Archive of Our Own

Rumi grits her teeth, straining against Mira’s grip, ironclad around both her wrists and pinning her to the training mats so hard she’ll no doubt leave an imprint. The air around them is cool and sharp, the sky outside the window dark, the practice room lit by warm gold from an overhead light.

“Thought you were gonna show me how it’s done,” Mira huffs, and Rumi fights the growl crawling up her throat at the challenge. 

They’ve been training together like this nearly every night for the past few weeks since Zoey left to visit her family, going at least an hour or more, just the two of them, scrambling and scraping and sparring, and every night ends like this: one of them on top of the other, leering and prideful.

It grates at Rumi, at her sense of self as a hunter, at her alpha, at her pride.

It also sends a thrilling rush of heat pooling to her abdomen and below. Already, as Rumi strains against Mira’s grip, she feels her cock strain against the confines of her shorts. 

It’s humiliating, and degrading, and—

Mira hitches her knee up and drags it across the center of Rumi’s legs and Rumi’s growl turns into a groan.

—and it’s familiar, because each practice ends the same way.

Shoving Mira off of her with all the strength she can muster, Rumi scrambles upright and brushes herself off and demands, “Showers. Now.”

Mira nods, her gaze intense and hot.

Rumi and Mira rush in tandem to the showers of their private penthouse gym, empty without their third member. 

As soon as they’re inside, before Mira can make a single move, Rumi grabs Mira’s shoulders and shoves her into the nearest shower stall and growls, “My turn tonight.” Because she’s pent-up and aggressive and she may have lost the skirmish on the practice mats, but she’s not losing the one in here.

Mira laughs even as her hands find purchase on the hem of Rumi’s shorts and yank them and the underwear beneath down in one fell swoop. Before Rumi can even register the cold air on her newly freed cock, an all-encompassing heat, wet and warm, dives upon it. 

Rumi gasps sharply and presses Mira into a proper kneel, one hand fisting tendrils of pink hair as Mira sucks around Rumi’s cock, fervent and desperate. She pulls back until just the tip rests between her lips, her tongue swirling around it as she reaches a hand up to wrap around the remaining length.

A groan slips out of Rumi’s mouth, loud and long, as Mira slowly pumps her hand along Rumi’s cock while her mouth and tongue lavish the tip, sucking and licking. “Stop teasing,” snaps Rumi.

Mira chuckles, her hot breath around Rumi sending a surge of pleasure jolting through her. Her hand still pumping Rumi’s cock steadily, Mira smirks, looking up at Rumi. “What, you’re not seriously telling me you can’t handle this, are you? Can’t take a little edging?”

“Shut up.”

“Just like you couldn’t take me tonight on the—”

Mira’s abruptly cut off as Rumi grabs the back of Mira’s head with both hands and shoves her down onto her cock. Mira makes a choking sound, and for a moment, Rumi fears she’s pushed too far, but the sound morphs into a moan that sends tingles up Rumi’s spine.

Panting, Rumi starts to buck her hips into Mira’s mouth, slow and deep.

Inside is warmwarmwarm, and Rumi pushes with each careful thrust until she feels herself tap the back of Mira’s throat, feels Mira swallow again and again, contracting around Rumi’s cock in a way that leaves her breathless.

She withdraws slowly, then pushes in again, all the way. She sees and feels the way Mira’s lips brush up against her thatch of purple hair, holds Mira in place for a moment so that her nose is buried in nothing but Rumi, before pulling out again and repeating.

Rumi keeps the rolls of her hips steady and her grip on Mira’s head strong and unyielding. There’s no rush to her movements, just a heady bliss that fuzzes the edges of her mind with each slow pump.

Mira’s nostrils flare as she breathes around Rumi’s cock, her eyes closing as she relaxes into her current purpose: being fucked by Rumi. She moans, placing one hand to steady herself on Rumi’s thigh while the other begins to shove at her own shorts, pushing down one side, then the other, until she’s managed to shimmy them down far enough that her own cock—swollen and dripping—springs free to slap audibly against her toned stomach (still covered by an old training shirt).

“Fuck,” Rumi pants, hips stuttering as she watches Mira take herself in her hand and start to dance her fingers across the length of her own cock even as she continues to lavish attention on Rumi’s. “Fuck.”

Mira’s only response is another low moan around Rumi’s cock followed by a wet slurping sound. 

Rumi’s chest heaves. She starts to push in a little harder, a little faster.

Mira fists her own cock and begins to pump it in time with Rumi, sliding her fist down every time Rumi pushes herself to the back of Mira’s throat.

Rumi knows without a doubt that she’s flushed, can feel heat spreading throughout each limb even as it pools in concentrated form at her core, and the sight of Mira, shorts pooled around her ankles and gripping herself tightly as Rumi takes her mouth, triggers a familiar pressure, one that Rumi’s not ready for quite yet.

