by Aiden Bates
Tristan looked up at him. “I’m not gonna just abandon you,” he finally said, and hoped it didn’t sound possessive. “Just drink your tea and breathe.”
“Come sit with me.”
Every muscle in Tristan’s body locked up, because he forced it to, because every atom of his body responded to the invitation with the primal desire to take Myrick as his own, to mark him and make him his, and he didn’t want that for either of them. He took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, counting to five.
“You’re sure you want me in your nest?” he asked, voice hoarse from the strain of controlling himself. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to know the answer to that question until it was out there in the open, and he was made to wait for a response, but at that moment his whole being hung on Myrick’s response, his breath caught in his throat.
11
Every Hope to Have
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Myrick had reservations, but in that moment his entire body craved comfort and contact with someone he trusted. That someone was Tristan, his body knew that even if his mind was trying to find a reason for it to not be so. “It’s you.” Tristan paused for another long moment and, after some small internal struggle, heaved a resigned sigh and eased himself next to Myrick, sitting at the edge of the bed. Without thinking, Myrick leaned against his shoulder, continuing to sip at his tea. “I don’t mean to send mixed signals,” Myrick said, almost petulantly. “But my body makes them all mixed, so I don’t know what to do or what I want half the time. You shouldn’t have to put up with that. I care about you too much to want that for you.”
“Have I mentioned how utterly charming I thought you were before now?” It was clear from the way Tristan said it that he had simply blurted it out, most likely against his better judgment, most likely from feeling the need to say something after staring for so long. For a moment, Myrick froze, staring in minute shock at the Alpha, though the fact that Tristan was interested was not surprising—though he had been respectful and not pushed anything onto Myrick, he hadn’t exactly been subtle about his feelings, he supposed, though even that was something of an understatement. Though hearing Tristan voice those feelings made them more than just some ephemeral thing conjured from some drunkenness and a heat he hadn't expected. Seemingly needing to continue, to clarify, Tristan went on, hands clenching and flattening at his sides as he did so. “Because I was about to say how you were being so utterly endearing, but I realize that's awful fucking rude of me and that it might make it sound like I’m only wanting to be with you because you’re an Omega or that I’m just saying it now because you’re in heat. That's so not the case, but I’m just so relieved that you’re all right and—” he blinked, seeming surprised with himself. “I’m…I’m rambling, sorry.”
“I didn’t mind it,” Myrick let out a quiet laugh. The hole where all of his gnawing fear and anxiety had been before was steadily being filled with a sense of giddiness and longing he couldn’t quell. While his emotional rollercoaster had taken a sharp turn, he was far from displeased about where it was going. “Still don’t, really.”
“I could probably gush for an hour about how I admire and respect your hard work and determination, and that I love the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about something you’re passionate about, and I—” Once again Tristan cut himself off, smiling wryly. “I nearly did it again. Right, gotta stop doing that.” He snorted. “Still, I don’t want to make you feel cornered. I mean, yeah, this whole, ‘you’re in heat’ thing is affecting me.” He spared a glance down at the sizeable bulge in the front of his basketball shorts, thick and pulsing. “I can’t really pretend that your scent doesn’t drive me absolutely up a fucking wall, but I’m not gonna force myself on you in any way—no one deserves to be used that way. If you don’t want this, then I can respect that. I’ll leave now, and we can remain friends and colleagues.”
It was a straightforward confession, one that left no room for misunderstanding or doubt, but it was exactly what he had come to expect from Tristan…and hoped for, after a time. The thought of being tied down to someone that could hurt him still made him feel sick, doubly so given the ordeal he had just been through. That wasn’t what Tristan was offering, and he had to remind himself of that. He realized he had taken a few moments too long, just long enough for Tristan to begin to doubt, and forced his voice to work.
“I do!” He set his cup down and practically lunged to take hold of the Alpha’s much larger, rougher hand imploringly. Tristan flinched, and Myrick looked down in alarm, only just noticing Tristan’s knuckles were swollen—and a few of them were likely broken—and gasped, softening his grip.
