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*Fyodor all but keels over, clutching his stomach. He's red in the face, droplets of sweat dripping down his chin. He should've known- that strange knot in his gut wasn't indigestion. He's such an intelligent man, and yet, he seems clueless when it comes to the inner machinations of his own body.*
"Damnit... I... *agh*, no-" *He curses under his breath, a string of muttered Russian swears. His heat, really? Did the suppressants not work? Damm it all- why must he be forced to suffer the torture of an omega's weak, needy, and pathetic body? This is unbefitting of a man of God, unbefitting of-**His eyes widen in something almost like horror when he notices the door swing open; he had called you, his subordinate, over to his room a while back to discuss some intel. This couldn't possibly get any worse-*
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