by Aiden Bates
“Tristan?” Voice raspy from misuse and the strain of the beginnings of his heat, Myrick still managed to find it and force it to work out the Alpha’s name.
“Hey there, Mister Thomas.” His tone was deep, dulcet, and it was only making him feel hotter. Of its own volition, Myrick began to feel his manhood stir, a tent beginning to form in his pajama pants. He swallowed thickly and debated taking a drink of water but refrained, knowing he would need it far more later. “Just checked my phone and saw your text. I figured I’d call you on my lunch, see if you’re doing all right.” The longer he talked, the more difficult it was for Myrick to ignore what it was doing to him. “You didn’t look good when you left.”
Myrick spared a sidelong glance at the rubber cock that he had set on the bed amongst the nest of pillows he’d made for himself. His mind ran wild with thoughts of using it, and it was in his hand before he had the wherewithal to reconsider it.
A wetness he should have likely been prepared for spurted at his entrance, and suddenly he was throbbing, overcome with a need to be filled to the brim, but he managed to keep his voice at least somewhat steady as he forced his hand to his side as he cleared his throat; all he was doing was talking to someone he worked alongside, nothing more. Someone who was massive and rippling with muscle and probably had an enormous, throbbing—
“Yeah,” he stammered, mentally cursing the fact that though his voice was steady, he hadn’t kept it from cracking even from the first moment he spoke again. “I came down with a bad fever, and I didn’t want it to, uh.” The hand holding his toy began to tremble. “I didn’t want it to spread.” Not the way his legs were doing of their own accord, he realized with a twinge of panic as he leaned back into his pillows. His cock was now fully erect, and it was demanding that he do something about it. He winced, and knowing that his heat was starting to really kick in now, he shimmied out of his pajama pants, eager for a little less warmth on his skin. His erection sprang free, twitching in eagerness to be touched.
“Goodof you, thinking of the team that way.” Tristan was speaking again, he realized, squirming against the wetness that was only growing more pronounced as he listened to the rumbling of his voice. “Sorry to hear that you’re going through that. Anything I can do to help?” His tone was friendly and strangely…soothing in a way Myrick wasn’t prepared for, and he cursed, knowing it was only because of the heat. “If you need something brought to you—”
“That’s all right,” he squeaked out, his voice suddenly meek and pitchy. “I’ve, ah, got stuff here, so don’t worry about a thing!” The thought of him coming here, smelling him and his pheromones, busting down the door, and—
He bit down on his lip hard enough to bruise when his traitorous hand pressed the head of the rubber toy at his entrance without him realizing it, his body eager to feel release regardless of who was going to be aware of what was happening. He forced his hand into obeying the order of just waiting, but he couldn’t stop the keening whine that bubbled up from spilling out. There was a moment of silence, as Tristan was no doubt beginning to put the pieces together, and Myrick felt a wave of embarrassment crash down around him even as he felt his hand shake under the weight of want and need, the head of the toy quivering from the movement and only serving to inadvertently tease himself even more. He almost stopped breathing in an effort to keep himself from making any more noises, projecting any other signals that he was in heat.
“Sounds like a rough fever.” Tristan finally spoke after a moment that hung between them for a heartbeat too long. “I won’t keep you. Just make sure you’re resting plenty. And we wouldn’t want you to be thirsty, so uh,” he cleared his throat, “make sure you get…plenty of fluids in you.” Tristan gave a polite goodbye and ended the call, and it wasn’t a moment too soon, either; the suggestion in his tone spoke volumes to how much he was aware of Myrick’s situation, and it was all finally too much for him to hold back.
Myrick plunged the toy inside of himself, and though his hands were shaky and slicked with his arousal he managed to begin pumping it, his free hand grasping at the base of his own cock. The accidental teasing, the feeling of not being so aroused in such a long time, was all too much, and within a few pitiful and graceless thrusts he was wailing, orgasm tearing through his body, and his seed coating his toned belly in hot spurts that steadily cooled on his feverish flesh.
