The Omega Awakened: A M/M Omegaverse Erotic Short Fiction (Omegan Tales Book 1)

by Elijah Stierne

  “I’m not courting,” Jackson hissed.

  “Then stop stealing my candy,” Mel responded tightly, reaching into the pocket of Jackson’s coat and yanking out a collection of suckers and lozenges. Jackson went wide-eyed, mortified by her handful of sweets. He hadn’t noticed that he’d taken them at all, and he looked wildly between her and the small container on her desk that he’d presumably snuck by on the way to the couch.

  Courting was such an old and embarrassing behavior. It was so primitive that many people worked to avoid it. Alphas rarely did it anymore, opting instead to just fuck their omega into mating with them. If the dick was good, the omega would follow. That’s what Jackson had always heard. But it seemed that perhaps his brain wasn’t confident enough with that philosophy.

  “Fill out your paperwork. I need to take your vitals.”

  Even though his fingers were tingling, Jackson filled out the papers and then set them aside. His mouth felt unreasonably dry. The first time Jackson had ever gone into rut, he’d thought he was dying. He’d fallen asleep on the couch with his head pounding and his legs itching, and when he’d woken up a few hours later, it’d been to a pile of pillows under his hips, compressed by his humping them wildly into the couch. The shame of shooting a load against your mother’s expensive leather cushions never quite left him, and since then, he’d understood the power and effect that rut could have on one’s actions.

  Ruts were honestly so, so shit.

  “So tell me about Micah.”

  Jackson rolled his coat over his wrist and began to dab at his neck.

  “He’s in my Alpha, Beta, and Omega Divergence Theory course. We never spoke. Not outside of assignments, but he…” Jackson trailed off. His breathing quickened and his vision started to swim. It was alarming that even the thought of Micah could nudge him closer to rut. As his cock started to fill, Jackson’s pants tightened over his bulge and he discreetly covered it with the paper.

  “And when did you mate?”

  We didn’t, Jackson thought. The truth was difficult to acknowledge. The alpha in Jackson’s head was rebelling against it, and his knee started to wiggle restlessly. Still, Mel was right. He was planning to court the omega, and so it was clear they weren’t together.

  “He said he needed me,” Jackson responded instead.

  “Omegas say a lot of things when their heat hits them. It’s hard, Jax. I know, but him saying those things doesn’t make him your mate.”

  Jackson snarled again. This time it was even more disconcerting. Jackson’s alpha hadn’t been this riled up since he was fifteen, chasing the neighbor omega after school on Valentine’s Day to give her a dollar box of chocolates.

  Mel smiled and extended her hand, giving the candy back to Jackson as a peace treaty. The alpha took them and shoved them in his pocket.

  “Vitals,” Mel said again, removing her stethoscope from her neck.

  Getting his vital statistics was quick work. Jackson spent the entire time thinking of Micah. Where he was, what he was doing, if he’d be excited when he saw Jackson arrive with a pocket full of throat lozenges. It was a shame that Jackson hadn’t been able to get the Magnolias - omegas liked flowers and decorative things more than they liked sweet candies - but it was better to arrive late with gifts than to arrive with nothing at all. It showed that he was thoughtful and worthwhile. When Mel was finished, she grabbed the papers from Jackson’s side and took them back toward her computer.

  “You’re a few degrees off of your rut,” Mel said clearly. “Technically, that means I can’t let you leave.”

  “I don’t wanna leave, I wanna-”

  “I know, but we have to accommodate you, Jackson. This isn’t an alpha facility. If I could send you out or trust someone to come and collect you before your rut hits, I would. But I think we’ve only got about ten minutes, if that. That’s nowhere near long enough to get you out of dodge. There are a few beta nurses on staff for emergencies. One will be assigned to your room in isolation. It’s the best I’ve got given the circumstances.”

  “But Mel, can I-”

  “Jackson, listen to me. It’s too late. I can’t ask permission from an omega in heat. I can’t get permission from an alpha in rut.”

