Omega Wanted: Bad Boy Mpreg Romance

by Stephan James

  The lady at the bar was still sitting on her own. If I had grabbed onto her when I first saw her, we would be making our way to my place by now. Always my place, never theirs. I hated unfamiliar surroundings. I’d be driving her to my place feeling up her tits under her shirt to warm her up, steering with one hand to do it. My dick would be pressing against my pants, getting harder. Maybe she would reach over, grab on, and steer me.

  “Do you work out, Scott?” It didn’t come out like a question even though I meant it to. Anything to get him talking. I knew he did. He had to, because little guys like him didn’t gain muscle mass unless they worked hard for it. My eyes traveled up his arms. His biceps were toned, but not bulky. His thin chest stretched his tight shirt. Slender. Wiry. Lady-muscle, almost.

  One last gulp to finish off the vodka soda. Warm me up some more, help me get used to these thoughts. I was used to sizing guys up but not ever like this, when I didn’t intend to beat them up.

  Scott looked at my chest and said, “I’m not exactly a bodybuilder.”

  “My condo has a gym.” My fake boyfriend seemed into it. Was it the condo part or the gym part, though? Maybe both. He could brag to all his little gay friends that his boyfriend had the goods. “Want to get out of here?”

  He nodded. I put a twenty on the table for our drinks, well, my drinks, and he followed me out of the bar. I walked, he scampered like a puppy with his hands flouncing and his hips wiggling.

  “We looked like real boyfriends, there,” he said, skipping up to my side.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt yet when Scott said that. This might be harder than I thought. I needed to do this, but I forgot that even tits-at-the-bar was going to think I was gay. That was why she hadn’t spared me a second glance no matter how much I looked at her. And here we were now, walking down the street together like we were going to hook up somewhere.

  “Y-Yeah we did. What were you to going to ask me at the bar before? I know you changed your mind about what you said.” I wanted to change the subject.

  Scott paused in his skipping. “Damien, have you killed someone?”

  Fuck. “It’s the mob, Scott. We don’t sit around and play cards.” Scott dodged a half-eaten sandwich on the sidewalk. He pressed up on me for a split second, not holding on but with his chest to my arm.

  “So, you’ve killed a lot of people?”

  I could feel him looking at me. Trying to read my facial expression. I don’t know if it was about killing people, or if he wanted to see how I felt about him pressing up on me. I gave him a poker face that would work with either one. “I did it when I had to. The mob doesn’t exactly want to draw too much attention to where it is. I like a fight, yeah, but killing is –”

  “Got it. Where do you live again?” I couldn’t tell if that was a test this time. It seemed like I passed it since he interrupted. After all, he was asking where I lived, not how to get home. He was walking closer to me now, too. Sometimes I could feel the heat from his body when our arms kept almost touching. It was like this little man radiated heat, like a furnace.

  “It’s the shit you do for the money. It’s not personal and it’s not fun. It’s another minute. Around this corner.” I let my guard down a bit. It was night, my favorite time of day. For so many years, I lived backwards in order to be able to do what I needed to do under the cover of darkness. Now, in the shadows together we looked like a big thug and a sidekick. The brawn and his soft little brain.

  We were almost at the building now. Scott seemed impressed. I pulled my key card out of my pocket and we walked in silence to my condo. The doorman wasn’t at his desk. He was never at his desk. So much for a high security building. I could do a better job protecting myself.

  “Still want to go to the gym?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Is it a good one?”

  I shrugged. “It does what it needs to do. Let’s go.”

  I got him some gym clothes from my place since he was tearing a tight shirt and jeans that would never do for working out. He stood in the doorway with his head poking around the side, clearly trying to get a look at what the home of an ex-mobster looked like. If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. I moved around too much to want much to hang onto, so aside from some furniture the whole place was pretty barren.

  Then, we went on the treadmills together. I figured he stood more of a chance of impressing me on those than he did with lifting. They were a little big, though. Everything here was a little oversized, a little too complicated. It was a way of putting on appearances. I didn’t much care for that. No matter how fancy it was or how many settings there were, a treadmill was still a treadmill.

  Scott looked like a high school kid wearing a t-shirt that was too big for him. It was almost cute somehow and definitely not impressive. I asked him where he grew up, although I wanted to ask him so much more.

  “I grew up in Nevada,” he gasped in a measured breath. “Have you been there?” He didn’t like talking about himself, I noticed, or maybe he was just being polite. So much for learning about my new boyfriend.

  “I’ve been to Vegas. Did you grow up in Vegas?” I pressed him now, staring at his red face. Good form, nice breathing. His chest was heaving, though.

  He sped up his machine anyway. “No. I lived in a small town. It wasn’t great being gay in a small town, so I moved out here when I felt like I could make it on my own.”

  We were running across from a mirror. Mirrors were great learning tools, to study form and technique from a different angle.

  I looked at my body; I was sweating through my shirt. The guy ran fast, but I had to run faster because there was no way I was going to let him outdo me. I was starting to feel the burn, though. And I saw Scott was watching me run in the mirror. My calves were quivering. My bulky thighs brushing against each other, while his never touched. I watched my dick flop from thigh to thigh with the motion. I never really noticed that before. What was it about this situation that made me notice that? I couldn’t quite figure it out. Looking at my own dick made me think tits-at-the-bar was probably getting fucked right now. Some guy came along with a nice body and a great dick. She was riding it right now, cowgirl style so her tits bounced around in all their glory. Panting, quivering, shaking, gasping. Everything I was doing right now, but in completely the wrong way from how it should have been. Instead of being the one fucking her, I was running a pretend race against a little twink who was too smart for his own good.

