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miasmaghoul · 9 months ago

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for the ship & kiss prompt: #46 terzo/omega !!

From this list.

#46 - out of envy or jealousy

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Omega digs his claws into his palms and works to hold back his growl. He told himself he would be okay with this, but the more he sees the harder it is to keep the frustration silent.

He can't even recall what this ritual is for right now. Terzo had reminded him this evening, while Omega busied himself applying his Papa's paint and combing his hair, but he'll be damned if he can recall anything. Except, of course, the bit that won't stop replaying in his mind.

"It is not my decision, Omega," Terzo had murmured while the ghoul lined his temple in black. "It is as I said - this ritual requires a fire ghoul."

"I understand that," he'd rumbled, tucking thick locks behind Terzo's ear. "But does it have to be that one?"

Terzo had chuckled, cinching the belt of his silky golden robe. The soft yellow light of the chapel's dressing room had glinted off his gold, onyx and amethyst rings. Odd to see his hands exposed before a mass, a specific kind of nakedness that Omega had been unable to pull his focus from.

"If I did not know better, my ghoul," he'd cooed, adjusting the rosary nestled in his silky chest hair, "I would think you are jealous."

Omega had scoffed, scowling behind his mask while he tucked away his applicator. Jealous? Certainly not. One of those glittering rings matches the one on Omega's own left hand, and his spins it with his thumb. Proof of their devotion to one another, exchanged years ago now - devotion that has never wavered. He has nothing to be jealous of.

But it just had to be Ifrit.

Ifrit, who slips the robe from Terzo's shoulders with too much slowness, leaving him bare save for the paint. Whose knuckles graze their Papa's skin with a reverence that suggests knowing. Whose fingertips graze that silver rosary at the center of his chest while Terzo recites something in Latin.

Ifrit, who pours a heavily scented oil into his large palms and takes his time massaging the heady substance into Terzo's skin. Who fills the air by the altar with juniper, sage and something floral. Who rubs it in from the line of Terzo's throat to the tips of his fingers, coating every inch of pale skin and thick hair. Who gets all the way to Terzo's waist before he needs to douse his hand in more of that oil.

Ifrit, who has the gall to look Omega right in the eye when he gets a handful of Terzo's cock and rubs it all slick and shiny.

It just had to be Ifrit.

Omega rolls his shoulders, counts to ten over and over again while Ifrit holds his gaze and oils up Terzo's thighs. Making an unnecessary show of touching him, one that has Omega's hackles up and his face hot behind his mask. He can hear Ifrit purring underneath the drone of Terzo's recitations, and Omega knows it's for his benefit. He's the only other ghoul near the altar, after all.

Omega knows it's true that he has nothing to be jealous of, but something about Ifrit in particular makes that hard to believe. He touches Terzo like a lover, every time he can find an excuse to, and it makes Omega's jaw hurt on the best of days. Having to watch those greedy hands caress every exposed inch of his Papa has his blood pounding in his ears.

Ritual or not, those should be his hands.

But they aren't, and Omega suffers through the minutes it takes Ifrit to do his job. To coat Terzo in that sacred oil while he finished his infernal prayers. He also suffers through Ifrit's unrelenting gaze, burning copper eyes dancing behind his mask in a way that makes Omega want to throttle him. He breathes through the tingle that runs through his palms at the thought, and rolls his shoulders when Ifrit finally steps away with an obvious bulge behind his tunic.

Terzo caches his eye during the moment of silence that follows the end of his long, archaic incantation, and Omega can see his smirk straight through his paint.

This time, he can't hold back his growl.

The rest of the ceremony happens in a rush of heat and power and the stench of sulfur. Ifrit's purpose makes itself known; a plume of searing, blue and white flame coming to life in his palm and dancing in a nonexistant breeze. Omega crosses his arms over his chest when he hears whispers of ghoulish, muffled behind Ifrit's mask, and he takes a deep breath when that flame burns even brighter.

A breath he holds when Terzo kneels. When he cups his own palms and holds them out in silent offering. When Ifrit pours that malleable fire into his hands, Omega's claws bite into his flesh.

Now he recalls the purpose of this ritual. It's a test of strength, of faith. Secondo went through something similar, he recalls, years and years ago. His trial had been administered by a water ghoul, but the premise had been the same. Designed to have their leader risk life and limb, with their only protection being that of their faith. Thanks to that, Secondo had endured nearly seven minutes submerged underwater without so much as a brow twitch.

Omega watches the fire grow in his Papa's hands, watches it shiver and spit, and for a moment his heart skips. A half-second of doubt, of worry that the oil had caught and that the human who means more to him than his own pack would be engulfed.

He should know better by now.

The fire settles, curls itself around Terzo's wrist and snakes a slow path up his arm, curling around soft muscle and slithering it's way onto his chest. The congregation murmurs as they watch, and Omega unclenches his jaw, the tightness behind his ribs fades to the warmest sort of pride.

Then Ifrit steps back into frame, and that soft warmth gives way to the icy swirl of envy that wraps around his spine.

