by Eileen Glass
"I want him," he says.
"You're burning up. Oh my. Seeing him must have put you into this state. He didn't take over you again, did he? Bondage is serious, Rourke. It’s no different than any rape drug." She feels up his pockets again. "Where's your pills?"
She checks his jacket too.
More serious, she repeats, "Rourke, where are your pills?"
His pillow gets up and he hears her heels go into the bathroom.
Crap. I forgot to flush them.
He had a scheme worked out where he would flush his daily dose like he did on the ship. Just in case she asked or checked. But without her constantly checking on him, he forgot the need. He's felt a lot better since coming to the moon too, so he hasn't been so reminded of them.
"Rourke, they're all in here!" She comes clacking back, shaking the bottle. "The seal sticker is still on the top. Oh my god." She stands over him again. "Rourke. You did this. Why?"
Rourke does pick his head up then, the challenge in her voice striking his ire. He pulls himself into a sitting position.
"You can't do anything. Thomas said so. I'm omega now, right?"
"Yeah. But Rourke, we're on the same side. We're human, and I'm helping you."
"Why do you even care anyway? Your job is done. You should just leave me alone."
"Hey." She kneels near him again and reaches for his face in a comforting manner. But he flinches and pulls away from her, because she still has the pill bottle in her other hand. "We're on the same side. You know, that right? What we do here is for Earth and humankind. We're part of the resistance, behind enemy lines. And these pills protect your independence."
"I don't want to resist!" He slaps them out of her hand and the bottle rolls somewhere. She gapes, but she doesn't move away. Her hand touches his back, and he shimmies away. "Look, you were excited to sell me, right? You did a good job. I got a high price. Now quit trying to slow shit down. Ugh, Thomas was right about you guys."
She's silent a while. When he glances at her, she has a baffled expression, her body still. The lack of makeup on her face and around her eyes makes her look mature, and not in an aging manner. The preppy blonde is absent in her demeanor.
"I don't know how we got on different sides, Rourke. But I'm just trying to do my job. Zachri isn't safe for you. If he can't withhold himself, if he can't give you a choice..."
"He gave me a choice the first time. I said yes, Stephanie."
"But it's not legal! You two just met! There's... evaluation interviews. Getting to know each other! Making sure you're prepared for the caring of a baby! Do you even know how you're going to give birth?"
He winces. "I'm really hoping it's by C-section."
"Yeah. It is. But we may have to perform it early, because complications are common, Rourke. Infant deaths used to be very common, especially in men who conceived right away. After becoming an omega, your body needs time to adjust. The courting period isn't there just to piss you off and keep you away from your lover boy. The alphas agreed to it too."
"Shit. I didn't know that."
But would it have changed anything? Rourke curls up his knees and cradles his head. His mother gets paid upon conception. The infant surviving past that isn't strictly necessary. Except for his happy image of all them together, which Zachri promised him.
"He didn't seem concerned about it," Rourke murmurs.
"Well, that's just an alpha being an alpha. They become overwhelmed too. It's not just what he does to you, you make him crazy. To put it mildly. Zachri took it a step further and went outright batshit, if you ask me."
"Thomas didn't say anything either."
"Well, we don't teach about the risks of early pregnancy. Men, in general, are fearful of getting pregnant and they don't rush into it like you. You're a first." She puts an arm around his shoulders, but settles it there slowly, like he might move away from her again.
"Rourke... You're hot through your shirt. You know you're in heat, right? I’m guessing you haven’t taken your pills for a while. I’s too late for them now."
"My baby is gonna die?"
There is no baby, but Rourke looks down and touches his abdomen anyway. The baby was always an accessory in his master plan. A little bundle he gets to show to his mother, like a trophy for saving her life. Now that it might die, a possible life is a consideration.
