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"The Pact"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Smut, Porn With Plot, OT5, Fluff, Mild
Angst, Humor, Fivesome, Angst, Newtypes, Possessive Behavior, Alternate
Universe - Dark, Non-Graphic Violence Pairings: 3x5x2x4x1 Summary: Formerly Intervention (retitled because the story detoured and went its own way).After seducing Quatre, the other four ex-pilots brave the uncharted waters of their new abilities and learn to cope with the unintentional gifts they were given. But as always, power requires responsibility and the humbling acknowledgement of humanity's weaknesses. The struggle to stay true to themselves becomes a dangerous and terrifying endeavor as they skirt the boundary where conscience bleeds into chaos and the dark abyss of temptation.
"The Pact" Chapter 5: Doctor's Orders Saturday, December 13th, 201, 5:49am. Colony L4 X1339, Ninth District…
Sensations, exposing and erotic, vulnerable like nothing he’d ever experienced before. A deep, overwhelming rush of possessiveness penetrating through his pores like prisms of sunlight through a window in the late afternoon. It wasn’t his own. It came from someone, or something outside of himself, but within this dark abyss, faces and names escaped him. But only for a brief moment. As if on cue...as if conjured by the mere recollection of what had unfolded, the identities of the four men rolled out from inside his subconscious like waves licking along the shore. One, two, three, four… Seduction had occurred, but something even more profound after that. Dominance. Beseeching, in his own voice, seeking what? Absolution? Perhaps that was it. Though, it was followed by frequent peaks of ecstasy. Mindless pleasure, the kind that enveloped the brain in a searing, white hot light. The kind where you forgot to think, forgot to breathe, forgot to be. The peaks were almost infinitesimal, one rolling into the next in an endless loop with little time for plateau in between. There was fluid. An abundance of fluid, coming from a place it should not have been. Scent, sweet like sugar, catching the olfactory senses of his four lovers, luring them in like a pack of starving wolves slapped across the snout with a slab of prime rib. They controlled him through telepathic commands and went at him with no inhibitions, no reservations. They pinned him to the floor of his own living room and buried their faces between the cheeks of his ass, lapping up the strange substance as if they were drinking from a refreshing oasis after days in the desert. The pleasure had been indescribable and he’d shot off like a rocket within mere seconds, weeping into the carpet as the stimulation never let up. It only seemed to make them hungry for more and the more they consumed, the more he produced. It invigorated them, filled their blood like an aphrodisiac, like life-giving sustenance, obsessed with how wet he was and trying with terrifying desperation to ingest as much as possible. They pushed into him with fingers and cocks, pressing their weight down onto his shoulder blades until the air whooshed out of his lungs and he was unable to do anything aside from whimper and orgasm. And orgasm he did. Over and over and over again until he passed out from exhaustion. What happened after that was anyone’s guess. Did they continue their carnal activities even after he lost consciousness, or did they come to their senses? Were they shocked? Were they appalled? Repulsed? Or did it stoke the dark, ravaging fires within them? There was no telling at this point either way. The sex they’d had that he was aware of was more than enough to explain the stiffness and soreness of his body. He rolled over onto his back with a pained groan and blinked up at the ceiling with eyes that felt like sandpaper. His body throbbed and complained, the loudest of which lingered between his legs. He felt as though he’d been shoved through an industrial press, not even the snippets of fuzzy memories enough to get more than a pathetic twitch out of his cock. “Jesus. If I never get hard again, it’ll be too soon.” He wiggled an arm beneath himself and tentatively felt around, the tips of his fingers gently checking for any damage, relieved when there seemed to be no tearing. There was just a residual soreness as opposed to acute pain which would indicate an injury. He was also dry as a bone with the exception of the slight gumminess left behind from his lovers’ climaxes. No blood and no trace of that odd substance. He slapped a weak hand over his face and rubbed eyes that felt puffy and tired. The sun, or rather, the artificial UV lights that mimicked the sun were just being lit across the colony and he didn’t have to look at the clock to know it was nearly six. “Four hours of sleep after the fucking of several lifetimes. That’s going to bode well for me today,” he grumbled, flipping the covers down and attempting the harrowing feat of getting out of bed. It took several undignified moments