  Jackson choked, jumping up off of the couch and moving swiftly to Mel’s desk. He emptied his pockets of candy and shoved them back into the bowl. “I’m sorry I took your candy. Please, please, please, just let me see him. One minute. Thirty seconds. Anything is fine, I promise. I’ll be good. I’ll pop in, I’ll check on him, I’ll see that he’s fine…”

  “He is fine. And you’ll be fine too. We just need to get you in a room to cool off.”

  Jackson’s fingers were twitching. This wasn’t acceptable to him or his alpha.

  “I’m not in rut yet. I can add Micah to my permissions.”

  “Jackson, I’m-”

  “No. I’m allowed to do that.”

  “You’re being absolutely insufferable right now. Micah is fresh in heat. Do you understand that or not?”

  Jackson understood it. God, did he understand it. But it felt like his hands were tied, his choices limited. He’d made it through so many ruts without a partner that it was almost second nature to be alone through them, but the desire to find Micah and bury his nose at the base of the man’s neck, breathing in his heady scent as he fucked him through his heat, was devastating. He needed the body heat and the warmth so badly that it was turning into a physical ache behind his rib cage. He bent over and said, “Please. I know. Shit, I feel crazy just asking for it. But I need him put on my permissions.”

  “Babe, your vitals are too far gone. I can’t make changes to it. At this point, only a certified doctor can change your permissions. Once we get you set up, I can see if there are any alpha doctors available to come in and work with you. Until then, we have to follow the rules. Now, I’m gonna go get your wristlet. If there’s somebody you want me to call,” she said, reaching going to her desk and pulling out a sticky note. She slid the note and her pen across the oak with a soft look, “write it down here. I’ll make sure they know where you are. Otherwise we’ll just use your emergency contact.”

  Jackson deflated. He shook his head and breathed in deeply, trying not to panic.

  Not only had his plan been ineffective, but he was now being admitted to isolation in an all-omega dorm because he’d spiraled into rut too quickly to leave.

  God, what kind of alpha was he?

  Probably one that wasn’t anywhere good enough for an omega like Micah.

  * * *

  In a way, Jackson thought that rut must be worse than heat.

  Because, you see, omegas were alright if you provided them with the right tools. Honestly, inflatable dildos had been one of the more impressive inventions of the last century. But for an alpha, there was no such satisfaction. A pussy was a pussy, an ass was an ass, slick was slick, and there was no imitation for the warmth of a body to bury your cock into. A pocket pussy couldn’t grip you right as it slid up and down your shaft. It didn’t flutter around you as you pushed into it slowly, teasing, rubbing all of those good spots as you bottomed out. It didn’t writhe and wiggle back onto you, forcing you deeper as it became greedy for your length. Honestly, only an omega - a real, living, breathing omega - could do all of that for you.

  Then there was the lack of emotional validation. It wasn’t that an omega didn’t need to hear how well they were taking your cock, or how good their body looked being stuffed full of your seed, but it seemed that an alpha thrived on it. The soft sound of someone begging and pleading, the desperation in their voices as they asked for it harder, bent their backs to take it deeper, promised you whatever you wanted. Woof. There was nothing like it. A satisfied omega was what an alpha lived for, and a silicone tube wasn’t a mouth. A vibrator wasn’t a person. Leaving a rut without fucking an omega was the lowest form of hell. Jackson would stand by that idea until the day his dick shriveled off.

  Jackson’s rut descended ruth
lessly. The first day, he came twelve times. His cock was so swollen and so red. It seemed that all Jackson did for those first twenty-four hours was run out of steam. He came until his dick was just a twitching, dribbling mess, dried up from the amount of come he’d pumped out onto his sheets and his pillows and his stomach. For days that felt like weeks, Jackson rutted against everything. He shoved pillows between his thighs and humped them, then he fucked the tight grip of his palm to no relief.

  Time was so much more fluid when the pinpoint of your concentration was the feeling of your balls tightening and your cock shooting off like a rocket.

  By the time respite finally came, Jackson had lost track of the day, the week, the month. He had no semblance of normalcy until his rut hit a crest, and then dropped into a depression. For a moment, he could breathe. He was exhausted, mouth dry, head aching, and when the doctor knocked feebly on the door of his room, the only thing Jackson could do was croak, “I’m here.”