With great reluctance, Rumi lets go of Mira and steps back. Her cock pops free, slick and dripping. Mira coughs, catching her breath even as she whines. Her own hand slows on herself as she looks up at Rumi.

“Already?” Mira teases, voice husky. She leisurely continues stroking herself as she stands from her kneel, kicking off her undergarments. “You talk a big game, Rumi, but—”

Rumi shuts her up again, this time with her mouth, lips mashing against Mira’s. Rumi can feel Mira’s grin against her even as they kiss hungrily, slotted together. 

Hands find the hems of clothes as both of them pull apart long enough to shuck shirts and bras to the ground before clashing together once more. Rumi can feel the stiffness of Mira’s cock against her stomach even as her own presses against Mira’s hip. 

Rumi keeps kissing Mira, frantic; her hands wander down Mira’s body, across her collarbones, down to her breasts, thumbs playing with Mira’s nipples just enough to make her arch into their kiss before trailing further, down Mira’s sides, her hips, to reach around and grab her ass and tug her closer still.

Her hands probe, finding the space in-between and teasingly circling Mira’s hole. Mira jerks, breaking free from Rumi with a gasp. She still keeps her frustrating composure even as Rumi probes her from behind, smirking. “Impatient as ever, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Rumi snarls, pulling away entirely and lunging for her gym bag in the corner. She rustles through it for a moment, ignoring Mira’s laughter, before pulling out the small bottle she’d been looking for. 

Almost shaking with anticipation, Rumi pops the cap open and squirts lube into her palm, then tosses the bottle aside and quickly sets to work coating herself until she’s slick to the touch, both from this and Mira’s saliva. “How ready are you?” she grunts as she prepares.

“So ready. Go slow to start, but after that, I can take it. Just like I could take you today on the mats,” Mira snarks.

It infuriates Rumi, like Mira’s insulting not just her but her essence, what makes her the leader. What makes her an alpha. 

It also infuriates Rumi that it arouses her to such an embarrassing degree as she feels her already hard and aching cock stiffen further at the challenge in Mira’s words alone.

Gritting her teeth and dampening a growl building in her throat, Rumi grabs Mira’s shoulders, spins her around, and slams her up against the shower wall. She rests her forearm across Mira’s shoulderblades, pressing firmly until Mira’s cheek is squished against the tile.

Mira laughs breathlessly, her composure somehow still intact despite the rough manhandling. “Atta girl,” she breathes, voice sultry and smooth. “Finally ready to show me how it’s done?”

Rumi doesn’t bother answering. She leans in, brushing her lips right against the shell of Mira’s ear. Gently, she scrapes her teeth along the cartilage as her free hand reaches down to fist her cock and line it up with Mira’s entrance.

Mira gasps at the sting of Rumi’s teeth, and again as Rumi slowly starts to push inside. Mira is tight around her, her walls pulsing as Rumi stretches her with every slight motion forwards. Mira places her palms flat against the shower wall, bracing herself and gasping again as Rumi sinks further and further in.

There’s no rush. As pent-up as Rumi is, the last thing she wants to do is actually hurt Mira, so she takes her time, tugging lightly at Mira’s earlobe with sharpened canines as Mira moans. “I forget,” Mira huffs, “how fucking big you are.”

“Yeah?” Rumi chuckles softly. “You like that, don’t you? Like how it feels to take?”

With the last word, Rumi finally hilts herself all the way inside Mira, her pelvis flush with Mira’s ass, the two of them connected as physically as they are spiritually, souls and bodies intertwined. 

“You’re mine, Mira,” whispers Rumi, nuzzling her nose against Mira’s neck, nipping at pale skin as she does so. Her teeth sink into flesh right below Mira’s jaw but still far above the mating glands (she wants to, so so bad, but not yet, not so soon after her patterns were revealed, not with this as new as it is), and she sucks and licks at the indent they make. 

“I’m yours.” Mira’s response is choked, desperate. “Move, Rumi.”

“As you wish.”

Rumi pulls back out just as slowly as she’d pushed in, vision nearly clouding with the sheer pleasure of dragging through Mira’s walls. Once she’s nearly all the way out, only the tip left inside, Rumi snaps her hips forward and slams herself back into Mira. 

Forearm still pressed to Mira’s back, Rumi’s other hand grips Mira’s hip with a force sure to leave marks as she pulls out and slams back in again, deep and forceful, but not fast—not yet. A stuttered whine escapes from Mira’s throat as Rumi repeats the motion: slow drag out, slam in, out, in, deep deep deep, as far as Rumi can physically go. Mira’s walls flutter around Rumi’s cock as Rumi holds her in place. Each thrust is accompanied by a grunt of exertion, Rumi focused only on driving her cock into the furthest depths of Mira.

