Chapter Text
Lips. Warm and firm, slightly chapped, moving languidly against each other. Hips rolling, chasing friction, but not in a hurry. Two bodies molding together as if they have all the time in the world.
“Will…” Mike sighed out, squeezing his thighs together as the man above him trailed his hands along Mike’s sides, his touch a delightful burn against bare skin.
Mike whined as Will’s hand dipped between his legs, fingertips ghosting over his soaking wet folds.
“Shh, I’ve got you.” Will whispered, his breath fanning Mike’s face, his eyes kind and sincere.
Mike gasped as Will delicately spread his folds apart and rubbed the pads of his fingers against Mike's slick-soaked heat.
“Relax, relax.” Will reassured him, and Mike felt a chill run down his spine as Will tentatively pushed one of his fingers past Mike’s velvety walls.
Mike instinctually rolled his hips up to meet Will’s hand as he sunk his finger in deeper, whimpering at the welcome intrusion.
“God Mike, you feel so good.” Will groaned and Mike clenched around his finger as he moaned. The heady scent of roasted coffee beans and salted caramel filling Mike’s senses as Will picked up the pace with his hand.
“Will please, I can take more.” Mike begged, sweat and slick coating his inner thighs.
Will obliged and Mike moaned high and loud as his hole was stretched further by Will inserting another finger into his tight heat.
Mike practically screamed when Will angled his fingers up and hit his spot. Will groaned as Mike clenched around his fingers that were rubbing over his spot, giving Mike toe curling pleasure.
“Will, Will, please kiss me.” Mike sighed out as he felt heat coil in his gut.
Will leaned down to crash his lips against Mike, the two swallowing each other's sounds of pleasure as Will continued his assault against the bundle of nerves deep inside Mike's core.
Mike panted into Will's mouth as the heat in his gut reached a fever pitch and—
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Mike startled awake, the sound of his alarm blaring making his head hurt. He leaned over and turned the alarm off, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he fumbled for his glasses.
“Shit!” The omega scrambled out of bed when he realized what time it was. He only had about 5 minutes before he was supposed to wake the girls up, and Mike liked to be already dressed and cleaned up before then. Especially since Lucy in particular is on a rebellious streak right now and needs his full attention when getting ready in the morning.
He ran around his bedroom grabbing the first clean clothes he could find and rushed into his bathroom.
“Oh come on.” Mike groaned as he removed his boxers to see his length standing at half-mast and his thighs coated in slick. He should probably check when his next heat is due, he usually only wakes up like this in the week leading up to it. (He's not gonna disclose how often he has dreams like the one he had this morning though…)
He just barely managed to tame his black curls into something semi-presentable before running down the hallway to enter his daughters’ bedroom.
“Clara, Lucy, it's time to get up.” Mike said as he flipped the lights in the bedroom on. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his navy blue button down, hoping that the girls wouldn't notice because apparently they had decided that they were now old enough to make fun of their mother.
“Ungh, 5 more minutes.” Lucy groaned from where she was cocooned in her bed, her tawny brown hair splayed out on her pillow.
Mike crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You have school Luce, I already let you sleep in, it's time to get up.” (Mike was decidedly not going to tell his children that he overslept as well.)
“Come on Lucy, listen to Mom.” Clara tried to reason with her sister as she sat up in bed, stretching her arms out above her head with a yawn.
Lucy whined, but still pushed herself into a seated position, nailing Mike with hazel green glare. (It reminded Mike of a young boy who’d give Mike the same look when he put a new obstacle into one of his campaigns.)
“Be mad all you want, you still have to be ready for school in less than an hour.” Mike shrugged at his daughter. “I’ll be back to check on you two in 15 minutes, and I expect you both to be dressed by then.” Mike looked back and forth between the two girls that shared the same face before leaving the room to go to the kitchen.
Mike leans up against the counter as he waits for a cup of coffee to brew and tries to get his bearings.
He's got 45 minutes until he needs to leave to drop Clara and Lucy off at school, which is a 15 minute drive from their house usually when you factor in traffic and driving through school zones. And he has an hour and a half to make it to the library before it opens. His boss, Mrs. Quinn, will murder him on sight if he's late.