of flailing on his back like an upended turtle before he finally managed to roll onto his side and scoot to the edge. “Ow...ouch! Allah help me, but if I ever see any of them again, I’m going to kick them in the nuts so hard, they’ll be singing soprano until their midlife crisis.” He eventually succeeded though it took him much longer than any spry young man of his age should have. He felt ancient, but also strangely sated if he ignored the fact that his cock felt like it had been strangled to death. He glanced down at himself, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, and pondered the wisdom of seeing a doctor. Which made him flush red with embarrassment, the heat reaching the tops of his ears. What could he possibly tell them? The truth sounded preposterous. Still, it was probably a good idea to get checked out. The only viable candidate was Iria, though the idea of revealing this to his sister and having her look at his privates was more humiliation than he could bear. She was still better than a complete stranger. He debated the option of calling first, but decided against it. Best to just show up because he had no clue how to summarize the purpose of his visit to her receptionist. Conveying unusual anal discharge and a group fucking to a woman whose name he couldn’t even remember was simply not on his to-do list. But first, he needed a shower. It was bad enough he was going to see his sister over such odd circumstances. Showing up smelling like a two cent whore who’d just peeled herself off of a come-sticky floor was not something he planned to do. Ever. It wasn’t until he reached the bathroom that he noticed the silence of the condo, the lack of his four friends' presence and...and what? Boyfriends? Lovers? Friends with benefits? One night stands? He poked his head into the hallway, listening for a voice, a shuffle, the clink of a glass, anything, and was only met with a quiet stillness that told him his friends were no longer there. “So you all fuck me and run,” he murmured, stepping into the hall. “Story of my life.” He padded down until he reached the living room, a little reassured that they at least had the decency to clean up their mess first. He considered calling Trowa and demanding some answers, but decided he wasn’t quite in the mood for that yet. He still didn’t know what he was going to say to them, that was, if they even planned on talking to him again. Allah, when did I become such a Debbie Downer? He turned to head back towards his room, but a quick glance at the small table by the door had him making a quick detour. On the top of the table with the corner wedged beneath his phone cradle, there was a sheet of paper. He recognized the penmanship as Heero’s signature scrawl and picked it up, flipping on the overhead light. Quatre, We apologize for leaving so abruptly and without letting you know first. As I write this, you are sleeping pretty deeply and you’re very difficult to wake up and we’re not even sure you’d remember if we did manage to wake you up long enough to tell you we’re leaving. I promise you, we’re not trying to run out on you after what we’ve done and yes, we will stay in contact with you and will (hopefully) see you very soon. The problem is, we just don’t know if we can trust ourselves around you right now after what happened. I wish I could explain our behavior, but we are at a total loss. And after the night you’ve endured, you need your rest. We didn’t want to jump all over you the moment you woke up. We were afraid of injuring you. Please accept our sincerest apologies. We’re only thinking of your health and safety and we hope to reconnect with you in a couple of days when you’re rested up. It is our hope that we can figure this out and prevent such a thing from happening again. Until then, take care of yourself. We’ll be in touch. Regards, Heero, Duo, Trowa, and Wufei “Regards,” he snorted. “Why not just sign it “esquire” while you’re at it.” P.S. Cat, it’s Trowa. I am so so sorry for what we - what I did to you. I can’t expect you to forgive me, but I hope with time I can earn your trust and respect again. You mean the world to me and I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you that. It’s even worse that it’s in a letter instead of in person. I’m so sorry. I hope I can talk to you soon and see how you are. I love you, Cat. “Allah, they all act like they raped me, or something.” From his recollection, nothing could have been further from the truth. Overwhelmed? Yes. Ravished? Yes. Did he ever once resist, or ask them to stop? Nope. If memory served, he was pretty sure he’d slurred something along the lines of, “Oh, fuck yes,” in between drooling all over his designer carpeting. Several times in fact, with an additional variation and embellishment here and there for good measure. In other words, he’d been a total slut for it. He dropped the note back onto the table and shuffled back to his bathroom for a scalding shower, wondering when he’d become so easy.