Mira’s palms slip off the wall. There’s little need for them there anyway, not when Rumi has Mira so thoroughly locked in place, jolting her against the tiles with every move. 

Rumi doesn’t often top. It’s not that she doesn’t love it—she does, so so much—but she loves taking from Mira more. She’s ashamed of it, sometimes. Has been told time and again by media and society how wrong it is for an alpha to want that, for an alpha to lay themself bare before another and willingly be railed into a foggy mental oblivion.

Media and society has never felt Mira’s cock in their ass, though, so it makes sense why they can never understand.

But some days, like today, Rumi feels that alpha urge bubbling within her. She grunts again as the smack of skin resounds like a thundering clap in the empty bathroom, revels in Mira’s moans and gasps and hitches of breath. Rumi wants, wants to give, wants to gift her self so utterly in service of making Mira feel good.

(This also isn’t right for alphas. Alphas take in the traditional sense, take what they want, let their cocks and ruts lead over logic; they don’t fuck to give. They’re also so massively wrong. Because giving feels, it feels—)

Rumi inhales sharply, breathes in Mira’s scent, heady and floral and Mira, and revels in the blooming heat of their bodies pressed against each other.

Giving feels like falling into bed after a long day, feels like the wafting smoke of a slightly burnt homemade meal, feels like the company of a book and blankets next to a rain-spattered window. 

Giving feels right.

So Rumi gives.

Mira’s knees almost buckle as Rumi bites sharply on Mira’s shoulder and drives herself into Mira, rapid and relentless. The slow, rolling pace from earlier is forgotten in a sudden rush of desire to make Mira feel good, to give, to show Mira what Rumi can do for her, how Rumi can make her feel.

The slick sounds of Rumi’s cock sliding in and out of Mira are accompanied only by stuttering cries and determined grunts. She pounds into Mira, draping herself across Mira’s back, bringing her hips to Mira’s cheeks over and over and over again, clap clap clap.

Rumi feels Mira shudder, presses herself even tighter up against Mira as she thrusts, revels in the sensation of a million points of contact between their bodies. Mira is sticky with sweat, her hair damp, flyaway strands threatening to break free from the ponytail she’d tucked everything into for training. 

Licking at the indents left by her teeth, Rumi tastes salt and the slightest tang of Mira’s scent, almost tangible in the air as Mira cries her pleasure beneath Rumi’s rutting and lets her pheromones fill the shower stall, unfiltered and strong.

Each thrust has Rumi sliding in more and more easily, Mira’s passage wet and slick. Groaning, Rumi drives herself in as deep as she can while keeping her rapid pace. Her abdomen starts to burn with exertion, but all Rumi can think of is the overwhelming heat and pleasure wrapping all of her senses in MiraMiraMira.

Rumi needs to give even more.

Still pistoning sharply into Mira, Rumi moves the hand that’s been holding Mira’s hip in place and wraps it around to Mira’s front, groping blindly until she finds Mira’s cock, standing stiff and leaking copiously from the tip. 

Mira gasps as Rumi grips it in her fist and begins to pump along its length in quick, rough strokes, a rhythm matching the way her own cock pumps into Mira. 

Mira cries. Her already staccato “ah ah ah”s for every time Rumi brings their hips together turn louder, almost pained. She writhes beneath Rumi, squirming and twisting, not in a way like she means to leave, but like there’s so much energy building within her that has no outlet other than sheer kinetic movement.

“Rumi,” Mira moans, “Rumi, god, Rumi Rumi please god don’t stop—”

“Never,” promises Rumi with another grunt and another hard drive of her cock into Mira. Her hand pumping Mira’s cock is already soaked in the precum leaking from Mira’s tip, and she gathers it on her palm and uses it to slide her hand faster and faster on Mira.

Pistoning in and out, Rumi bites into Mira again, burying her face in Mira’s shoulder as the pleasure within her starts to build to a familiar and welcome peak.

A part of Rumi, the instinctual part, starts to scream at her to mate, to breed, but she pushes that down. This isn’t the time and place for a knot, and Rumi’s not even in rut, but the desire swells within her all the same.

Instead, she focuses on friction, on gravity, on a centralized point of contact, on her cock and the sensations surrounding it, alternating between molten heat and cool air. She focuses on the way Mira’s breath puffs, on the tickle of Mira’s hair as it sways and brushes against Rumi, on the blooming red of Mira’s skin. 

There’s something in Mira’s cries that tell Rumi she’s close.

If Mira’s close, then it’s up to Rumi to guide Mira over the edge, to give her the pleasure she seeks.