Mike sighs as he gulps down some of his coffee, ignoring how it burned his tongue. Mike had always been impatient and impulsive, he'd rather deal with the consequences later than think things through.
He didn't use to like coffee, and honestly, he still isn't very fond of the taste. But when you're 18 years old and taking care of twins that you were wholly unprepared for, desperate times call for desperate measures.
(There's probably a deeper reason to why Mike had grown an affinity to coffee over the past decade, and it probably has to do with a certain young alpha with soft tawny brown hair and kind hazel green eyes who smelled like a cup of freshly brewed coffee and salted caramel with a hint of nutmeg, but Mike wasn't inclined to look too deeply into that.)
“No Lucy! That's mine!” Clara shrieked, her voice bouncing off the hallway's walls.
“We're the same size, and it was on my side of the closet!” Lucy shouted back.
“No it was not!” Clara retorted.
Mike set his coffee mug down, rolled his shoulders, and steeled himself as he went to break up whatever petty argument the twins had gotten themselves into.
“Girls! Stop shouting!” Mike said as he stepped into the room to find his daughters playing tug of war with a yellow dress. “What's going on?” He kneeled on the ground so he could be level with the 9 year olds.
Both girls began to say their piece, clamoring over each other without a care for the fact that Mike couldn't understand a single word.
“Stop!” Mike put his hands up to emphasize his statement. “One at a time, Clara.” He motioned to the girl on his left who he had first heard raise her voice.
“Lucy’s trying to take my dress. I told her no, but she said it was on her side of the closet so it was okay, but I know that it wasn't! I remember hanging it up on my side when we did laundry last Thursday! It's not fair, she always takes my stuff.” Clara pouted.
“That's not true! You stole my hairbrush last week!” Lucy shouted, her little cheeks puffed out in anger.
“No I did not!” Clara shouted back.
“Yes you did! Mine's the green one, and yours is the yellow one!” Lucy exclaimed.
“Girls!” Mike interrupted again, desperately trying to take control of the situation. Time was ticking and he still needed to feed the twins and make their lunches before they could all leave.
The two turn to face their mother, their mouths now shut tight.
“Now, Lucy,” Mike turned to his daughter on the right. “You know you're not supposed to take your sister’s things without asking.” Mike said in the carefully constructed ‘mom-voice’ that he had perfected over the years.
“But—” Lucy started.
“No buts.” Mike cut her off. “Did you know that that was Clara’s dress?” Mike pointed to the yellow dress that had been abandoned on the floor once Mike had entered the room.
Lucy nodded, tucking her chin to her chest in shame, her sleep-mussed hair falling in curtains over her blushing face.
“Why didn't you ask her if you could wear it?” Mike asked.
Lucy blushed deeper.
“Lucy?” Mike prompted the 9 year old again.
“I wanted to look pretty, and the dress is pretty.” Lucy whispered.
Mike leaned in closer to hear what his daughter was saying. “What?” He asked.
Lucy peered up at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “A girl in my class said I’m not pretty because I don't dress well.” Her little voice wobbled as she spoke.
“Oh Luce, come here.” Mike opened his arms and pulled his little girl into a hug. “I’m so sorry, that was a very mean thing for her to say, but you still need to ask before you just take something that belongs to someone else.” Mike explained as Lucy naturally tucked her face into his neck where his scent gland was located. Mike let his scent of blackberries, fresh mint leaves, and cherries engulf his daughter.
“I’m sorry.” Lucy mumbled into his neck.
“Thank you Luce, but you need to say sorry to your sister as well.” He said, rubbing his hand up and down the little girl’s back.
Lucy reluctantly climbed out of her mother's arms and faced her sister. She tucked her hair behind her ears and Mike's heart clenched at the sight of his daughter's red eyes and tear streaked face. (He hated seeing his children cry.)
“I’m sorry that I took your dress without asking Clara.” Lucy says, her voice small but sincere.
“I forgive you Lucy. And I’m sorry for taking your hairbrush.” Clara responded.
“I forgive you too.” Lucy gives her sister a small smile before wrapping her arms around Clara in a tight hug.
Mike's heart warmed, and he couldn't help but smile when Clara reciprocated her sister's hug.
“Ooh! I can help you pick a pretty dress from your side of the closet Lucy!” Clara said, her eyes sparkling with delight.
