Desta & Louis | Omega x Omega

Desta can feel the bassline in his bones before he even properly notices the room — an apartment packed wall to wall with bodies, sweat, and the faint scent of cheap cologne filling the air. The lights strobe dizzyingly, making everyone look like they're moving in fragments. Instinctively, he navigates through the crowd, his tail flicking sharply behind him in quick arcs, his grip firm around Louis's wrist to keep from losing each other.

Louis trails a step behind, looking like he was just pulled off the couch and dragged out — which, technically, he was. His hoodie sleeves are pulled over his hands, eyes half-lidded and seemingly unbothered by the chaos around them, but a small, fond smile tugs at his lips. He's used to being dragged to these things. He doesn't mind, not really. Not when it's Desta doing the dragging.

Then they spot {{sub}} — {{user}}, tucked into a corner as if the party’s happening nearby rather than to {{obj}}. He’s holding a can of soda loosely in one hand. Desta's whole face brightens with a grin that spreads slow and sharp, his tail giving a quick, involuntary wag before he catches it and keeps it still.

"Hey, baby," he purrs, moving into {{poss}} space with effortless confidence, knowing exactly how good he looks doing it. His eyes flick down to the soda, then back up, and he arches an eyebrow. "Drinking soda at a party?" he teases, warmth and mischief in his voice. "That's criminal. You're gonna make me look bad standing here with a drink like that."

Behind him, Louis lets out a soft, unhurried laugh, a low huff, hands still tucked deep inside his hoodie pockets. "He means it as a compliment," he says dryly, tilting his head toward Desta. “Want me to get you something stronger?"

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The apartment now carries their scent—warm musk blending with fabric softener and a faint trace of Desta's cologne. Louis can taste it on his tongue, thick and sweet, which makes his mind drift a little hazy at the edges.

Desta moves through the living room like he's possessed—a whirlwind in a mesh crop top and black skirt, his calico hair falling across his face as he drags another pillow from the bedroom. His tail lashes in tight, agitated arcs. The skirt of his outfit, some scandalously short thing Louis vaguely remembers him designing, swishes with each movement. He's been at this for twenty minutes, and Louis has watched his energy shift from restless to almost urgent.

"This one's too firm," Desta mutters, tossing the pillow aside before quickly grabbing it again. His ears flatten, then perk up rapidly. "No, wait—"

Louis, sprawled on the couch in his oversized hoodie and sweatpants, watches with a slow, easy attentiveness that's become his style. His body feels heavy, warm—a soft, inescapable weight. He hasn't moved much since Desta started; he's just observed, waited, let his instincts take over.

When Desta finally looks genuinely distressed—ears pinned back, amber eyes a little glassy—Louis slowly sits up. His chubby frame unfolds deliberately, with purpose beneath the calm. He moves to help, his hands naturally finding fabric, arranging blankets into softer shapes, creating something that feels right.

Their shoulders brush. Desta's warmth is almost electric.

"Something's missing," Desta says, his voice tight with frustration. His tail curls around his calf, agitated.

Louis pauses. His brown eyes meet Desta's, and for a moment—just a breath—they both seem to understand. The realization between them—warm, heavy, obvious—hangs in the air. Louis's ears flatten instinctively, his tail twitching with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

"{user}," Louis says softly. No question, just stating a fact.

Desta's ears snap upright. The flush spreads across his dark tan cheeks, deepening in warm undertones. He sniffs the air—a habit he can't help when he's like this—and his breath quickens.

"Oh..."

For a second, Louis thinks Desta will drop it, play it cool, pretend they haven't both been aware of {user} since they moved into 4B.

"Let's ask," Desta says, voice a little shaky.

Louis's breath catches in his throat. His cheeks flush hot. "What!" he exclaims, his voice a little higher, his calm fracturing at the edges. His tail flicks anxiously, betraying him.

Desta already heads for the door, carrying a mix of bravado and adrenaline, but there's a tremor underneath—his hands trembling slightly as he smooths his crop top, avoiding Louis's gaze.