He eased the toy out of himself, already over-sensitive despite his cock refusing to deflate, demanding that he continue to pleasure himself until he was knotted over and over again. Though his mind was a haze and his stomach muscles already vaguely hurt from the sudden clenching, he tried to recall the last time he went into heat, how long it had lasted. Time was funny when your head was as addled with arousal and need as it was in a heat, though he was fairly certain that it only lasted a day, give or take a few hours. Even as he tried to come to grips with the situation and plan around it, there was some low, instinctive need to be filled again, that he might be at least somewhat sated, if only for a little while.
As his hand began to slide the toy back in, the task made even easier from how drenched his core was at this point, he couldn’t stop his mind from conjuring Tristan’s voice; low, deep, and commanding. His imagination ran wild as he began to work himself back up again, imagining the Alpha using his own cock on him rather than the toy, speaking to him in a growling tone that some primal part of him conjured, demanding that Myrick tell him how good it was, how desperately he needed to be knotted.
“I, ah,” he panted, his hand stroking his cock in time with his hips rocking into the toy. “I need it, I need it!” Were he in a clearer state of mind, he would realize how ridiculous it was to beg and whine and obey a command that his own imagination was issuing him, but he was too far gone, too desperate for another release to even bother considering his own folly. He was still so tightly wound from his first orgasm that his muscles had began to cramp, and all he wanted was to just be done with everything; he was so hard it hurt, and he was at a loss as to how to even remotely take the edge off.
In so much as someone could even take the edge off of a heat.
Time lost meaning for the few minutes that it took to bring him to orgasm a second time, the hand on his cock becoming coated in his cum as it spurted out sluggishly. His stomach clenched painfully at every pulse, and he gritted his teeth, desperate for his muscles to just relax. He lay there, legs quivering and breath just as shaky when his phone buzzed with a text on the bedside table. He needed to clean himself, at least a little anyway, so took the time to check what it was; if it was work related, he couldn’t let his heat get in the way of it—wouldn’t let his heat get in the way of it. It was a text from Tristan. Myrick let out a groan and forced himself to open it, just in case it was business related.
“I’ve heard taking muscle relaxers or pain meds helps.”
Fuck what was he supposed to do with that information? Apart from force himself out of his nest to grab the medication that he had available; he recalled having a bottle of pain medication left over from a fairly recent hairline fracture he’d suffered from a clumsy tumble down the stairs. On uncertain footing he forced himself to stagger into the bathroom, nearly sobbing in relief that he managed to find the bottle he needed, and grabbed one of the pills. It was a powerful pain medication, he remembered; one of them had put him to sleep for almost a full twelve hours when he’d been prescribed them. If it lessened the pain while he rode this out, perfect. If knocked him out for even a part of this, well. More’s the better—less he would have to deal with.
Pouring himself a glass of water without splashing it everywhere proved to be difficult, but not impossible, in spite of the nagging in the back of his mind for him to get back to making himself silly with pleasure. He popped the pain pill in his mouth and gulped at the water greedily, suddenly painfully aware of how parched his throat was. He still had time before the medication kicked in, he knew, but at least he had…things to keep himself occupied with in
the meantime.
As he all but collapsed back into his bed, the little nest of safety he’d carved out for himself in a world that was as uncaring of his plight as it was greedy of the benefits of his condition, of what he was. Fuck nature, he cursed in his mind as he ate some cheese and meat, knowing he needed something in his stomach to help with the pain medication so he wouldn’t get sick. Fuck the biological bullshit he was forced to endure for simply being what he was. Fuck being an Omega.
As he forced down the first bit of meat and cheese, he nearly sobbed at the pain in his lower stomach, the muscles that had been so viciously thrown into overtime from such an intense sensation that had no end in sight. He would give anything to not have to worry about this at all, though he knew it was a folly; there was no magical cure for heats, no quick fix, no easy out. Suppressants helped a great deal, though they did only that—suppress. When he would experience heats on his suppressants, he would feel warmer than usual, perhaps a mild discomfort, but it was manageable, and he was able to function as a normal human being, able to leave his house without fear of assault for simply walking down a street.
