’t think I’ve seen so many Omegas serve aboard a ship before.”
If Thomas had done the calculations correctly, there couldn’t have been more than ten between both ships. They were hardly overrunning the place.
“Does that concern you?” Commander Fitzjames had asked the third Lieutenant.
“You needn’t worry.” Sir John had smiled. “It is our duty to lead the Christian example for our men. Although I can’t say I see the reason for it, a life at sea is not for those of delicate constitution. Nevertheless, their temperament has made them invaluable stewards, wouldn’t you say?"
"Quite.” Fitzjames replied quickly, downing the rest of this glass of wine.
Thomas didn’t have to look to know Crozier was fighting back to roll his eyes. After dinner, when its just the two of them in his cabin, the Captain no longer hides his thoughts. He scoffs: “’Delicate constitution’. Franklin should worry more about the constitution of his officers- not a scrap of arctic experience between them! Really, where did Fitzjames find them? Did he draw names out of a hat?”
Thomas gives Little a reassuring smile. “The Captain is a practical man. We can’t afford to lose another lieutenant.”
“The men will never take orders from an Omega.” He shakes his head.
Thomas isn’t offended by the statement, factual as it is. He pauses, thinking for a moment.
“Perhaps, but that’s only if they’re privy to that information. All official records list you as a Beta.”
“You think I could hide this?”
“I’ve heard it done before.”
Once Little has access to suppressants, the only true hurdle will be the man’s new Omegan scent. He’d heard rumours of expensive soaps and oils that could be bought onshore but had never sought them out. Thankfully it is winter, and everyone is so bundled up in coats and scarves it would be difficult to smell anything under the ubiquitous aroma of damp wool.
“If this had happened earlier, my father would never have let me go to sea.” Edward slumps. Thomas is surprised at the admission, he has not heard the lieutenant speak of his family before.
“What would you have done?”
“I don’t know.” The frown of his mouth deepens. Were he a female Omega, Thomas supposes Little’s occupation may have been to marry and run a household. While male Omegas could marry, very few of higher standing did. It was a complex legal issue apparently, but it came down to the fact that an Omega was deemed subservient to their spouse, and thus a man would be giving up many of the freedoms awarded by his sex in order to serve a mate, all but a wife in name. Thus, many wealthy male omegas lived out their lives as bachelors burdening a family with the weight of another dowry.
“You should lie back and rest.”
Edward acquiesces but complains as he settles atop the sheets. “I doubt I can sleep like this. How long will this take?”
“It takes however long it takes.” Thomas explains, unhelpfully. If he continues to refuse medicine, it will not be very pleasant for him. “Although, there might be a way to speed things along.”
Edward nods, eager for him to continue.
“It isn’t necessarily a knot that satiates an Omega’s heat.” Thomas is aware of how his own face reddens at his words. “But merely the act of…well, release as it were.”
“Are you suggesting I partake in…self-abuse?”
Oh, how Tom wishes to roll his eyes at the words. Like any man aboard the ship is innocent of that particular sin. Edward doesn’t seem particularly scandalised, but embarrassed.
“It’s only a suggestion.”
“And that would work?”
He nods. It would certainly help him relax a little at least, thinks Thomas. Edward still looks unsure. Another idea comes to mind. “I could help.”
Edward looks up at him, eyes wide and cheeks pink. “I couldn’t force you into that.”
“You wouldn’t be forcing me.” Thomas almost laughs. “You’re already aware of my preferences.”
Edward looks away, biting at his lips as he thinks. Thomas can see the turmoil on his face, but he can also smell his arousal at the thought. He decides to gently press the matter.
“Let me take care of you.”
He sees Edward’s shudder in response. “What would that entail…exactly?”
“Whatever you wish.” Tom smiles, knowing he’s convinced the other man. Satisfaction coils hot at the base of his spine. “Your presentation has no doubt changed some things for you.”
“Yes.” Edward’s mouth twists. It had been so cold for the last months he had avoided being in any state of undress for longer than absolutely necessary. If he had more self-awareness, perhaps he could have noticed subtle changes in his biology before tonight. Now, his body seems a stranger to him, an unmarked section of coastline not drawn in on any map. His own North-West passage as it were, Edward thinks dryly although in the moment he does not find his own analogy amusing.
“Have you thought about what might please you?”
Edward shakes his head.
“Well,” Thomas slips off his jacket and movies to roll up his sleeves. Between the lit brazier in the corner and Edward’s heat, the room has warmed up quickly. He catches the way Edward’s eyes trace the line of his exposed forearm and feels flush at the attention. “You ought to start making by yourself comfortable.”
