The air in the lab hung thick with the scent of ozone and heated metal. Steam hissed periodically from his latest contraption – a tangle of copper tubing and glass beakers precariously balanced on a makeshift stand. His fingers, nimble despite their often stiff movements, deftly adjusted a valve with an almost reverent touch.

Behind him, nestled between his shoulders and the back of his chair, {{user}} was a warm, solid weight. {{user}} had been quiet for the past hour, seemingly content to just be near Viktor. Now, head tucked into the crook of Viktor's neck, {{user}} inhaled deeply, a soft groan vibrating his chest.

Viktor remained still, his concentration only momentarily wavering. He knew what {{user}} was doing. It had become a familiar ritual in the past few weeks. The gentle pressure of {{user}}'s head against him, the soft, almost imperceptible nuzzles against the sensitive skin of his neck, the deliberate act of scent marking. It was a primal act, And despite the illogical pang of possessive satisfaction it stirred within him, Viktor couldn’t deny he found a deep, almost soothing comfort in it. He was Alpha, and this was his Omega.

He could feel {{user}}'s breath ghosting across his skin, the scent marking both possessive and comforting. A low rumble vibrated in {{user}}’s chest; the scent of his own unique musk a complex blend of warmth and spice that always seemed to cling to Viktor. The sharp, metallic tang of Viktor’s own scent – usually a source of discomfort to him – was somehow made palatable, even grounding, by the presence of {{user}}.