***
Saturday, December 13th, 201, 9:14am. Colony L4 X1339, Seventh District…
“Quatre! What a nice surprise. What brings you to my little neck of the woods?” “Calm down, Iria. The colony is not that big,” he muttered. “You act like you haven’t seen me in months.” Iria shot him a derisive look, the matronly kind that looked ironically like pity, and tugged on the opened flaps of her white lab coat. The gesture never failed to get on his nerves. “Forgive me, little brother,” she said, though she sounded even less contrite than the time Duo hired a male stripper in leather bondage gear to infiltrate his conference with the most prominent members of the ESUN. When said stripper jumped up onto the long glass table and began to gyrate his g-string’d ass in the face of the Deputy Chief of Foreign Affairs, the poor woman nearly had a stroke and Quatre had never wanted so much for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. After that PR disaster, Duo’s nine lives had quickly dwindled down to one and he was damn lucky Quatre hadn’t castrated both him and the stripper for that prank. “So, what do I owe the pleasure? An impromptu lunch perhaps?” Quatre flushed and shuffled his feet. “Er...not exactly.” Iria’s cheerful mood vanished in an instant and in her place was her professional doctor persona. “What’s wrong, honey? Are you ill?” She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. “You do feel a little warm.” “I’m not sick, Iria. At least I don’t think I am.” “Come, sit,” she said, patting the exam table that was covered in white paper which looked eerily reminiscent to the deli paper he ordered his sandwiches in. He wondered if they got that paper from the same place. “Tell the doc what’s ailing you.” He hesitated, not thrilled in the slightest about any of this, then walked over and climbed up using the pull out step in the bottom of the table when Iria slid it out. “I’m...not even sure how to explain this. You’ll probably end up sending me to a shrink after I tell you what happened.” “Let’s not jump to conclusions.” She yanked the thermometer out of its mount and stuck it into the little opening where the disposable liners were kept and then held it in front of his face. “Under the tongue. Come on now. Don’t be shy. Open up wide, the shuttle’s coming in for a landing!” Quatre gave her a dark look, but opened his mouth without comment, closing it again after it slid beneath his tongue. He stared at the display screen while Iria wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm and wedged her stethoscope into the crook of his elbow. She squeezed the bulbous end, filling the silence with the hiss hiss hiss of compressed air until it was tight enough to cut off the circulation to his hand. Ninety eight point three… Ninety eight point four… “I was actually thinking about calling you this afternoon,” Iria informed him. Unable to speak, he responded with a grunt of acknowledgement. “Haven’t talked to you in a couple of weeks.” Ninety eight point nine… “Tried to call you yesterday to wish you a happy birthday.” Ninety nine… “Your secretary said you’d taken the day off.” Ninety nine point two… “I figured you were out having a good time.” Ninety nine point four… The thermometer beeped just as she pulled the cuff away. She slipped the instrument out of his mouth and glanced at the readout. “Ninety nine five. Bit of a temp, but nothing to be too concerned about.” “I didn’t even realize I had a fever. Doesn’t feel like it.” “You typically run a little on the warm side anyway. I’d be more concerned if your normal was on the cooler side.” She dropped the liner into the waste bin, slid the thermometer back onto its mount and reached for the otoscope beside it. “Iria, I don’t think this is really necessary,” Quatre said as she pushed the tip of the instrument up his nostril. “Just basic procedure, little brother. Suck it up.” She shoved the otoscope up the other nostril and peered through the window. “No inflammation. No sign of an upper respiratory virus.” “I told you I wasn’t sick, I wanted to -” “Say “ahhhh”.” “- talk - ahhhhhhhh…” “Throat looks good. Tonsils appear normal.” “Yes, I know that. I said I wasn’t sick,” he insisted as she stepped to the side to insert the tip of the otoscope into his ear. “Iria! Would you listen to me, damn it?” She pulled the instrument out and took a step back, shocked by his outburst. He dipped his head, blushing with shame at his behavior. “I’m sorry. It’s just...what happened yesterday has got me really stressed out and it’s not viral. At least I don’t think so.” To his surprise, her demeanor morphed from calm and clinical to one of abject alarm, which in turn alarmed him. “What?” She asked, her voice hushed with something he couldn’t decipher. “What happened last night?” He let out a long sigh and braced himself for her inevitable reaction. Would she laugh? Or would she politely excuse herself and head to her office to call the nearest paddy wagon? “Heero, Duo, Trowa, and Wufei came over last night. I wasn’t expecting them. They just showed