Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 106: Laughter

Chapter 106: Laughter

I’m lying in bed, groggy and feeling the weight of the world pressing down on me. Noelle is at my side, massaging my left leg with some kind of herbal concoction that burns like hellfire but oddly soothes the pain. His hands work expertly, as always, but my mind is elsewhere. I glance down at the newspaper and blink at the date. Apparently, I’ve been out cold for more than a day.

The headline is some nonsense about a terrorist attack at the royal palace. I groan and push it aside, uninterested. Leona had left a more... revealing stack of papers next to me. I unfold them and start to read. By the third line, my eyes are practically bulging out of my skull.

Apparently, while I was blissfully unconscious, the royal family was having a bit of a... scandalous night.

The Crown Prince bedded his father’s favorite concubine. Okay, that’s already bad. Then, the Queen—bless her heart—decided she wanted in on the action and took to bed a couple of the palace guards. Not to be outdone, some of the other concubines swapped the Crown Prince for the guards too. And just when I think it couldn’t get any more absurd, there it is, in black and white: apparently, one of the guards—a man I hear is quite a bit larger than the Crown Prince—pinned him down, mid-orgy, and took the reins himself.

I choke on air and nearly drop the papers. But oh, it gets worse.

Count Raymond—oh, the devious bastard—decided it was his moment to shine. So what does he do? He mounts the king. Yes, you read that right. And then... oh god... then he knotted him. Knot. The. King.

By this point, I’m biting my lip so hard, trying not to lose it. But when I get to the part where they were found the next morning, stuck together, unable to separate, I completely lose it.

"Pffft—HA HA HA!" I burst out, the laughter shaking my entire body. My ribs ache, and I can barely catch my breath.

One room.

All of this insanity happened in one room. "Ha ha ha!" I can’t stop. My lungs feel like they’re on fire from laughing so hard.

Noelle shoots me a death glare for moving too much, but his disapproving look only makes it funnier. I bury my face in the pillow, laughing so hard tears are streaming down my face. I’m gasping for air, but I can’t stop. The image of the king and Count Raymond... stuck together like a twisted puzzle piece, is too much.

"One room!" I wheeze out, slapping the bed, still trying to catch my breath.

Noelle, of course, doesn’t find this nearly as funny as I do, but I can’t help it. I laugh until my sides hurt, until I’m almost crying from the absurdity of it all. Honestly, waking up angry was how I thought today would go, but there’s no way anything I could’ve imagined would top this.

I look at Noelle through the haze of my laughter and feel an overwhelming warmth. I don’t know how, but I have fallen deeper in love with my vengeful little star.

I swear, I could die laughing like this, and I wouldn’t even mind.

**

Oliver woke up with a start, the faint haze of morning light filtering through the thin curtains. His head throbbed as he blinked, struggling to adjust to his surroundings. Slowly, the events of the previous night crept back into his memory, but the clarity was elusive. Turning to his side, he saw a head of dark hair sprawled across the pillow beside him, and his heart nearly stopped.

"Victor?!" Oliver blurted out, sitting up abruptly. His eyes widened in disbelief as he recognized the man lying next to him, the sheets pooling at his waist as he scrambled to cover himself. His skin tingled, sore in places he didn’t want to think about.

Victor groaned at the loud intrusion of his name and blinked up at Oliver with half-lidded eyes, his voice low and raspy with sleep. "What’s going on?"

Oliver’s heart raced as he looked down at himself, the countless marks—hickeys, bites, and scratches—speaking volumes about what had happened. Panic set in. "What are you doing here?!" he asked, pulling the bedsheet tighter around himself as if it could hide the evidence of last night’s indulgence.

Victor smirked lazily, his voice still thick with amusement. "Gee, I wonder what I’m doing here," he drawled, his tone sending shivers down Oliver’s spine. "You don’t remember, do you?"

Oliver’s cheeks flushed crimson as he struggled to form a coherent response. "You... You took advantage of me!" He accused, though his voice lacked conviction, and his eyes betrayed him, darting away in embarrassment.

Victor’s expression darkened as he propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze hard and unforgiving. "Don’t finish that sentence," he warned, his voice rumbling with restrained anger. "I found you near the palace, desperate, needy, begging. You were ready for any alpha to take you, and you begged me to be the one to do it. Don’t pretend you don’t remember."

Oliver’s breath hitched as fragments of last night flooded back. The way his body had burned with need, the primal hunger that had overtaken him. And Victor—Victor had been the one to satisfy that need. His eyes flickered with shame and something else, something hotter. He looked away, unable to face the truth in Victor’s words.

"You beast," Oliver muttered, his voice barely a whisper, more to himself than to Victor.

Victor chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through the bed. "You didn’t seem to mind how beastly I was a few hours ago." He leaned closer, his breath hot against Oliver’s ear as he whispered, "In fact, you liked it. You begged for it."

Oliver trembled, his body betraying him once more. The heat between them crackled like a live wire, the air thick with tension and the unspoken desires that simmered just beneath the surface. Victor’s words ignited something in him, something he didn’t want to admit—he did like it. He liked how Victor had taken control, how his touch had set him on fire.

Victor’s hand moved under the sheet, tracing the path of his marks on Oliver’s skin, sending waves of electricity through his body. Oliver gasped softly, trying and failing to suppress the reaction. "Let me remind you," Victor murmured against his neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin as he spoke, "of how you begged for me."

Oliver’s pulse quickened, and before he knew it, he was leaning into Victor’s touch, his resolve crumbling. He hated how easily his body responded, but he couldn’t deny the burning need that stirred in him again. His voice was barely a whisper. "Victor..."

Victor’s smirk widened, sensing Oliver’s surrender. "That’s what I thought." He slid closer, the heat of his body pressing against Oliver’s, their skin brushing, igniting the spark that had only barely dimmed from last night.