Impossibly faster, Rumi ruts into Mira and pumps her hand along Mira’s cock, determined and stubborn. Mira gets louder and louder, her own hips bucking forward into Rumi’s grip and with the sheer force of Rumi’s drive.

With a loud keen, Mira’s full body shudders beneath Rumi, and she spills, hot and thick, onto Rumi’s hand, painting the walls and floor white. Rumi doesn’t stop even as Mira comes, pistons in and out as Mira’s cock twitches and spurts until Rumi’s hand gripping it is dripping and drenched.

Gritting her teeth, Rumi feels her own climax approaching. She squeezes Mira’s cock and is rewarded with an instant whine and sob. Mira starts to sag a bit beneath Rumi, boneless from the sheer force of her peak, so Rumi releases Mira’s cock and instead wraps her arm around Mira’s stomach to hold her up, the other one still in place on Mira’s back to pin her to the wall.

“Stay with me,” Rumi groans, “a little longer, stay with me, I’m almost there.”

Mira can barely respond, spent, but she manages a halting, gasping moan. “I want—you—please Rumi—”

Supporting Mira, Rumi slams into her, rutting with single-minded fervor as pleasure claws the edges of her vision. Her mind is reduced to Mira Mira Mira, how much she wants to pleasure Mira, how much she wants that pleasure for herself, how good everything feels, how perfect; she’s thrusting into Mira, someone who isn’t her mate yet but will be, Rumi is certain, hers hers hers, and a swell builds both within Rumi and at the base of her cock.

Fuck, fuck, Rumi doesn’t want to pull out, wants to paint Mira’s insides, but her base is growing thicker, a familiar knot forming, and suddenly Rumi’s jackhammering is becoming shallower as her entry is blocked.

“Fuck,” snarls Rumi, furious at herself but desperate to finish, needing to finish. She stops abruptly, begins to pull herself out before Mira’s hands frantically reach behind her to grab Rumi’s ass and yank her forwards.

“Want it,” Mira slurs, “don’t leave, don’t—I can take it, I can take it, I want it, please Rumi—”

“Mira,” Rumi pants, somehow holding still even as her whole body thrums on the edge. “We shouldn’t—”

“Give it to me, Rumi.”

So Rumi gives.

With a rumble in her throat that borders on a roar, Rumi unwraps her arms from around Mira, slams her forward, grabs her hips with bruising strength, and shoves herself back inside, pounding into Mira with a desperate desire.

Her knot brushes the edges of Mira’s entrance, hitting it over and over again as Rumi thrusts in and out, fueled by Mira’s words and her own instincts and the sheer, slick warmth of being inside Mira.

Harder, faster, Rumi ruts until—

With a pop, Rumi’s knot slides into Mira and Rumi cries as she comes, spilling hot seed deep inside. She collapses on top of Mira, her hips still in motion as she pumps jerkily, fucking her come into Mira even as she continues her release. The sheer wave of foggy pleasure that comes with knotting her love leaves Rumi feeling almost floaty.

Eventually, her cock stops twitching, and Rumi is spent. She slows her hips to a gentle roll, then a full stop, and carefully wraps her arms around Mira in a warm embrace, panting into Mira’s ear.

“Thanks,” Rumi finally manages as she catches her breath.

Mira laughs, voice low and husky and winded. “For what, exactly? Beating your ass in training?”

Rumi groans loudly. “Oh come on, Mira, seriously?”

Turning her head as best she can to look behind her at Rumi, Mira grins. It lacks any real bite to it, though. “Seriously,” Mira teases. “Plus, I think you’ve proven yourself more than capable off the mat today, so I suppose we can call it a draw.”

“A draw?” Rumi squawks. “No no, I definitely ‘showed you how it’s done’—”

“Like knotting me?”

“You asked me to!” 

Mira tips her head back and laughs. “I did.” Wiggling her ass on Rumi’s knot, she sighs. “Maybe not one of my smarter choices, though.”

Whining, Rumi drops her forehead to Mira’s shoulder. “You said it was okay.”

“It is!” Mira argues. “I love your knot! We just…might need to take a longer shower than planned. Hopefully before Zoey makes it back from the airport.”

Rumi blanches. “Oh my god. If Zoey comes back and—”

“Yeah.” Grimacing, Mira readjusts herself, and Rumi feels her knot shift. “Let’s shower and we’ll see if you’re ready to slip out by the time we’re done.”

Nodding dumbly, Rumi mumbles, “Yeah, good—good idea.” She reaches for the shower nozzle, trying not to jostle Mira too much, and twists it. The showerhead spurts for a moment before turning on, dousing the two in hot water.

“This is…going to be a little difficult, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

For a moment, silence.

Then, two bright bursts of laughter.