up.” “What did you do, Quatre?” He gave her a sharp look, confused and offended by her accusing tone. “I didn’t do anything. They seduced me.” She pushed away from the table with a heated curse, frazzled though he wasn’t sure why. He watched his sister drag her fingers through her carefully styled dark blonde hair and realized he’d never seen her so upset before. “Did you let them?” “What?” She spun around, suddenly angry which scared him. What was going on? Why was everyone acting so damned weird? “Did you allow them to have sex with you, Quatre? Honest answers, please.” As much as he wanted to be honest, he was more than a little unnerved at her reaction thus far and contemplated lying to save his own ass though he had no idea why telling her he had sex with his friends would cause her such distress. Still, he was here for that reason and lying would get him no further to the truth. “Yes…?” “Oh, damn it, Quatre!” “What?! What the hell did I do? Why does me having sex with my friends upset you so much? What is going on?” Iria was now bent over the small countertop in the corner of the room with her head in her hands. “You’ve activated your Omega,” she muttered. “Excuse me?” She huffed out a sigh and straightened up, worrying her lip between her teeth as he stared at him. “Your Omega. You were never supposed to know about this. Father was adamant.” Of course the King of Secrets was behind all this. “Adamant about what? What the hell is my “Omega”?” Iria reached for her stool and slid it over, sinking down tiredly as if she’d just inherited the weight of the world on her shoulders. “It’s...an anomaly. A mutation caused by a race of people being born in space. It’s extremely common among Newtypes. Mother had it, too.” He stiffened at the mention of their mother and leveled a hard gaze on his sister. “Tell me everything, Iria. And I mean everything.” “Would you like some tea first?” “No, I don’t want any damned tea. Quit stalling. Tell me what’s going on.” “When...when strange sexual behaviors began to rise up among space-born people, specifically between Newtypes and those they'd taken as mates, scientists began to examine what was happening and why. They’d determined that it was some sort of mutation in Newtypes, designed to protect their vastly small numbers and vulnerability. Much like evolution takes steps to protect endangered species. The Omega gene is passed down from a Newtype Omega parent as Newtype Omegas breed more Newtype Omegas.” “Does that mean you...and…” “No,” Iria shook her head. “You are the only one out of all of us that carries the gene because you were born naturally. With the rest of us, the gene was isolated and removed during the zygote stage of our development. That’s why Father was so against our mother carrying any children the old fashioned way. There was no way to remove the gene without risk to mother and baby." “But what does this mean?” “It means, you are an Omega Newtype. Do you know why Father was so angry about you joining the war efforts?” “Because he was a pacifist control freak?” Iria’s mouth curled up in a wry smirk. “Well, you’re half right. The chances of your pheromones affecting others and resulting in seduction and subsequent sexual intercourse activates your Omega gene. Whoever the Omega chooses, even subconsciously, marks its chosen partner, or partners as its Alpha. Father didn’t want to run the risk of you luring and marking anyone -” “Can it be reversed?” “I’m afraid not. Once the initial sex has occurred, the bonding process begins. It’s for life. It cannot be reversed, removed, or broken.” Quatre groaned and flopped back on the table. “Would have been nice if Father had informed me of this.” “Can’t say I blame him,” came Iria’s amused voice. “You always did tend to do the opposite of what he wanted.” “So you’re telling me that this gene I carry singled out my four best friends without my knowledge, produced pheromones to lure them in for sex which activated my dormant Omega and thus marked each of them as my Alphas?” “That’s the gist, yes.” He rubbed his fingers against his suddenly throbbing temples and muttered, “This is not happening.” “Afraid so, little brother. Now, from what I gather, you’re here because you’re concerned about injury?” “Maybe. I’m not sure why I’m here. I don’t think I’m injured. Sore, but not injured.” “Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about injury. Alphas are not capable of hurting their Omegas. They would die before they did that. As far as the soreness is concerned, after a while, it will go away as you adjust.” Quatre narrowed his eyes at his sister. “Adjust to what?” Iria shot him an infuriatingly cheerful grin. “Adjust to your new life as the Omega to four Alphas.” “You cannot be serious.” “Why did you think Father didn’t want you out of his sight? Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but this was why.” Quatre glared as she started to giggle which progressed into a loud guffaw, throwing her head back and slapping her knees. “Is it too late for a second opinion?”