  The stench of another alpha in your mating space was an anxiety that Jackson hadn’t ever considered. As soon as the doctor pushed open the door, Jackson tilted his head down and growled weakly, trying to assert his dominance. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and as soon as Jackson realized what he was doing, he stopped. The doctor didn’t mind. He just closed the door behind himself and raised his clipboard.

  “Hello, Jackson. My name’s Jansen Polimou,” the man groused. He was only middle aged, but he spoke with the authority of an older, more prominent alpha. “It seems your rut this month has been a bit off.”

  Jackson didn’t respond, instead looking back up at the ceiling.

  “Usually mid-rut assessments aren’t done, but your behavior is concerning the nurse, so I’ve come in to give you one,” he clarified. “I’m sorry if this is inconvenient. There are no beta doctors trained to carry out this assessment. I’ll be out of your hair soon.“

  “Okay.“

  “Do you know what day it is?”

  “No,” Jackson whispered.

  “Do you know how many days you’ve been here?”

  “No.”

  “When was the last time you ate?” The doctor asked, pointing to the fridge in the corner of the room with his pen.

  “I don’t know.”

  The doctor walked slowly to the fridge and opened it, reaching around for a bag of fruit and a bottle of water. It wasn’t standard for nurses to come and help an alpha rehydrate. Perhaps in omega facilities it was different. Doctor Polimou opened the bag of fruit and gently set it on Jackson’s chest. Then he popped the cap on the water and put it on the floor by the bed. Jackson reached for the fruit with shaking hands, barely able to move it from the bag to his mouth. He was so tired, so absolutely exhausted, and his body felt like it was weighed down by bricks.

  “Let’s get some energy into you. Eat these,” the doctor urged. “When is your birthday, Jackson?”

  Jackson shoved an apple slice in his mouth and chewed slowly. “I can’t remember.”

  “And your parents names?”

  “Dunno.”

  “What’s the name of your mate?”

  Jackson swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He spread his legs a little and reached down to grip his cock, afraid that it might fill up again. Jackson desperately needed the break. He couldn’t handle a second round with his rut at the moment. “Micah.”

  “When did you meet ‘Micah’?”

  “In class at the beginning of the semester. I don’t remember the name of the class.”

  “Okay. I want you to eat that bag of fruit and drink that water. When you’re finished, I’ll continue.”

  Ruts were difficult for everyone. Jackson knew that. But it felt like this rut was debilitating. He couldn’t remember his birthday, when he’d eaten, he couldn’t remember anything that wasn’t related to sex or his omega. He ate slowly, and when he was finished, the doctor came back with another bag of fruit and another bottle of water. Jackson took care of those, too. It was only after everything had been thrown away that the doctor returned to his bedside, setting his clipboard down and then reaching into his pockets for a pouch, a spray bottle, and a small, plastic container.

  “It seems like you’ve lost a lot of time and crucial information. You’re not having much success on the preliminary questions. Your chart also shows your prerut symptoms being uncommon symptoms for an adult alpha. You have severe and potent aggression, you’re taking on assertive courting characteristics, and you’re exhibiting a lack of control. While courting isn’t alarming on it’s own, coupled with the other characteristics, you’re showing signs of an Intractable Mating. We’re gonna test for that today, okay?”

  Dr. Polinou set the small pouch onto Jackson’s chest and then stepped away.

  “What’s this?” Jackson asked.

  “I want you to open the pouch.”

  Jackson hesitated. He sat up fully and then sniffed at the bag. It had been doused in a neutralizer, and was made of a material that didn’t seem porous. Whatever was inside, scent-wise, was very well hidden.

  “Is it gonna hurt me?”

  “No,” the doctor promised. “It’s a part of the test.”

  The doctor’s words were plain, no emotion behind them. Jackson considered throwing the bag across the room and rolling over so that he could finally get some sleep, but his curiosity was tickling him. He carefully undid the string on the pouch and then dug his fingers in the divot, tugging it open.