“Ah, don’t worry about that,” Tristan said, trying to move his hand away.
Myrick held fast, his grip only just tight enough to keep Tristan’s hand in his without squeezing. When Tristan didn’t resist, Myrick took his time inspecting them, turning his hands over to measure the extent of the injuries. Hands that had not even twenty minutes ago been pulverizing his would-be assailant with righteous fury were now clamming up in insecurity—an insecurity he had put there and now had to correct.
“You’re hurt.” Myrick flushed, feeling stupid for stating the obvious. “We should do something about this—we could tape them up.”
“I’m all right, Myrick.” Tristan was trying to sound reassuring, and yeah, maybe this wasn’t anything important to Tristan but it was important to Myrick, and he resolved to try and help him fix it, at least a little.
“I want to help you—please.” Myrick implored, looking up at him. Tristan looked at him for a long moment before his expression softened. Tristan nodded his head, and Myrick scrambled for a first aid kit that he kept in the bathroom. There was some medical tape there, a fresh roll of it that he could use to secure Tristan’s hand and help him heal. He grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a cotton ball as well—there were some parts of his skin that had broken open, he should help clean that up, too. His attention zeroed in on the need to help the Alpha. “You’ve done so much for me,” Myrick insisted as he scrambled back into his nest. “Please, let me return the favor.”
He didn’t wait for Tristan to respond, instead dabbing the disinfectant onto the cotton ball and began to carefully clean the blood and cuts on Tristan’s hands. Tristan hissed in pain, but Myrick paid it no mind—all he wanted was to make Tristan better. With Tristan’s hands cleaned and already looking a lot less gruesome, Myrick took one of his hands and began to wrap the tape between Tristan’s fingers, doubling the tape over his knuckles, and securing the tape around his palm.
“You’ve done this before.” Tristan commented softly to break the silence. Myrick nodded without looking up.
“I’m not much of a fighter, but I’ve had to defend myself before.” He shrugged. “You learn how to bandage yourself up eventually.” They lapsed into silence as Myrick taped Tristan’s other hand as well. Once the task was complete, Myrick set the tape off to the side and just sat there, holding Tristan’s hands, skimming his thumbs across the taped knuckles. He realized he hadn’t expounded on what he said before he noticed Tristan’s injury, so he swallowed his nerves and continued, “I mean, I do…I do want this…want you. I’ve been attracted to you for a while. Please don’t think it’s the heat talking or anything,” he all but begged, though winced when he realized that, while his words were true, he should probably clarify, “I mean, the heat is making me want to say stuff and do things now rather than later, but I’m okay with that because it’s you and you...” he tapered off, voice growing quiet. “You make me feel human.” When a response from Tristan was not forthcoming, he swallowed around the lump in his throat and looked up to meet his gaze.
“I need to know, before I do anything at all, that you’re sure about this. About me.” Tristan bit his lip, all of the confidence he had displayed the past few weeks of Myrick knowing him evaporating in the wake of uncertainty. “I need to know that you won’t regret it, because once we start this, I can’t
promise that I’ll be able to stop.”
“Are you sure about me, though?” Myrick answered Tristan’s question with one of his own. His fever was still making his thoughts swim, but he forced himself into some semblance of cohesion; the Alpha deserved that much, at least. “I can’t even try to pretend that being with me would be easy. Not even a little. It's been...” he ticked off the years in his mind. “It's been almost ten years since I've been in any kind of romantic relationship, and even then it was with a Beta in the middle of college. I’ve only dated one Alpha for maybe a month or so, but I’ve never been bonded before. I'd,” he swallowed. “I'd forgotten what it felt like to be wanted like this. I don’t think I’ve ever even felt this…this want for someone the way I want you.” He looked up into those captivating eyes, stormy and dark with emotions he couldn't place because of their rapid shifting in the sliver of iris that was still visible around the Alpha’s blown-out pupils. Still, the storm settled, and his eyes cleared. “Snuggling in my nest with you after I was nearly assaulted was…not how I thought things would go between us, I’ll admit. Now this is all...” he gestured vaguely in the air with one hand. “It's all happening much faster than I thought it would. And to be honest, I thought it would never happen to begin with.”