***
Twenty minutes later… Quatre had gotten himself in some doozies before, but this undoubtedly took the cake. Draped in a paper gown and reclined on the table with his feet in a pair of stirrups, this was hands down the most mortifying experience he’d ever had. “If you ever tell anyone about this, I will never speak to you again.” He listened to the slide of wheels across tile floor as Iria scooted over on her stool and flipped the examination light on. He knew what was coming, but jumped anyway when she folded back the sheet that laid across his legs. “Just relax, sweetie. I’m not going to hurt you.” He pressed his lips together, resisting the urge to do the same with his knees as Iria adjusted the light, tilting it towards his nether regions, and decided death was a more acceptable alternative to this. “I don’t see any contusions, or tearing. Just a little redness which isn’t surprising after...how many times did they -” “Seven,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ve told you that six times since I’ve been here.” “Right. Looks like your body had no difficulties accepting your Alphas.” “What? Have there been people who've had difficulties?” “A few cases, but most of the time it goes pretty smoothly.” Somehow that wasn’t comforting. “Wonderful,” he deadpanned. “So what other th - Yeouch!” “Sorry,” Iria murmured. "Just have to check some things.” “You could have warned me!” “And have you tense up? Who’s the doctor here?” Quatre closed his eyes and tried to think happy thoughts. Anything really that didn’t involve his own sister’s hand up his ass. "Your bedside manner's for shit." “Oh, quit being such a baby. Allah, this is an examination, not a molestation.” “Doesn’t seem to be a difference at the mo - moment!” A surge of stimulation streaked up his spine as Iria’s gloved finger grazed his prostate. “Are you getting off on this?” He lifted his head to give her an incredulous look. “Of course not! What kind of sick -” “Neither am I which means it’s not sexual. Now, shut up. I’m trying to concentrate.” He dropped his head back down with a huff and stared up at the ceiling. “Concentrate on what?” Iria ignored him and he jumped again when she brushed his prostate a second time. “Will you stop that?” “Prostate is normal,” she oh so helpfully informed him. A moment later, he yelped again and automatically closed his legs, nearly crushing her arm as he felt a weird gush from within. The same fluid from last night flooded down towards his opening, soaking his sister’s hand and the table beneath him. Allah, this is too much. Take me now. I’m ready for the sweet, merciful kiss of Death. “Eroyica gland is functioning perfectly,” Iria’s murmur interrupted his prayers for mercy and he glanced down as he pulled her hand out, shaking the excess fluid from it and then peeled the glove off, dropping it into the waste bin. “The what gland?” “Eroyica gland. It’s what produces the fluid.” “What is the fluid?” “The medical term is Eroyicinnia. The common slang for it is “slick”.” She went to the sink and washed her hands. Quatre used the opportunity to close his legs and flip the sheet back over them, trying to preserve what little dignity he had left. “The Eroyica gland is a tiny coin-sized gland located just beneath the prostate in every male Omega. It produces the Eroyicinnia when you become aroused.” “Why is this happening to me?” He groaned, slapping a hand over his face. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, love. In a way, I’d say you’re one of the luckiest bastards alive right now.” He peeked at her from between his splayed fingers. “Is “bastard” also a clinical term, doctor?” “Don’t get snarky,” she warned, pulling a few paper towels from the dispenser. “Omegas have quite an esteemed position. So much so that some scientists are trying to replicate the gene for humans born without it.” “They can have mine.” “The procedure would kill you, dear.” “All the better.” “Oh, knock it off, Quatre. It’s not a death sentence. You’ve managed to bond four of the most gorgeous and talented young men I’ve ever laid eyes on to you.” “But what does that mean?” She sighed and dropped back onto her stool. “It means that the four of them will be forever devoted to you and only you. They will protect you, care for you. They are yours just as much as you are theirs.” “What about this Eroyicinnia? When I - they -” “You will produce it anytime they display dominance. You will produce it anytime you become aroused. You will produce it anytime one of them becomes aroused. It acts as a lubricant and