Chapter 3: Jealousy in the Market
The sharp, vinegar-tang of fermented streets did little to mask the deeper, warmer scents of the Lanes market—roasting nuts, spiced stew, and the ever-present musk of too many bodies in too confined a space. Vander’s large hand rested on the small of Silco’s back, a permanent and possessive anchor as they navigated the choked aisle between stalls.
They had married three days after the confession on the backroom floor. It wasn’t a hard ordeal; a few words spoken before a Lanes elder, their hands clasped tight, a simple band of hammered iron for each of them. Silco, for the first time in his relentless life, had simply… let go. He fell, not into submission, but into the happy, aching role his omega biology had always carved out for him, a role that felt less like a cage and more like a cherished skin. Every alpha in the vicinity envied Vander for owning the undercity’s most beautiful and brilliant omega. Many omegas envied Silco for taking the kind, formidable Vander off the market.
Vander accompanied him everywhere. He rarely let his adorable omega out of his sight unless necessity demanded it, and they made love every day, sometimes twice. It was a rhythm as natural as breathing.
Today, Silco wore a soft, cream-colored sundress that clung to the new, gentle curve of his belly. Three months had gone by quickly; the life they’d created in that first, desperate tying was already making its presence known. No bra restrained the swell of his chest, his large nipples prominent and hard against the thin fabric. No panties hid anything else. Beneath the dress, nestled deep inside him, a smooth pussy plug kept Vander’s seed sealed within, a constant, intimate reminder of his alpha’s claim, unless Vander himself decided to reclaim him.
“The sourdough,” Silco said, his voice still that sharp, witty blade, but now edged with a contentment that made it melodic. He pointed a slender finger. “That loaf there. It looks less pathetic than the others.”
The vendor, a beta woman with kind eyes, smiled. “Good choice, dear. Your first?”
Silco’s hand drifted to his stomach. A smirk, but a soft one. “Yes.”
Vander, towering behind him, radiated a quiet, profound satisfaction. Having loved Silco for so long, he now looked content, relaxed, his usual guarded warmth now an open flame. He paid for the bread, tucking it under his arm, his other hand never leaving Silco.
That’s when the gaze landed on them. A young alpha manning the next stall, dealing in pilfered Piltover gears and hinges. His eyes, dull with boredom, flickered to Silco. They traced the line of the dress from shoulder to hip, lingering on the jut of a nipple, then dropping to where the hem kissed Silco’s thigh. The stare was slow, brazen, a visual caress.
Vander’s hand tightened. He stepped slightly in front of Silco, his bulk blocking the view. The market noise seemed to recede.
“See something you like?” Vander’s voice was low, a gravelly growl that carried no farther than the stall.
The young alpha’s eyes widened, snapping up to Vander’s face. He paled. “N-no, Vander. Sir. Apologies. Just… admiring the dress.”
A low sound, almost a purr, came from Silco. He pressed himself against Vander’s back, his hand sliding around Vander’s hip, down the front of his trousers. He found the hardening length of him, already thickening at the mere hint of a threat. Silco cupped him, squeezed.
“Let him look, love,” Silco murmured, his lips close to Vander’s ear. His tone was poisonously sweet. “He’ll never have what you do. He can look at the wrapping. Only you get to unwrap the present and fuck what’s inside.”
Vander shuddered. The possessive fire in his gut, always smoldering for Silco, roared into an inferno. He grabbed the bread, took Silco’s hand, and strode away from the main thoroughfare, pulling him into a narrower, shadowed alley behind a vendor selling heavy bolts of damp-smelling cloth. It was a dank alcove, piled with crates.
“Against that one,” Vander ordered, his voice rough.
Silco went willingly, bending over a crate of raw wool, the rough wood biting into his palms. He pushed his ass back, the cream dress hiking up easily, exposing the full, pale curves of his cheeks, the dampness already darkening the fabric where his plugged cunt waited.
Vander didn’t bother with finesse. He shoved the dress up to Silco’s waist, one big hand clamping over Silco’s mouth from behind. The other hand yanked the smooth, glistening plug from Silco’s hole with a wet, sucking pop. A trickle of spend leaked out, the scent of it—Vander’s scent, mixed with Silco’s slick—filling the alcove.
“No one else gets to see what’s mine,” Vander hissed, aligning the broad, flushed head of his cock with Silco’s dripping entrance. “No one else gets to make you wet.”
He slammed in.
Silco’s scream was muffled by Vander’s palm. The penetration was brutal, a single, deep stroke that buried him to the root, stretching Silco’s used, pregnant hole exquisitely wide. There was no slow burn, no gentle welcome. This was raw reclamation.
“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” Vander grunted, already pulling back and driving in again. The crate scraped against the stone with each thrust. “Taking my cock so good, omega. Taking it like you were made for it.”
Silco could only moan, his body jolting forward with each powerful snap of Vander’s hips. The fullness was blinding, the friction a perfect, brutal drag against every sensitive inch inside him. His own cock, hard and trapped against the wool, leaked onto the rough wood. Vander’s hand over his mouth was a dominance he craved, the lack of air making the sensations sharper, more dizzying.
“This cunt is mine,” Vander panted, his pace relentless, pounding, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the close walls. “This womb is mine. That pup inside you is mine. Everything. Say it.”
He moved his hand just enough.
“Yours!” Silco cried out, the word torn from him. “All yours, alpha, please!”
“Gonna knot you right here,” Vander promised, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, more purposeful. “Gonna fill you back up, plug you with my cock instead. Make sure everyone knows you’re bred and kept.”
The knot began to swell, that immense bulb thickening at the base of his shaft, stretching Silco’s rim wider with every inward shove. Silco wailed, his body clenching down, his orgasm ripping through him without warning, convulsing around the invading, thickening flesh. The intensity made his knees buckle.
Vander held him up, shoved in one last, final time, and locked. The knot popped past the straining ring of muscle, sealing them together. Vander roared, a guttural, triumphant sound, and Silco felt the hot, gushing flood of his release. It poured into him, wave after wave, scalding his channel, flooding his already-occupied womb, mixing with the previous spend until he felt impossibly full, claimed to the core.
They stayed like that, tied, Vander slumped over Silco’s back, both of them panting, sweat-slick in the humid alley. Slowly, Vander nuzzled into Silco’s neck, peppering it with soft kisses.
“Bastard,” Silco whispered, breathless, a laugh in his voice.
“Your bastard,” Vander corrected, gently biting his mating mark.
When the knot subsided enough for them to separate, Vander was tender. He helped Silco stand, smoothing his dress down, his hands lingering on the small swell of his stomach. He found the plug, cleaned it swiftly with a handkerchief, and guided it back inside Silco, ensuring his seed was kept safe. The act was intimate, routine, owned.
They walked back into the market light, arms linked. Silco, charming and mean and funny, now had a rosy-cheeked, complete look about him, Vander’s constant shadow and devotion having erased the last of the brittle, lonely edges. Vander looked at him like he’d hung the few, grimy stars visible in the undercity sky. They were smitten, besotted, a united front.
They collected their forgotten bread and headed home, to the rooms above The Last Drop, where the world could press in all it liked. It didn’t matter. Inside, they were knotted together forever.