Edward is relieved for the order. He looks around the bunk, sorting through spare blankets and rearranging pillows, nerves settling with a task at hand. As he sorts the blankets into one mound or another, he smells them, disappointed to find nothing but the smell of damp. Perhaps he should have taken Jopson up on the offer to retrieve items from his cabin, he wishes he had the extra scarf his sister had knitted for him that still faintly smelt of home. He understands now his Omegan sisters’ furthered insistence on items that smelled of home during their own heats. Instead, he makes do with Jopson’s discarded coat and gloves. The Omega has hidden his scent well throughout the voyage, only now does Edward truly begin to recognise the herbal aroma as Thomas. It soothes him.
With a start, Edward realises he is nesting.
“Better?” Thomas asks as Edward only shrugs in response. It’s as threadbare and lumpy as any other sleeping quarter on the ship. It will have to do for now, he supposes.
Sitting in his makeshift nest, warm in the bowels of the ship, Edward begins to relax. Before he can lie down, Thomas works down the line of buttons on his shirt with all the speed and efficiency only a steward could manage. He slides the garment from Edward’s shoulders, leaving him in his trousers and thin cotton undershirt. Sweat has made his underclothes stick to his chest. A part of Edward wishes to remove the shirt too but worries it would make Jopson’s already generous offer too intimate.
Edward holds back a gasp when Thomas reaches for the front of his trouser but makes no protest. He only watches, spellbound, as those pale hands unbutton the front and then rest atop his thighs. Edward’s thighs clench at the contact.
He has been struggling with a slow, steady thrum of arousal since he first entered the heat closet. Edward has always thought of himself as a disciplined man, strong enough to resist base urges, but it’s been hours now of him sitting on edge and his nerves are at their limit. His eyes fixate on the dark hair on the back of Jopson’s hands as they continue to rub up and down the tops of his thighs. He has to keep his eyes on his hands, to avoid the sight of his erection made evident through the navy wool. He bites his lips when he feels the warm trickle between his legs grow stronger. There is no denying it, he’s an Omega in heat.
“May I touch?”
“Please.” The word bursts out his throat like a dam breaking.
Edward has to close his eyes when Thomas reaches in and find his hot, wet cock awaiting him. The angle of his wrist is awkward, but his fingers wrap around and begin to stroke. He groans, legs twitching, as he feels himself leaking into Thomas’ palm. He’s never been this wet before. It is surely a feature of Omegan physiology. Fully erect, he fits well in Thomas’ palm. Omegas are not typically well endowed; a fact Edward had never considered before tonight. He always suspected he was below average in size, but his shame had left him to never linger on the thought for long. Edward looks to Thomas’ face but finds no disappointment on his face. He watches Edward intently, tilting his head to meet his gaze.
Then, the hand slides back, past Edward’s testicles (small, drawn up from months and months of cold weather, although how Edward realises the weather likely hid another symptom of his burgeoning presentation), to brush against a new, tender region between Edward’s legs.
“Ah.” Edward hisses, not in pain, but the skin there is tender. Fingers circle the newfound entrance, collecting the slick that gathers there. It is a foreign feeling, but not unpleasant.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.” He swallows, eyes landing on where Thomas’ teeth worry at his lower lip. He wants to kiss him. The thought has him clenching his thighs around Thomas’ hand. “It’s good.”
“It will be even better if you let me take those trousers off you.” Thomas smiles.
Edward easily acquiesces, although it is no small tasks to remove them while neither men are standing and in a cramped space. They struggle together, Edward twisting and flailing while Thomas bids him to be careful not to tear the fabric. At this point Edward wants them off bad enough to care little about the state of the garment afterwards. He suspects Thomas would have to bring him a new change of clothes after this anyway.
Finally, he is free, leaving Edward in his long johns that are loose enough around the waist for Thomas’ hand to delve back inside unperturbed. Edward lies back; legs splayed out and lets his eyes close at the wave of sensation. He can feel the thick oils of his sent glands drip down the back of his neck. The glands there are swollen, and he wants very much to have something press down on them.
He is distracted from the tingling in his neck by Thomas’ finger dipping into his entrance. The stretch is minor, and Edward is lubricated enough that he slides into the second knuckle easily. Still, he gasps as the foreign sensation.
“Alright, sir?” Thomas adds the ‘sir’ without meaning to, but Edward is too distracted to comment on it. He nods vigorously, angling his hips so Thomas slides deeper. He never imagined another’s touch could feel this way.
Edward groans. “Another, give me another.”