you will produce as much as you need at any given time. In addition to lubrication, Eroyicinnia contains enzymes, proteins, complex carbohydrates, minerals, as well as electrolytes. The carbohydrates are what gives it that sweet smell and taste. It also contains pheromones that act as an aphrodisiac. Their senses are sharper now and they will know when you’re producing it just by smell alone. And they will be drawn to it. It provides them the necessary hydration and energy they’ll need for long bouts of sexual intercourse.” “That explains why they -” he remembered the way they’d devoured the stuff and shivered as a pang of arousal sparked in his lower belly. “Wait...long bouts of sexual intercourse?” “There will be periods when they will require extended time to have sex with you. You must provide it when they need it, otherwise,” she twirled her index finger next to her temple. “They’ll go crazy. Especially when they hit their ruts.” “What about my sanity?” She chuckled and patted his knee. “I know it’s a lot to absorb right now, but you’re equipped for this. Trust me on that. Every Omega is and there have been no reported cases of any Omegas becoming injured, or overwhelmed. Your body was prepared for this day since you were born.” “What’s this about ruts?” “When they hit their ruts, they will be insatiable. Ruts typically last no less than three days and no more than a week. You will have to be available to them at all times until it passes.” “Are you serious?” “Afraid so, sweetie. But, you’ll be fine. You’re a tough cookie.” “But you said they can’t hurt me?” “They won’t hurt you. Alphas are incapable of hurting their Omegas.” “But...what if I’m not in the mood? What if I tell them no?” She leaned forward, an unsettling leer on her face. “You won’t. Once you hear their call, you will be as helpless to the desire as they are.” “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” She laughed and leaned up, patting the side of his leg. “Nothing to worry about, little brother. Just do what your body tells you to and you’ll be fine. I’ll give you some information to take home. Just don’t show it to anyone, or tell anyone about this. Omegas are supposed to be an urban legend as far as the general public is concerned.” “Great,” he grumbled. “Anything else?” “They will be possessive. Dangerously so. The only risks posed are to anyone they deem as a threat, either to you, or your relationship with them. It’s important for you to not engage in sexual acts with anyone else and be careful who you choose to spend time with outside of work. You are in a committed relationship now so...act like it.” “What about them?” “Trust me, sweetie. The only one they want is you. The only one they’ll ever want is you.” “And what about me? Do I have a clean bill of health?” “Healthy as a horse, m’dear. Your body is accepting the changes beautifully, just as it was meant to. You can get dressed now. Any other questions?” He sat up, clutching the front of his paper gown, hesitant to ask. “Am I - I mean...I’m not going to get pregnant, or anything, am I?” Iria turned a lopsided grin on him. “Do you have a uterus I should know about?” “...No?” She grinned. “Then, no. You are not a woman. Hence, no buns in the oven for you.” Despite his relief, he was left feeling a tad disappointed. Allah, but they would have made such beautiful babies. Iria, bless her heart, always so observant. “There’s always the lab, kiddo. But, don’t even worry about that now. You’re too young to be considering fatherhood. You have plenty of time for that and you are going to have your hands full for a while." "Among other places," he grumbled. "True. Anything else?” He thought for a moment, but could come up with nothing within the chaos of his mind. “Not right now. If I have any questions, I’m sure you’ll hear from me.” “Anytime, hon. I’m here for you. You know that, right?” He pushed the last of his trepidation out with a cleansing sigh and managed to conjure up an uneasy smile for his sister. “I know. Thank you, Iria. For everything.” She wrapped him in a warm, comforting hug which did wonders for his overtaxed psyche. “You’ll be alright. They love you. You love them. It will take some adjustment, but I don’t doubt that you’ll all do just fine. Okay?” “Yeah, okay. Hey, is the offer for lunch still open?” “Sure it is. I’m free until one. What do you feel like?” “Someplace with an open bar.” “I never took you for a drinker.” “I never took me for a lot of things. I guess I’m full of surprises.”
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