  The effect was immediate. Micah was in the bag.

  No, Micah wasn’t in the bag, but something that belonged to him was in there, and the scent was so strong that Jackson couldn’t stand it. He ripped the pouch clean in half, watching as a small wristlet fell from it and hit the floor. Scrambling out of bed, Jackson picked it up and held the plastic against his nose, breathing in deeply.

  The doctor cleared his throat and Jackson growled. His mouth turned down in a sneer and he looked across the room. Doctor Polinou was watching closely, adjusting his glasses and waiting for Jackson to make a move. Jackson was fighting hard against his instincts, going blue in the face trying to stay in one place. The doctor wasn’t welcome here anymore, and Jackson puffed out his chest, snarled deep in his throat, and said, “Get out.”

  “You’re alright. Relax.”

  “Get. Out.”

  The doctor put his hands up and made a move toward the door, stopping about a foot from it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a mask, slipping it quickly over his face. Then he took the spray bottle and turned around, aiming and pulling the trigger. A fine mist dispelled from the nozzle, endless so long as the trigger was depressed, and the doctor approached with the liquid steaming from the bottle. All at once, Micah’s scent disappeared. It was muted along with everything else in the room. Jackson’s nose went mute, and then his vision started to swim. Within seconds, he was stumbling for the bed, hitting the mattress with the back of his knees and falling onto it. The doctor moved to him with the plastic container already open. He produced a small alcohol pad and a needle, and then he made quick work of administering the shot.

  “It’s a sedative,” the doctor explained. “You’ll be awake in a few hours.”

  “A… sedative…” Jackson slurred. He knew that word, but in context it made no sense. He didn’t need a fucking sedative. “I don’t - I don’t…”

  “I know,” Dr. Polinou said. He closed the container and pocketed it, then he grabbed his clipboard, the broken pouch, and the small wristlet. “We’ll get you fixed right up.”

  * * *

  Jackson awoke to what was, quite possibly, the most exciting moment of his life.

  His brain was functioning on a basic level that he had no control of, and there was a divine scent filling his nose. It was saccharine, like honey, or a glass of lemonade on a hot day. It was every single season, every note in the air on the best days of the winter, and without thought, Jackson rolled over until his body was pressed up against the warm back of another person.

 
“Mmm,” a voice hummed, and the sound of it made every synapse in Jackson’s brain light up.

  Jackson’s mouth fell open and he tilted his head back, eyes too sticky with residual sleep for him to open them properly. He wanted more, more, more, and his cock was thick and full. If he could find a hole right now, he’d bury his dick so deep inside of it, filling it so good, stuffing it over and over until he could fill it with his come. God, he wouldn’t even need to think about it.

  “Are you gonna fuck me, then?” the voice continued. It was a desperate request disguised as a question.

  Jackson didn’t wait. He used his hands to guide himself along the smooth skin of the other body, rolling them both over so that Jackson’s chest was plastered to the sweating back of his partner, and then he mounted the omega easily. When he slipped his cock between the omega’s cheeks, there was so much slick gathered between the globes that it was dripping down the man’s thighs. The scent of it was unbelievable.

  “Micah,” Jackson breathed.

  “Yeah, baby,” Micah moaned. “I’m here.”

  Jackson rumbled happily in his throat and pushed forward, slowly sinking into Micah’s body without an ounce of resistance. The man howled, voice cracking around how loudly he’d screamed, and Jackson couldn’t breathe. He sounded so good, so needy, so captivating. This is what Jackson had been missing his entire life - this second of his splitting an omega, no not just any omega, but Micah, open on his cock. Forcing him to stretch around a dick that was so big it was obscene.

  For the first time since he’d woken up, Jackson properly opened his eyes. If he’d thought the smell was the best part of the fever dream he was in, it wasn’t. The sight of Micah on his hands and knees in front of him, curly hair sitting against his neck, shoulders glistening with sweat and flexing every time he rocked back and forth on his knees, the look of his ass swallowing Jackson’s cock as the alpha pulled out and slid back in over and over again, were all equally intense.