“Really?” Lucy said, mirroring her twin’s excitement.
“Yea!” Clara smiled wide, her little bunny teeth on full display.
“That sounds great girls, just make it quick because we have to leave soon.” Mike said as he stood to his full height, looking down at the girls.
The twins were tall for their age, their long and lanky frames being one of the only things they inherited from their mother, but Mike was still an almost 6 foot tall man, and the girls had to crane their necks a little to see their mom’s face.
They nodded in understanding before running to their closet, giggling hand in hand.
Mike gave one more look back at them before going back to the kitchen to prepare their lunches.
The girls came thundering down the hall after a few minutes, pouring cereal for themselves while asking (demanding) Mike to do their hair.
Despite having two sisters, Mike had had no idea how to do hair, his first attempt at pigtails was absolutely atrocious. Fortunately, the couple who ran the safe house that Mike lived in during his first few years in San Francisco had taken pity on him and sat him down to actually teach him how to do hair.
“You're a mother to two little girls now, you have to at least know how to do a basic braid.” He remembers Theresa saying as she demonstrated braiding technique with pieces of yarn.
“Come on girls! We're gonna be late!” Mike called as he threw on a light jacket and grabbed his keys.
“Lucy, it's October. Where is your jacket?” Mike asked the little girl who was dressed in a summer dress with tanktop style sleeves.
“I’m not cold.” Lucy said simply as she rocked back and forth on her heels.
Mike rolled his eyes at his daughter. “Alright, then I don't wanna hear you complaining later.” Normally Mike would fight her more on it, but they were running so horribly behind that Mike just didn't have the time or energy to argue with the spirited 4th grader.
Mike pulled up to the elementary school just in the nick of time, and after quickly instructing the girls to take the bus after school and meet him at the library (as was their usual routine), he watched them run into the building, twin braids of long and soft tawny brown hair flying behind them.
Mike hasn't done a lot of things right in his 28 years of life, but as he watched his girls happily run into school, giggling along the way, he thinks that he hasn't done half bad with motherhood.
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“You're late.”
Mike froze in place from where he had been trying to sneak past his boss. But he should've known better, Mrs. Quinn had the eyes of a hawk.
“I brought you coffee?” Mike held up the mocha latte that he had picked up on his way to the library as a peace offering.
Mrs. Quinn took the disposable cup, opened the lid and took a whiff of the drink before snapping the lid back on and taking a sip. “You are forgiven, just don't do it again.” She said as she spun in her chair to face forward at her desk again, her back now facing Mike.
Mike let out a quiet sigh of relief as he moved to place his things in a back room for the library staff. Mrs. Quinn was a nice middle aged beta woman with graying hair that she always had done in a sleek updo. She was usually very amiable and kind, albeit a little stoic, but she could be terrifying when she was angry. Mike was lucky that she had a soft spot for him ever since he first started working at the San Francisco Public Library 7 years ago.
It also helped that Mrs. Quinn adored children, and Mike happened to have two very well behaved daughters (something they absolutely inherited from their father, because Mike was a pain in the ass as a kid) who loved to read that would join him at work when they got out of school.
“Michael, we have a school field trip coming in around 11. Second grade class that's learning about the Dewey Decimal System, make sure the children's non-fiction area is tidied and all of the books are in the right section. We don't need those kids getting confused because a history book somehow ended up in the science section.” Mrs. Quinn instructed, her focus still on her giant notebook that she used to keep track of which books had been checked out, which ones were on hold, and which ones were overdue. She had tried to explain her system to Mike once, but it just ended with both of them getting frustrated with each other.
“Got it Mrs. Quinn.” Mike said as he used the window into the staff room as a mirror and tried to fix his hair.
“What are you doing?” Mrs. Quinn turned around in her chair, an amused smile dancing across her lips as she watched Mike toss and fluff his curls.
Mike blushed at being caught and tried to play it off as him just scratching the back of his neck. “Oh nothing, just an itch. You know, cheap fabric and all…”
“Just get to work Michael.” Mrs. Quinn shook her head fondly as she took another sip of her latte and returned to her records.