“I'll be honest here,” Tristan said softly, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ve never been in a long-term relationship—not one that’s ever lasted longer than a few months here or there, at least.” He looked down at their entwined hands, the way his bandaged hands engulfed Myrick’s smaller ones. “Any time I thought I could get serious with someone, it would turn out that they were just using me for their own pleasure, or some other thing they could get out of me, or so I could protect them and it's just,” he sucked in a breath. “I have...I want...” He heaved a sigh as he grappled with what he wanted to say for a moment. Though seeing him so uncertain and wavering was alarming, Myrick didn’t press him, simply stroked his thumbs along the roughened skin of his hands.
“Just what?” He prodded after another long moment.
Tristan looked back over to him. “...I want it all. I want to have that physical and emotional intimacy with someone that will stick around. I'm…kinda an all or nothing sort of guy, I’m sure you’ve realized.” He swallowed heavily. “I can go slow, if that's what you need. It'll be weird, for me, but I'd be fine with that. I haven't connected with someone like this so quickly…ever. I want to see where things lead with you because this feels right, but...” He looked back up at him. “I just want you to understand that even if we take things slow, I'm playing for the long term. I'm hoping on forever—I do it every time.”
Myrick let out a slow breath and nodded his head before he could think it over; he was done thinking about this, he'd decided. It was better to act, to see where the pieces fell after.
Tristan continued, “And just because you’re in heat doesn’t mean I have to mark you now—I wouldn’t want to rush that anyway. That doesn’t mean we can’t still be together though. If nothing else, I want to help you through this.”
If Myrick hadn’t been staring at his face as Tristan looked away again, he wouldn’t have noticed the faint dusting of pink on his cheeks, but saw it and melted at how completely charming and thoughtful Tristan was.
“I don't need slow for this,” Myrick said, surprised by the surety he had behind that statement, and how comfortable he was with its terms. “I’ll probably need slow for…for the relationship stuff, but this? Just…just sex? I’m ready for this. I've put everything I've ever wanted in my personal life on hold because I believed I had to in order to be safe. But what good has it done me? I’m miserable, and all my relationships have suffered, romantic or not. It’ll take me some time, but I'm…I want to be done with slow—I have to be done with slow eventually, or nothing will ever happen at all.” He hesitated, then with a shaky breath, he added, “That doesn't mean I don't want something that lasts with you, because I do. I want that so badly I don’t think I can put it into words.” He squared his shoulders. “I guess I’m trying to say...I'm in. All of me. If that's what you want.” He looked up at Tristan, at the way his whole body seemed to go slack, along with his grip on his control. And yet…Myrick wasn’t afraid. Not this time.
“Seems we’re both ready for this.” Tristan said, and Myrick could feel his voice rumbling in his own chest for how deep of a growl it had become. It made him vibrate to his core, and he squirmed against the wetness that began to gather at his entrance. He gathered himself and nodded, steeling himself against his own nerves and what lingering doubts and fears he might have had. Deep down in his soul, he knew this felt right, more right than anything had before this moment, and he wasn’t going to let his demons chase Tristan away. Not this time. Not again.
“Well, then.” There it was—that drop in his stomach, that last moment at the top of the hill on this emotional rollercoaster before he took the fall, where he plummeted down a pitfall that made his heart jump in his throat and set every one of his nerves on fire with crackling energy. It was almost like his body was warning him that this was his last chance to back out, but he was done running from this, from what he was feeling. “We’re just wasting time waiting around, aren’t we?”