"God, I hope not! But Zachri has triggered your heat whether he meant to or not. I'm surprised he could let you leave. So..." She sighs. "I'm going to put in a word on your behalf for his good character. The alphas are going to steamroll whatever the Society board says, so if I get on your side immediately, it'll be a little less like they're taking back control and more like they're taking my side, you know? But I'm going to need you to sell it. The media hunts for early cases like yours. They'll want your story. In time, you'll have to go in front of a camera and make sure they know you're really happy here. And this was really your choice. You got it?"
"What about my baby?"
"Rest and relaxation. Feel good. Alphas are utter emotionless pricks to everyone else, but they make up for it by being overly sensitive to their mates. I assume the babies have the same connection to their mothers. Think happy thoughts, Rourke."
Happy thoughts. Well, if there's one thing I'm good at..
Rourke hangs his head in his hands for a bit, having just woke up. Stephanie's words were in the back of his mind all day. He's not even pregnant and he puts a hand on his stomach, thinking, It'll be fine, little guy. I can save two lives.
Happy thoughts don’t come naturally to him, but it's yet another problem for later. He discovers that his phone is still shut off from yesterday. While it loads up, he rises and moves to the bathroom. A good hour goes by as he showers and gets cleaned up, taking his time. Studying his face in the mirror, he discovers that he doesn't need to shave anymore, apparently. Not that he’s complaining.
He's too hot for a shirt, so he pulls on sweat pants only and picks up his phone to reconnect to the world. The air on his damp skin feels amazing. He rubs the back of his neck absent mindedly as he catches up on his messages.
There's nothing new from his mom, so he'll need to call her.
Are you mad? Thomas asks, so Rourke sends a brief explanation. No, just sleeping. Good morning. Stephanie hates you btw, but I think you helped.
His thumbs hover on the screen, but he can't find any way to say, 'My baby will be at a higher risk because of my early heat', in a simple text message. It's not a happy thought, for one thing. For another, the risk isn't entirely on Thomas. Rourke made this decision long before meeting Thomas and this new information wouldn’t have changed anything. And his mother doesn't have eight months to wait.
A call to her finds her groggy and unhappily awake, but well enough for now. He promises to call again later, when she's up. Even though he notes that it's already eleven in the morning her time.
And then there's Cory.
Rourke chews on the pad of his thumb, looking at his lonely, unanswered, Hey.
Happy thoughts...
It doesn't matter whether Cory wants to be friends with him anymore. Rourke has already grieved and accepted that he may never see his friend—really, his brother—ever again.
He clicks off the conversation. Then brings it back up, and his thumbs dance on the screen like they knew what he wanted to say all along.
If you don't want to talk to me again, that's fine. I've got bigger problems, man. And if you think about why I left, you'd figure it out. You shouldn't hold it against me. I'm doing the only thing I can.
He hits enter. He types out, Fuck you, man, but has the sense to realize it's probably the heat getting to him again. Rourke doesn't typically fight with anyone, and he isn't rude. He hovers over the enter key for a bit, then closes out of the app.
Good thoughts, good thoughts...
It is a long, pointless day. Video games he can barely summon the will to get through the tutorial on. Shows with indeterminable story lines
. They seem like a bunch of nonsense moments strung together to him. A fridge with plenty to eat, but nothing satisfies this constant craving. He finally figures out to stop. What he wants isn't in there.
Touching himself takes the edge off, but it's more routine than pleasure. The sated feeling doesn't last. Rourke catches himself pacing the apartment yet again and slings himself onto the couch.
His phone dings.
It's a message from Cory. Whatever man.
Rourke sends him that fuck you after all. Then stares into his TV, not seeing the images. He's tired. Depressed.
When the phone dings again, he's ready for battle. If Cory wants to get into it, Rourke will get into it.
Instead, it's a message from Stephanie.
Rourke, you're gonna love me. :)
Put something nice on. Now! Lol.
What is it? he types back, going for the bedroom. He hasn't gone shopping for clothes, and he hasn't unpacked either. He lifts his suitcase onto the bed. It has as much weight as an empty box, and for good reason.