Omega watches like a hawk as the other ghoul steps between Terzo's spread thighs, the sharp light of the unholy flame flashing off the buttons of his tunic, his pendant. Terzo hasn't taken his eyes off Ifrit since he took hold of the fire, pupils wide, and Omega's upper lip curls when he lifts his mask. He doesn't remove it, just slides it up enough for Omega to see his mouth form the distict shapes of their old tongue.

He can also see the shit-eating grin Ifrit doesn't bother to hide, and he would like to do nothing more than slap it off his brutally handsome, angular face. It's a feeling that only grows when Ifrit's hand moves to cup Terzo's jaw, when his claws dimple a painted cheek. When he bends at the waist, half-masked visage no more than an inch from their Papa's.

Omega closes his eyes before he has to watch Ifrit's forked tongue slip between his Papa's black-and-white lips.

He doesn't open them again until he feels the swift rush of hot air that snuffs out every candle in the chapel, moonlight flowing through the ornate stained glass dome above the only remaining source of illumination. It casts the pair on the altar in sharp relief, a snapshot of connection that sears itself into Omega's retinas without his consent.

When Ifrit pulls back, his tongue is the last thing Omega sees.

That wandering flame swirls its way back to Terzo's outstretched hands and Ifrit collects it with a flourish, letting it fizzle between his fingers. It's shrunk to nearly nothing when he raises his palm to Terzo's lips, and with a whisper of something Omega can't quite parse their Papa extinguishes that final spark.

All at once the candles lining the aisle and dotting the altar flare back to life, and applause erupts from the ghouls and siblings filling the pews. Another successful rite under their Papa's bejeweled belt. His body shimmers in the warm light, and as Ifrit helps him to his feet all Omega wants to do is collect Terzo's rube and whisk him away from prying eyes - and callused hands that linger far too long for his liking. But he can't - he told himself he could handle this.

One of Ifrit's hands drifts to Terzo's hip, fingers sinking into the softness there, and Omega decides he's handled enough.

He says nothing when he joins them on the raised plinth at the head of the chapel, heels clicking against the black marble, and then he's pulling Terzo from Ifrit's side with decidedly possessive hands. He feels Terzo stumble and apologizes under his breath, but Terzo simply pats his chest. Lets the ghoul settle that golden robe around his shoulders once more while Omega stares daggers at Ifrit. The other ghoul responds in kind, gives himself a rude grope that makes Omega want to gnash his fangs and stake his claim right here in front of all these people, but he's not like Ifrit. Not showy, at least not when he isn't performing, so he tightens his grip on his Papa's arm instead. Waits for Terzo to finish tying off his belt while he addressed the crowd, thanks them for their faith and adulation. Only once he's bowed to his adoring followers does Terzo excuse himself, and without another word Omega coaxes him from their perch and towards the dressing room.

He feels Ifrit staring at his back the entire way, the heat of it only breaking when he latches the door behind them. The growl that's been stuck deep in Omega's chest rattles itself loose the second they're alone, and he can't help how quickly he pins Terzo to the nearest wall, nor the way he flings his mask aside and bares his fangs.

"Not jealous, hmm?" Terzo teases, a touch breathless, and Omega wishes he wasn't so in love with those mismatched eyes.

He doesn't answer - not with words. He gets a broad palm over Terzo's mouth and wipes off the paint Ifrit had smudged from his lips, and Terzo laughs.

The kiss Omega silences his with is overzealous, aggressive. He pins the man's shoulders to the wall and licks into his mouth with no grace, nothing but the desire to own. Sloppy and urgent, like they hadn't woken up together this morning and spent most of the day in bed. Omega kisses him like it's the first time again, and with every breathy sound he wrings from the human he's made his mate he feels a little more sane.

"He didn't deserve to taste you," the ghoul snarls when they part for breath, his Papa curling oiled hands into his tunic. He leans in and buries his nose in that thick hair, breathes deep. "Next time I see him, I'm ripping his tongue out and feeding it to the hounds."

"That would be a terrible waste," Terzo rasps, leaning up to lick at Omega's lower lip. "He is quite skilled with that tongue."

He grins with every tooth in his head, Omega's vision flashes red, and before he knows what's happening he has Terzo face down on the carpeted floor with his ass in the air.

"You shouldn't know that," he bites out, and he can tell by the sound Terzo makes that the tone goes right to his most sensitive spots. Omega knows he does this on purpose - he's a hard ghoul to rile up - but with the scent of arousal that's starting to cut through the aroma of the oil, he really can't complain. He sneaks two fingers between Terzo's slick cheeks, watches them move under the robe, and the moment he grazes his hole Omega's stomach goes hot. "I'll have to make you forget."

"That may not be so easy," Terzo breathes, settling into a deep arch and pillowing his head on both arms. "He's very good."

Omega's answering hiss is promise enough that he means it.

#miasma's work #ask games #omega ghoul #terzo emeritus #ifrit ghoul #papa emeritus iii #papa terzo #omega/terzo #omega x terzo #terzomega #yes i think ifrit is an asshole teehee #possessive omega is something i havent seen much of so i figured why not now?#not rereading before i post so if you see mistakes #no you dont

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