Mike usually didn't like being called Michael, it reminded him of his father who refused to ever call Mike by his shortened name. But Mrs. Quinn had taken him on as an employee when he had nothing but an associates degree, and it was thanks to her that he was able to start making enough money to move his family into their own home after almost 4 years at the safe house, so he let her call him whatever she wanted. (He’d take ‘Michael’ over ‘Mr. Wheeler’ any day, so he really wasn't complaining.)
He lost himself in the mindless task of finding books that were out of place in the children's section, sorting them into their correct categories, and one by one putting them back where they belonged. Mike knew this library like the back of his hand at this point, so it was safe to let his thoughts drift while he worked.
Mike didn't really have a pattern for where his mind would drift to in moments like this, at least, he didn't think he did.
Sometimes, he thinks of mundane tasks he needs to complete later, like: go grocery shopping, take out the trash, do a load of laundry, make sure Clara and Lucy do their homework, etc., etc.
Sometimes he thinks of story ideas. Plots about daring knights, cunning villains, and gentle heroines. Mike hasn't ever written any of those stories down though. He thinks he's an okay writer at best, and he had always felt like his stories were better expressed through visual aids. But he hasn't had anyone who could fill that role for years now.
And sometimes, when Mike really lets himself get lost in his mind, he thinks of hazel green eyes; kind, gentle, sincere. He thinks of soft brown hair that glowed like there was a halo surrounding it in the sun. He thinks of soft skin, and a body that had grown firmer over the years; not too muscular, not too thin, but just right.
It seems like today his brain has chosen the third option. Which Mike guesses makes sense given how he woke up this morning. (Mike had to fight off a blush just thinking about it.) God, he really needed to check his calendar for when his heat was coming.
Mike's heat had always been hard to track, after being put on suppressants and scent blockers immediately after his presentation, using chemicals to stop his body's natural cycle for years, he never went through the formative years where a young omega establishes their cycle with their first non-sexual heats. Mike had instead jumped straight to the big leagues when he went cold turkey off of his meds after he found out he was pregnant, and was just going with the flow whenever his cycle decided to show up.
He had been able to learn the signs that he was in pre-heat over the years, and that has been a huge help in attempting to track his highly irregular cycle, but his heat still had a nasty habit of sneaking up on him.
Around lunchtime, after the parade of 7 and 8 year olds had come and gone with their teacher, Mrs. Quinn dropped a file of paperwork on the table where Mike was eating his sandwich by the coffee pot in the staff lounge.
“I need you to file all of these for me before I lose you for a week.” She said casually.
“Lose me for a week? What are you talking about?” Mike said through a mouthful of ham and cheese sandwich.
“First, don't talk with your mouth full, that's just disrespectful. And second, I may have an old beta nose, but I know the scent of an omega going into heat, especially the scent of a certain omega named Michael Wheeler.” Mrs. Quinn rattled off, her hands placed firmly on her hips as she stared Mike down from behind her half moon glasses that sat perched on her nose.
Mike blushed furiously as he swallowed his food down. “You're saying that like I’m going into heat right now.” Mike said, desperately wanting to move on from this topic of conversation.
“Oh no, I don't think you're that close.” Mrs. Quinn came to sit across from Mike and turned the coffee maker on to brew a cup for herself. “But I do think you only have a day or two left.” She said with a shrug.
The scent of coffee filled Mike’s senses, and if he were standing, he’s almost certain that his knees would've buckled.
Mike cleared his throat and tried to rid his mind of thoughts of strong hands, coffee and caramel, and mind blowing pleasure, and bring himself back to the present.
“What makes you say that?” He manages to squeak out, rather embarrassingly.
Mrs. Quinn raised an eyebrow as her coffee finished straining, silently asked if Mike really wanted to know, and the silence from the male omega gave the beta woman her answer.
“Well, other than the sweeter cherry notes in your scent beginning to dominate everything else, you came into work looking like you've just rolled out of bed, your head’s been off in the clouds all day, and you're surrounding yourself with the scent of coffee; well, you're surrounding yourself with it more than usual. Over the years I’ve been able to piece together that those are all signs that your heat is about to start in a few short days.” Mrs. Quinn explained clinically as she mixed sugar and creamer into her steaming coffee.