Thomas looks surprised, but says nothing, wriggling in his middle finger to nestle beside his index finger. The sensation is heightened now, it doesn’t hurt as Edward had feared it might, but the flesh inside is so tender and sensitive. Thomas moves slowly, rotating his hand palm upwards and then curling his fingers inside. Edward’s eyes flutter close at the slow release of arousal, like a pressure valve in his stomach. How had he gone some thirty-three years of his life without knowing he could feel like this?
When Thomas’ spare hand wraps around his cock, which has been left leaking clear fluid all over his stomach, Edward knows he cannot last long. He tries to warn the other man, but he doesn’t seem to care as he strips his cock and circles his fingers around that tantalising spot inside him. Edward tenses and writhes, until his climax breaks over him. It is different this time to months prior when he was last alone in his cabin silently frigging himself before dawn. Back then his crisis had been a jolt up his spine, while now it builds and builds and builds. His whole body is tense with it, another rush of fluid across his stomach, but afterwards the sensation keeps going.
In the aftermath he can still feel Thomas’ fingers inside him, he’s clenching down so tight he swears he can feel Thomas’ ragged pulse though his fingers. He pulls out carefully, and Edward spies the slick that has coated him all the way to the wrist. Thomas brings his hand up to his mouth and laps at it with his tongue, Edward watches spellbound.
He can also see the outline of Jopson’s own arousal straining his trousers. It’s hard to tell in this light, but it appears larger than his own. Edward flushes with mild embarrassment, but also in desire to see it.
“How do you feel?” Jopson’s even voice snaps him out of his fantasy.
“Fine.” He blinks, taking stock of his body.
He is met with a hum, as the omega scans his body with the same unwavering gaze Thomas has when pouring spirits during dinner. His nostrils flare, mouth open to taste Edward’s scent in the air. “You’re still in heat.”
“Yes?” Edward’s eyes travel between Thomas’s face and his crotch with little discretion. The steward smiles, shaking his head.
“This isn’t about my own gratification.”
“Could it help break my heat?”
Thomas doesn’t speak for a moment. The truth is, such close contact with Edward could trigger his own heat, a heat he cannot afford to have right now. His captain needs him.
“I cannot.” He lies. The disappointment of Edward’s face is plain, but he doesn’t press the matter. “But I can still assist you, if you wish it.”
Edward nods.
“Here, lie on your side.”
Thomas helps rearrange the man, so Edward’s back is against his chest, spooning. He reaches around to stroke Edward’s cock, not wishing to overwhelm him with more penetration and risk him soreness tomorrow. Edward relaxes wholly into his arms, which has the side effect of his ass pressing back against Thomas’ clothed prick. He does what he can in order to ignore it and focus on Edward’s pleasure.
Being of a similar height, the position also puts Thomas’ face in line with the scent glands on the back of his neck. Up close he can see how they’re red and swollen, and so temptingly biteable. Thomas doesn’t touch them, but every now and then he can’t help but breathe over them, causing Edward to shiver and sigh. Thomas’s jaw aches from the effort to keep his mouth shut.
When Edward comes again, he collapses against Thomas’ chest boneless. Pleasure has made his scent thick, and Thomas takes a moment to breath in deep lungsful of it. Everything about Edward Little is sweet: his scent like a thick caramel, his moans as Thomas continues to stroke him as he softens in his palm, and then there’s his face twisted in pleasure, brows drawn together and eye lashes fluttering closed.
The sight only makes Thomas hungrier, but a man of his background is used to going without. He withdraws has hand, wiping the slick off on the sheets that will need to be laundered anyway. As he slides out from behind the lieutenant, he grunts in confusion but otherwise remains sprawled across the sheets, rolling over onto his stomach. Thomas worries for a moment that he is about the present and beg for Thomas to take him (a plea that he is frightened he would selfishly not refuse) but Edward appears to be spent, burrowing his head into a pillow as his breathing evens out.
Now that the peak of his heat is over, Edward should be able to rest for a few hours before the fever breaks. Thomas attempts to put his clothes back in order before remembering his coat and gloves still reside in Edward’s nest. He fishes them out carefully but cannot manage to dislodge one glove from where it is wedged under Edward’s chin, at least without waking the poor man, so he leaves it as is. No matter, he has a spare set of gloves he can use for the meantime. Before he leaves, he checks there is enough coal in the brazier to last until morning, then sees to pulling up the blankets and tucking them around the sleeping man’s prone form.
With that settled, he exits the closet as quickly and quietly as he can, before the sight of the Omega finally at peace tempts him to do something truly unwise.