Rourke was assured that he would get all new things on the Moon, so he packed light. Not that he had many physical possessions anyhow. His phone contains about 90% of what he owns, and it’s all digital. In here there's just three t-shirts, one good pair of jeans, frayed around the pockets, and a clean pair of old socks.
Special delivery, Stephanie texts back. Paperwork and your alien man.
He suspected as much, and now his stomach does flip flops to have it confirmed. Cory and his bullshit might as well exist in another age. He doesn't matter anymore. Rourke just really, really wants Zachri to like him.
After he puked in front him. After he maybe, sort of fucked things up. Maybe twice, in the garden and in his office.
As far as first impressions go, he's got nothing to lose. That's what he tells himself as he pulls a shirt over his head and changes out the sweatpants for jeans. When he checks his appearance in the mirror, he's a scruffy, sloppy, possibly ugly guy.
He needs a haircut. His hair is damp, but it still sticks up quite a bit. When it dries, he’ll be positively poofy. What must Zachri think of his hair while Rourke is so busy admiring his?
Well, are you excited? Stephanie asks.
Rourke is too busy to respond right away. Smell is important, so he applies downright science to getting the right amount of spray. He fogs the air, then walks through it on his way out of the bathroom. That way it’ll seem like he was wearing it all along, since this morning.
Then he discovers that he's starting to sweat and doubts himself. He goes back for a tad extra.
Sounds good, he sends Stephanie, purposely choosing words that don't make him too enthusiastic. When will he be here?
We're at the gates now.
Rourke rushes to the window. He can see the whole grounds from up here, and thanks to Zachri's unique hair color, he spots them. She lied, they're inside the gate and past the building where he met Thomas. He'll be in the tower soon, and then right at his door, stepping off the elevator and into his living room.
Rourke finds himself trapped in some kind of hell where he can't figure out what normal activity he should be doing with his body when Zachri gets here. Staring intensely at the elevator is not normal. Sitting on the couch is too casual, like he’s not eager to see him. Looking out the window is stalker-ish and doesn't make sense. He'll know the second Zachri is in the building.
He paces frantically, running his hand through his hair several times.
Then he reminds himself that there's no guarantee of anything for this visit. It could be another stupid talk, him on one end of the couch and Zachri on the other. He could be getting worked up over nothing. Zachri might even change his mind. They didn't meet long in the park, so there's no guarantee of anything.
Good thoughts, Stephanie said, but the bad ones are more useful. They're what he's used to.
He stands in front of the elevator. His hands jump into his pockets as if they’re independently shy and abandoning ship. He has no idea how he looks. Is it weird to hang out in your living room with your hands in your pockets?
The elevator door parts, and Rourke feels like a bronze statue pretending in a park. So life like… And frozen.
Zachri looks amazing. He’s in a dark suit this time, and Rourke immediately pictures him at an elegant event, sipping champagne and sweet-talking fine ladies. He tries not to blush. In such a scenario, he would be the ‘fine lady’.
“Hey,” he says, raspy like a speaker with a weak connection.
“Hello, Rourke,” Zachri replies in his smooth tone, stepping toward him once. There’s no hesitation or awkwardness on his part. But Stephanie blocks his way.
“I don’t think so! I don’t want you two touching. No mishaps, remember?”
Zachri makes a grumbling, displeased sound in his throat, glaring at her.
“I will speak to him first. I will certainly touch him. There will be no mishaps.”
Her tone falters from commanding to a simple question. “How can you promise that?”
“Do you think I would risk everything for this meager encounter? When he is perhaps minutes away from being fully mine?”
Rourke’s fingers twine in the fabric of his inside pockets. He hoped that’s what this would be. And that means… He might not be alone in the bed tonight.
He ducks his head, no longer able to look at Zachri in his dark suit. While Stephanie reluctantly gets out of the way.