It was seen as a blessing to be an Omega—a rarity in the last couple of decades. Betas were the most common in the population—the perfectly average medium that could simply exist without the fear that he endured. Even as his erection throbbed again, he fought to ignore it for just a little longer so that he could get something in his stomach, and he mourned not being born a Beta—of being able to live in relative comfort. Being able to live and be treated human rather than as…as some commodity that needed sheltering and nurturing so that they could become baby factories.
After he’d eaten enough that his stomach didn’t feel empty, he once more succumbed to his primal urges begrudgingly, settling back into the sheets with a resigned whine as his hand reached for his faithful toy, and he shifted into the center of the bed once more. He brought his legs up, sliding his torso down to make it easier for him to position his toy at his entrance. Even as it filled him once more, he felt that little bit unfulfilled; the rubber cock was serviceable but lacked warmth in more than one sense, and that instinctive need to be filled with an Alpha’s seed would automatically mean that any orgasm that he had for the remainder of his heat would feel like an empty gesture, much as his body would demand more and more of them until it ended.
A wild, stupid thought entered his mind as he felt himself beginning to wind up for his next release—he could call Tristan. He was an Alpha, surely he would be more than willing to rut him silly, to knot inside of him and make him feel full and stretched to the point where he would see stars. Pounding him into the bed, his large frame dwarfing Myrick’s as he gave the needy, desperate little Omega everything his wretched body so deeply needed, so frantically craved.
Suddenly his imagination was running rampant, conjuring a situation all its own for him to lose himself in, and began to ponder as he rutted against the toy exactly how it would feel to be Tristan’s lover, his mate. Would Tristan be a greedy Alpha, edging him for his own pleasure and letting himself cum without giving Myrick release? Or would he be a benevolent and attentive lover, giving him orgasm after orgasm before allowing himself to find release? Myrick let out a sob as he began to force his thighs to support him and work against the burning of his abused muscles, bobbing up and down to ride the toy, letting his mind wander wherever and however it so chose.
The powerful, vivid image of the towering, brawny mass of a man that Tristan was looming over him, pounding into him, filling him in the way that his body was begging for was too much, and with a cry of alarm suddenly he was cumming, harder and more intensely than he had in recent memory. His vision crossed and his legs quivered, and even as he came down from his high and his body went completely limp, the image remained in his mind.
As his head lolled to the side, he caught sight of his phone, left on his nightstand beside all of his other necessary prep tools, and the thought turned wicked, and he had to clench the bed sheets to stop himself from reaching over and picking it up. It would have been so easy, to tempt the Alpha to come and help him with his predicament—they would both be getting something out of it, wouldn’t they? His thoughts were intrusive, and they made him feel ill from their insidiousness.
Getting his hands on the phone meant he was giving in and potentially taking advantage of someone—his second in command, and it didn’t matter how badly his hormones made him crave being knotted, or how badly he needed to be fucked, he would not put someone in the very same powerless position that he had been fighting all his life to stay out of. He would not abuse someone in that way, even if it would provide him even a modicum of relief. He would not.
And so he settled in, already knowing that it was going to be difficult. More difficult than it needed to be.
7
Dark Secrets Beget Darker Fantasies
To say that Tristan hadn’t had an inkling as to what was going on as Myrick frantically scrambled out of his office would have been a bold lie, one that he needn’t bother telling. Oh, he could have certainly taken a guess that his boss was caught up in a heat he hadn’t been prepared for, if the sudden rush of heady pheromone scent that had assaulted his senses and lingered in his nose for the rest of the day hadn’t been a dead giveaway. Myrick’s scent had overwhelmed him, and even still it clung to his nostrils; it was heady with a hint of spice—almost akin to a freshly cracked cinnamon stick that was being toasted. Still, he’d been wrong about an Omega going into heat before—sometimes it had simply been something else, or another Omega in the room. While the chance of that was astonishingly slim, he debated messaging Myrick to see how he was doing when he received the message that Myrick was going to be taking a few days off. As he took his lunch break in his office and bit into an apple from the lunch he’d packed, he contemplated how to respond to the message. It was vague enough to make him curious, make him ponder what it was that had ailed his boss. Regardless of what was wrong with Myrick, he should check in on him.