-
Edward wakes slowly, drifting half in a dream, before memories of last night float to the surface. His eyes snap open, twisting around in the blankets piled atop him until he can sit up and take stock of his circumstances. He feels tired, and the sweat and slick dried to his body has left him in dire need of a wash. He wonders what time it is, not recalling the last time he heard the bells. There are no windows in this room, but even if there were, there is so little daylight this late in the year.
A firm knock rouses Edward from his drowsy state, following by the jangling of keys as the door is unlocked and Jopson pokes his head inside the room. When he sees Edward is awake, the steward gives him a reassuring smile.
“Good morning, lieutenant. How are you feeling?”
“Fine, I think.” Edward blinks.
Thomas enters the room carrying a pale of water and several towels draped across his shoulder. “I thought you might like to freshen up, although the water’s cold, I’m afraid.”
“That’s fine.” Edward could kiss Jopson with relief. Of course, the capable captain’s steward has anticipated Edward’s greatest needs before he could think to verbalise them.
“I can fetch you a change of clothes for you, sir.”
“Thank you, Jopson.”
The steward doesn’t leave, but watches Edward carefully, clearly having more to say. Edward’s stomach flutters. Does he wish to speak about last night? His cheeks burn at the memory.
“The captain wishes to speak with you, when you are ready. I believe Doctor McDonald would also like a moment of your time.”
Edward swallows thickly. “Very well.” He dismisses Jopson, who this time leaves the closet unlocked while he fetches Edward’s clothes. He splashes the icy water on his face, the shock to his nervous system snapping him out of his lingering sleepiness. He doesn’t have much time to wash his body thoroughly but manages what he can before Jopson returns. It’s a relief to be bundled back up in layers of wool, the high collars and scarf keeping his scent glands safely tucked away.
Before he leaves, he finds a lone knitted glove atop the pillows of his nest. He picks it up, pressing the grey fabric to his nose. Smells than never bothered him before having come alive in the few short hours he has presented. No doubt the world outside the heat closet will be new and overwhelming. Yet the Omegan scent that lingers on this glove is comforting, Beneath the herbal notes is something sweeter, fruity, perhaps apple or pear. It is selfish of him, but Edward folds the glove into the pocket of his coat, rather than leave it for Jopson to retrieve from the nest. If Jopson desires it’s return, he can seek Edward out. At the very least, it gives him a good excuse for the two of them to hold a conversation in private.
The seamen they pass on the way back to officer’s country scarcely look at him outside administering a quick salute, and for a minute Edward can imagine he lives in a world where the events of the last twelve hours were a strange hallucination. Upon entering the Captain’s cabin, the delusion falters.
“Edward.” Crozier remains seated at his table, teacup in hand. The fire is stoked to low for him to see properly, but is new heightened senses inform him the beverage is more whiskey than tea. His nose twitches at the bitter scent but tries not to outwardly cringe. “Have you seen the doctor yet?”
“No, sir. I came straight here, although I can assure you, I am in good health.”
The captain shrugs dismissively. “I have a job for you. You are to report in my stead for a command meeting on Erebus. Also, there’s to be a transfer of supplies” He slides a sheet of paper across the table.
Edward reads down the list. It’s mostly tinned food that needs to be hauled over to the flagship to satiate the additional men, but at the bottom there is a sizable request from Erebus’ spirits room. Sixteen bottles. Edward blinks.
“Are all of these a priority, sir?”
In the low light, Crozier’s expression shifts. “If this ship is to function as it should, then yes.”
It is not the ship Crozier is speaking of. Edward’s heart sinks. How could he be so stupid as to voice his doubts aloud?
“Apologies.” He says quickly. Crozier all but scoffs at him. Edward wishes in that moment to shrink beneath the floorboards.
“We are in a precarious position, you and I. If we are to maintain order on this ship, we require discretion of certain conditions. Mind yourself, Edward.”
The Captain is a drunkard. His second is an Omega. By all rights of Naval doctrine, they never have taken up command and yet, thousands of miles from home, their leadership is all that is left. What a pair they make. Edward above all else should be grateful Crozier hasn’t had him stripped of is epaulettes for his latent dynamic. The very least he can do to repay such an act is find the man a few bottles of whiskey.
“I’ll see it done, Sir.”
“Perhaps the walk will do you some good, cool you off.” He says dryly.
Before Edward leaves for to put on his slops, he spies Jopson in the hallway, wearing a mis-matched pair of grey and black woollen gloves. Edward stops for a moment to watch him. When Jopson meets his gaze, he tucks his hands behind his back, pale eyes fixed on Edward with a familiar intensity and Edward dares not look away.