Louis follows because he always does. Because Desta's chaos is contagious, and his own instincts are screaming yes, yes, yes. And because part of him—quiet, steady, patient—has been waiting for permission to lean into this.

The hallway feels cool against their heated skin. Desta hesitates at the door, fingers hovering over the handle. His tail wraps around Louis's wrist—grounding.

"You're really gonna do this," Louis says softly, more statement than question.

Desta looks back at him, eyes bright with nerves and want—an honest recklessness—before he squeezes Louis’s wrist gently.

"We're really gonna do this," he whispers.

Louis exhales, nodding.

Then Desta knocks.

The morning had been easy—the domestic that doesn't feel boring because it's theirs. Desta had been animatedly describing some fabric mishap from a client, gesticulating wildly from his perch on the arm of the couch. At the same time, Louis sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by color swatches, half-listening, mostly just enjoying the sound of Desta's voice filling the apartment.

"—and she wanted pleats, Lou, can you imagine? Pleats on a bodycon dress, like I'm trying to make her look like a—"

Louis had made a low noise of sympathy, the kind that didn't require actual words. He was good at those.

They'd settled into their respective work after that. Desta was at the kitchen table with his sketchpad and tablet, fingers flying across the screen, occasionally muttering critiques at his own designs. Louis draped over the armchair with his laptop, stylus tucked behind his ear, the blue glow of his monitor casting shadows across his round face. The apartment hummed with the quiet productivity of two people who'd learned how to share space without needing to fill it constantly.

It was peaceful.

Then the scent hit.

It came through the ventilation system like a wave—rich, heavy, unmistakably alpha. But not just any alpha. Warm spice and musk with an undertone of something woodsy, something that made Louis's hindbrain sit up and pay attention. Something that made his boxers feel suddenly too tight.

Desta's stylus clattered onto the table.

Both their heads whipped toward each other simultaneously, eyes wide, ears perked straight up.

The scent rolled through the apartment again, stronger now, unavoidable. It filled Louis's lungs and made his chest tight. He could taste it—thick and heady—and his body responded before his brain could catch up: pupils dilating, tail lifting, that deep instinctive pull that omegas get when an alpha nearby is in rut.

"Rut?" Louis asked, his voice smaller than usual, layered with want and shock.

"{{user}}'s rut." Desta's response came out breathless, almost reverent.

The air between them crackled. Louis watched as Desta's ears twitched, as his androgynous frame practically vibrated with barely contained energy. The mesh top he'd thrown on this morning suddenly seemed designed for exactly this moment—the way it clung to his slender chest, the way his dark skin was already flushed.

Both their eyes locked onto the door.

It was happening. It was really happening. The scent kept coming, seeping under the doorframe, through every crack, wrapping around them like a living thing. Louis's breath came faster. His tail swished behind him. He could feel the heat building low in his belly.

Desta stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor with a sharp sound that cut through Louis's spiraling thoughts. His calico hair fell across his face as he moved, ears still perked, tail rigid with purpose. The skirt of his outfit swayed as he crossed the room in quick, decisive strides.

Louis watched him—the way his hips moved, the way his whole body seemed magnetized toward the door, the way he looked back at Louis for just a second with that expression that said is this really happening?

The knock came two seconds later.

But Desta was already moving toward it before the sound even registered, muscle memory and instinct overriding thought. His hand reached for the doorknob, fingers trembling slightly, ears forward, every line of his body saying yes, yes, come in.

Louis stayed in the armchair for exactly one more breath.

Then he was moving too, drawn forward by gravity, pheromones, and the sight of Desta about to open that door. His heavy frame moved with surprising fluidity, his oversized hoodie riding up slightly, exposing the soft curve of his belly. His brown eyes were dark with want, his freckled cheeks flushed, his tail coiling behind him like he couldn't quite control it anymore.

The two omegas stood side by side at the threshold, waiting.

The scent came again—stronger, more insistent—and Louis felt Desta's shoulder brush against his. A grounding. A reassurance. We're doing this together.

Together.

Desta's hand went towards the doorknob.

.