“That’s very true, Myrick,” Tristan let out a low, soft laugh, and something about the relief in his chuckle unfurled the tangled emotions that had twisted and tightened in Myrick's chest as the Alpha—his Alpha—leaned closer to him, closer than he had ever let anyone get before now. “Very true.” Before either of them could overthink it, before he had the chance to stress himself into believing this would end like all the other Alphas he had ever gotten even remotely close to, Myrick fisted a handful of Tristan’s shirt, pulled him down with a firm tug, and pressed a quiet, soft kiss to Tristan's mouth. The taller man let out a sigh and all but melted at the display of affection, and the Omega fought against the urge to squirm against him when he felt his large, rough hands shyly stroke at his hips, at the waistband of his pajama pants, silently asking for more. He wasn't sure what to make of it, save for the thundering in his chest and the fissure of heat that shot through him.
He was in the midst of his heat, at what should be his peak, the frantic need to rut and be knotted was supposed to be at its worst and yet, in the wake of the careful, attentive affection, that instinctual need for mating quieted in the face of another need he had neglected all his life finally being fulfilled: belonging, affection, and a sense of safety with someone that settled in his chest right where it had always had a spot. They shared soft, breathless kisses for longer than either of them kept track of, and all that broke them apart was the sudden, desperate clawing at Tristan’s clothes from Myrick when all of the primal urges in him made themselves known again, the frantic need to feel the Alpha’s scorching skin against his own, to feel their heartbeats fall in time with one another.
They needed to be connected.
Now.
A sudden gleam of wicked amusement flickered over Tristan's eyes for the briefest of moments, a spark that lit the flame of arousal that burned in his eyes as he shifted, his arm coming around Myrick and leaning them both over so Myrick was lying back against the cushions and pillows he’d tossed together to make his nest. Myrick drank in the sight of Tristan outside his business suit, not accustomed to seeing him wearing so little that nearly every rippling muscle the man had was exposed, his olive skin glowing in the soft light of the side table’s lamp.
Not to be outdone, or to let his cowardice stay his hand, Myrick tugged the larger man back down into another kiss, heated with the tension that had been between them since their first meeting, a tightness in his chest he had been trying so hard to ignore. Myrick keened, hands grabbing at his tank top, trying to get it off of him while losing himself in Tristan’s large, gentle hands stroking his midsection lightly. The tension snapped the second their lips met, and suddenly they couldn't get enough of one another, it seemed; there were frenetic touches, gentle but urgent, and sk
imming along heated skin.
The Omega felt his Alpha tremble against him, shuddering with want and need and blindly thrusting against him even though they were both still clothed, seeking friction. The contact was enough for Myrick to get a good, thorough feel of Tristan’s thick erection against his thigh. It was long and scorching, and Myrick squirmed against him, desperate to feel every inch of Tristan inside of him, stretching him until he split apart on his cock, if that was what it took to feel all of him inside of him.
“I'm guessing,” Tristan panted heavily when Myrick’s hand found him in the scant space between them, palming as much of his cock as he could get his hand around, “you think you’re ready for this?” He growled. “Ready for me?”
Myrick’s shyness overtook him, and he buried his face in the crook of Tristan’s neck. “I'm…I mean, I can take it, but...” He keened and rocked his hips against Tristan's thigh again. “I just…I need you.”
Tristan chuckled darkly as he pressed a kiss into the skin of his exposed neck. “I'm happy to oblige—though we should get you more comfortable.” He sat up, large hands gripping Myrick's firm, pert buttocks and lifting him up with him off of the bed and into his lap. The Omega wrapped his arms around his lover's neck, eagerly taking the change in position to nip at his pulse point. “Someday, when you’re ready...” Their heated erections, still fully clothed but no less sensitive, brushed against one another, and for a moment, Tristan nearly lost himself in the sensation but recovered his wits enough to growl. “When you’re ready...this is where I’ll put my mark.” He lathered his tongue against the point of Myrick’s neck, near his scent gland, and breathed in his scent deeply as his teeth teased the spot. Myrick arched his hips, crying out at the thought of when that day would come, and what it would mean. He kept his arms around his neck even after Tristan shuffled them over to the center of the nest and set him gently down on the plush mattress, reluctant to let him pull away just yet. That was just as well—they were far too dressed for this occasion at this point anyway, and Tristan was steadily getting more and more drunk off Myrick’s scent.