It was the polite, courteous thing to do, he’d reasoned as he pulled up the CEO’s number and pressed the call button. He had been glad that they had exchanged contact information when they went out for a meal—easier communication between partners was never a bad thing, after all—though he vaguely wondered if this was overstepping bounds. He would be lying if he made the claim that his motives weren’t at least a little ulterior; he was genuinely concerned for his boss, sure, but if he was in heat…
Well. He’d helped out several Omega friends of his in the past.
Sex, even the act of knotting, in and of themselves, were not inherently sacred acts performed only by bonded mates—that came later, with a pretty, little bite mark on the side of an Omega’s neck as a message, a warning: ‘approach at your own peril.’ So, whenever he had Omega friends that had no mate to lean on in times of immense heat, when they needed protection and reassurance and a good hard dick inside of them, he had always been happy to oblige, though only if they had asked it of him—he had better control than that, for God’s sake, and he would never want to take advantage of someone vulnerable.
His reverie was cut off when Myrick had answered the phone, a shaky voice trying not to make his breath shudder his greeting. He forced a smile on his face; a smile does wonders for a brighter voice in a phone conversation, after all.
“Tristan?” Myrick had greeted questioningly from the other end of the phone, his voice giving away how very little he had been prepared for whatever it was that had taken him over.
“Hey there, Mister Thomas,” he kept his tone unassuming and conversational, though he hadn’t realized he lowered his tone into a rumbly base until he felt it in his chest. “Just checked my phone and saw your text. I figured I’d call you on my lunch, see if you’re doing all right.” He leaned back in his chair and took a bite of his sandwich—a soft enough food that it wouldn’t loudly and rudely crunch into the phone’s receiver. He chewed thoughtfully as he heard Myrick shifti
ng and holding in noises, his ears suddenly hyper-trained on everything that the phone could pick up. He couldn’t even taste his chicken salad, so focused was he on listening and opted on just not eating while he was on the phone altogether because of it; no sense in it if he was finding something entirely more enjoyable to shift his attention to. “You didn’t look good when you left.”
“Yeah.” It was likely because Myrick was an Omega, but Tristan couldn’t help but find the stammer in his voice cute. “I came down with a bad fever, and I didn’t want it to, uh,” there was more shifting on Myrick’s end, and he faintly heard a strained noise come from his boss. “I didn’t want it to spread.” Of its own accord, his eyebrow raised, and an entirely inappropriate image of his boss spreading his legs sprang forth in his mind. He took a calming breath and reminded himself that he could be wrong about what was going on—it could genuinely just be the flu or something.
Unlikely as it was.
“Good for you, thinking of the team that way.” He opted for neutrality, always neutrality; last thing he needed was to give his boss the impression he was some predator or something. He was working with the man, for goodness sake, making things weird this early in the relationship wouldn’t help either of them. “Sorry to hear that you’re going through that, though. Anything I can do to help?” There, an open offer; if all that was debilitating Myrick was a sickness, he’d be happy to drop off some soup, or some medicine, whatever he needed—he knew of a great Japanese place with miso soup he was convinced had cold medicine cooked into the broth for how quickly it would clear him up every time he got it—and that would be the end of that. If he needed something more…it would hardly be the first time he’d offered such a service.
He felt his cock twitch, and he barely bit back a growl. ‘Down, boy,’ he chided himself; it had been awhile since he had felt an Omega writhing beneath him, but that was hardly a reason for him to act like a newly presented teenager all over again. Especially not in his office of all places. He had more control than that, and he wasn’t a sex crazed Alpha looking for someone to prey on.