Mike gave a glance over to the coffee pot next to him, and scooted away from it just a tiny bit, as if that would change anything.
“Okay fine, maybe you're right. But next time, could you be a little more subtle about it?” Mike asked, his face on fire, which he doesn't think has to do with his oncoming heat.
“I’ll start being subtle when you start responding to subtlety.” Mrs. Quinn said cryptically.
Mike gave her a strange and confused look as she stood and took a tentative sip of her coffee. “Files. Now.” She said firmly before turning on her heel and walking back to her desk.
Mike was left alone to think about her statement, which he didn't understand. What does she mean that he doesn't respond to subtlety? Mike thinks that he's pretty alright at reading people. He was certainly better than when he was a painfully oblivious teenager, so he really doesn't know what Mrs. Quinn is talking about.
Mike sighed. He had work to do, he didn't have time to dwell on the inner workings of Margaret Quinn’s mind. He scarfed down the restroom and took the manila folder of files to the library's help desk where the filing cabinets were located and got to work dissecting its contents.
Mike slowly worked through the stack of papers, occasionally pausing to answer questions from visitors about if they had certain books or where specific authors were located until he was interrupted by the sound of two loud voices squealing:
“MOM!”
Mike looked up to see his daughters barreling towards him, and he quickly stood and got out from behind the help desk to intercept the girls before they hurt themselves.
“Girls, how many times have I told you that you can't be shouting or running like that in the library?” Mike said as Clara and Lucy each attached themselves to one of his legs, their faces squished up against his waist.
“Sorry…” They both mumbled, their voices lowered to an exaggerated whisper.
“Are those my two favorite girls in the world?” Mrs. Quinn came around the corner with a wide smile on her face.
“Hi Mrs. Quinn!” The twins said cheerfully, their words overlapping each other's.
“Did you two have a good day at school?” Mrs. Quinn crouched to be at their level while they stayed clinging to their mother.
“Good! We learned how to multiply big numbers, and I was really good at it.” Lucy said with a proud bunny tooth smile.
“And I got to go to art today, and I made a drawing of a fairy!” Clara briefly let go of her mother and pulled her drawing out of her backpack and innocently showed it off. It brought back memories of a young boy with the same smile running up to Mike to show him a drawing he made inspired by Mike's latest campaign.
“How exciting! I’m happy for both of you.” Mrs. Quinn said, her face lighting up as she conversed with the identical sisters.
“Come on girls, I’m still working behind the help desk, so you can work on your homework back there with me.” Mike said, looking back and forth between Clara and Lucy.
“No, please Mom! We just finished school!” Lucy whined, tugging on Mike's pants.
“You know the routine Luce. It's not gonna go away if you don't do it right now.” Mike said.
“But my brain hurts.” Lucy pouted, her hazel green eyes turned up at him like a kicked puppy.
“Oh come on Michael, let the girls have a little break.” Mrs. Quinn said. She always fell victim to the girls’ puppy dog eye trick.
“Yea Mom, you should listen to Mrs. Quinn, she's smart.” Lucy said with a little bit of sass. Mike could feel Clara nodding in agreement with her sister against his other leg.
“Do you wanna know how Mrs. Quinn got to be so smart?” Mike asked. “She did her homework when her mom asked her to.” Mike said firmly.
“Come on, you’ll have more time to play if you get it done now.” Mike detached himself from his daughters’ holds and moved back behind the help desk to the mess of files he was still sorting through. (Although he really would've loved to just cuddle with his children over on the bean bags in the kids’ area. Shit, maybe Mrs. Quinn was right and his heat was closer than he thought.)
Mike settled into the familiar routine of his life. He liked the life he had built for himself with his girls in San Francisco. He was perfectly content. His 18 year old self would be shocked to see where he is now. When Mike first arrived in the city 10 years ago, he was scared, very pregnant, and unsure of what to do.
But things were better now. Sure there had been some rough patches, and sure Mike had almost given in and called a certain young alpha who was on the other side of the country in moments of weakness, but he was fine.
Everything was fine.
Mike would get over the hole in his heart someday.
Besides, the universe had sent him two beautiful girls that reflected their parentage in the most remarkable ways, and that was more than Mike ever deserved.
Yes. Mike was absolutely, totally, perfectly fine.
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