“Try not to take too long, alright? I fought hard to make this work.”
“And for that, you have my gratitude and respect.”
He inclines his head, and Stephanie appears taken aback, blinking. After a moment, she straights her suit jacket and poses primly with the tablet tucked at her side. She has her hair in a tight bun today and her make up is layered on thick. She’s her usual self today, pretty and professional.
She’s easier to look at than Zachri, who stands so close Rourke can almost smell mint. He must be imagining it, but he wants to put his nose in Zachri’s shirt collar just to be sure. He wants the alpha to put him in bondage. He wants that delicious smell.
Rourke is unraveling on the inside, and he can’t show it.
Zachri guides him toward the windows, but doesn’t touch him much. The alpha covers his nose at one point, as if he smells something bad.
Did I use too much deodorant?
Rourke will just die. He wants to ask or apologize somehow, but Zachri lowers in front of him, getting to his knees. Rourke forgets everything. What is happening? Zachri looks delicious down there, but why is he kneeling?
The alpha brings a little black box out of his pocket. Rourke feels his jaw hang open, and there’s no way to close it.
“Rourke, the contract she will have you sign is… truthful.” He winces. “But it is not everything. I have studied many human courting rituals, and this one is prevalent. I want you to know, I do not consider you an item for possession. I will do my best to provide the freedom you would have in a human relationship. I have strong romantic feelings for you.”
“Uh…” Me too?
How should he react?!
Proposals aren’t supposed to happen him, a guy and a breeder. Rourke understood that he would be married-slash-claimed upon conception. Alphas are efficient. They get it over with.
“Rourke, will you marry me?”
The band inside the box is a blue, shiny metal. Very pretty, and probably not an Earth material.
Marriage seems a lot heavier commitment. It implies the one element Rourke never agreed to in all the many contracts he’s already signed for the Omega Society. Love.
“Y-yes.”
There’s no other way. But could they really have love? The word isn’t found in any of the contracts he signed. He never agreed to it, never asked for it, and certainly didn’t expect it.
Does he want it? Why does it frighten him?
“It will change to fit,” Zachri says and takes it off the tiny pillow. He hold
s it a while, then looks at Rourke’s hands pointedly.
They are still in his pockets.
“Oh!” Rourke pulls them both out at once, blushing hot.
Zachri grabs his wrist first. Rourke’s digit won’t stay still, wanting to curl, but the alpha guides the band on anyway. It’s heavy. Slightly warm and permanently noticeable when he gets his hand back. Rourke thinks he can feel it change a little to be worn snugly.
This will be okay. It’s worth it. Whatever he wants.
Rourke wonders why his heart is hammering so hard right now.
“I would kiss you. But then I would claim you.” Zachri covers his nose again. “And Stephanie has much to explain.”
“Uh. Cool. T-thank you.” Words do not make sense to him at the moment. He has to say something. It was that or I love you.
“Aw, that’s sweet,” Stephanie says. Rourke turns just in time to see her tuck away her phone. She has a huge smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll send you the pictures.”
Rourke definitely doesn’t want them.
“Don’t post them to my social page. Email them directly. Please.” God, what if Cory or his mother saw?
“They’re cute as hell. You’ll be happy I took them.”
That’s not a yes or a no, but before Rourke can think of the words to press her, she addresses Zachri.
“Am I safe to approach now?”
He puts his back to Rourke. His voice is muffled.
“Make it short, please.”
Rourke keeps touching and twisting the band around his finger as Stephanie talks. Her voice seems far away. She explains that she presented the case to the board, whoever they are. With Rourke’s short statement that he doesn’t feel threatened by Zachri, and Stephanie’s honest permission, the ban has been lifted. Zachri has provisional ownership of him.
“I’m sorry about the wording.” She leans close and whispers, “Alphas have a very caveman intelligence with relationships. It’s definitely not for everybody.”