Post Repatriation Vomiting
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“Higgs.” Sam says. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Shit, Bridges, I know you’re a bit dense, but surely not that dense?” Higgs asks and pulls back a little so he can look Sam in the eye. “What does it feel like I’m doing, hm?”
“It feels like you’re dry humping me like a damn dog while talking about our shared ability to feel each other die,” Sam mumbles, slightly disgruntled. “Excuse me if I’m a little confused.”
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“希格斯，”山姆说，“你他妈在干什么? ”
“妈的，布里吉斯，我知道你有点迟钝，但也不至于这么迟钝吧？”希格斯问道，向后拉开距离，直视山姆的眼睛，“你觉得我在干什么，嗯? ”
“我觉得你在像只发情的狗一样蹭着我，同时说着我们共有的感知对方死亡的能力,”山姆不满地咕哝着，“抱歉这让我有点糊涂了。”
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Higgs comes across Sam in the wild, and learns an exciting little secret about his favourite porter. Naturally, he makes the most of it.
Higgs' breath gusts heavy along his neck, deep pulls of air so close to Sam's scent glands it feels like a caress. Sam jerks his head away, but that only serves to expose more of his throat to the tongue that burns a line up his neck.
A low rumble vibrates through him, through the both of them; pure undiluted satisfaction. "They just let you out like this, huh?" Higgs asks. "Or did you slip the leash?"
Sam's head feels full of fog, and it takes him far too long to grind out, "What?"
"Right on the cusp of your heat, smelling just," his murderer takes another deep breath, voice gravel over smoke as he finishes, "good enough to eat. Who'd have thought the mythical Sam Bridges was an omega."