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Summary
A scent.
Not Alastor's. That was everywhere, moss and whiskey, wrapping around him like a blanket. This was different. Fainter. But there. Impregnated in Alastor's clothes, his skin, his breath.
Sweet. Omega. Apples.
Vox froze.
His brain, which had been about to completely shut down, came back to life with the force of a punch. Apples. That smell. That fucking smell. He knew it. He knew it too well.
The King.
Lucifer.
Vox growled. A sound that wasn't the submissive whimper from a second ago, but something sharper. More furious. His hands, which had been weakly caressing Alastor's chest, tensed. Pushed. Pressed.
—Get off me.
Series
- Part 1 of Static and Moss
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Bookmark Notes:
omega电视机，渣男老鹿hhhhh