  Scott continued, speaking between gulps of breath. His legs moved to the measured pace of his swinging arms, easy and practiced. I was starting to think this was a bad idea. “I was homeschooled because I lived pretty far away from everything else. Middle of nowhere. Like, we had more bars and churches than houses. I always wanted to see more of the world.”

  We ran on in silence for a few more moments while I thought about that. Scott wasn’t like the guys I grew up with. Losing a tooth wouldn’t have been a badge of honor for him. He didn’t fight other guys for sport. He probably didn’t care I was running faster than him, either. He wasn’t competitive.

  Suddenly, I knew I was all wrong about him wanting bragging rights to his friends. He wouldn’t ever tell anyone he converted a straight guy, or jabber about his fake boyfriend’s condo. Scott was not in this world to outdo anyone else.

  Damn. Why did he have to be so sweet? Because, that’s what he was. Sweet. This faking-it thing would have been so much easier if I didn’t actually like him as a person but he was starting to wear on me. That wasn’t good.

  But, now that I knew he wasn’t interested in being impressive, neither was I. I turned my treadmill down to his speed.

  “I didn’t go to school much myself. Different reasons, though. I didn’t grow up on the wrong side of the tracks or anything, but I was just into other things. I wanted to do things on my own.”

  Scott turned down his treadmill while I was talking. I didn’t notice. He was listening to me carefully, hardly even moving at all now.

 
; I looked over at him. I was wrong. He wasn’t listening. He was waiting for me to notice he had something to say. “Damien, I have to go home.”

  Chapter 2

  Scott went home that night, and over the next couple weeks we went on some fake boyfriend dates. I was getting kind of used to going on these fake dates, mostly just getting food and doing something to pass the time. I didn’t know that many people since I moved to the new place, so Scott kept me busy.

  We did things I had never done before, and wouldn’t have ever done in my past life. That was what Scott called it, like it was all a big joke that we could make fun of and pretend it wasn’t real. Maybe that was what he wanted. I couldn’t forget, though. But, I had to keep my little fake boyfriend happy so I went along with whatever he wanted.

  Our first date was a movie. Even when it was over, I still had no idea what it was about. I was never much of an entertainment person. No reading, no TV, no video games. I worked, or was working out for work, or sleeping and eating exactly right so I could be in top shape…for work. Scott seemed to like it, though. He laughed and gasped along with the rest of the audience. I tried to pay attention to what was going on but I couldn’t. All I could think about was Scott, watching him out of the corner of my eye. His arm was on my armrest, skinny and pale and hot next to mine. I watched the movie reflect on his face and in his eyes. I watched his expressions. His cheeks bulged with popcorn, shoveling it in his mouth.

  And I was glad I watched him because I saw what he was doing. Filling his mouth with popcorn, taking a sip of his drink, and then letting it all soften up and disintegrate before swallowing. A grown-ass man, doing a silly little kid thing. He was certainly something else, I couldn’t deny that.

  After the movie, we went out to a Mexican place to eat. I had a margarita, and Scott tasted it. He put his mouth right over the place where mine had been. A little gross, but something inside me preened a little that he tried something new. With me. That was an honor, right?

  It was also the reason I hadn’t gotten tequila. He never would have gone for that.

  Our next few dates really were much of the same. I didn’t know what Scott did for work. But, whenever he was free, we were getting dinner at a new place. We went for walks. We watched another movie and worked out some more every couple of days.

  After that first initial day, our conversation never went so deep. We talked about the things around us, or nothing at all. And he seemed happy enough with that

  I started to get anxious after a couple weeks of not fucking though, and I could feel myself becoming more like an animal. Scott started to seem less endearing and a lot more frustrating. I started to get more aggressive, snapping at him. A few of our dates ended early due to “something coming up” but I knew it was because I was pushing him away. That was scary, and I did not like to be scared. If I lost Scott, I lost my chance at this.

  But I couldn’t help it. I wanted to touch someone, or fight someone. I couldn’t decide. I had a lot of built up tension. I was kickboxing almost every day. Kicking the shit out of punching bags was calming me down a bit, but I needed some human contact. This wasn’t high school anymore; I couldn’t just jack off all day and destroy public property to get my fix.

  One day, I started to fight Scott, as a joke. We were walking home from one of our dates. It had been yet another movie date, one with lots of choreographed fighting in it. I actually liked that one, but not because it was good. I could look at the screen and see so clearly how fake everything was. Real fighting wasn’t nearly as showy.

  Scott didn’t seem to like it, though. Normally he talked endlessly about the movie we just saw but this time he was very quiet.

  I frowned at him, a little annoyed that he was changing the rules when I was just getting used to them.

  “Why are you so quiet?”

  He took a bit to answer. I thought he might avoid the subject again but then he spoke. “I said it was hard being gay in a small town. You grow up learning not to be seen or heard.”

  “Lighten up,” I growled. The sour look on his face was pissing me off. But this time, instead of taunting him about it like I had been lately, I threw a quick jab at his shoulder. He didn’t move out of the way and I quickly pulled the punch so it only tapped him.

  And now he looked pissed off, too. Then, to my surprise, he socked me with a good one. “You hit like a girl,” he said, and then laughed big and bright. It lit up his whole face.

  We started wrestling right there in the street.

  Suddenly, it was just something we did. A couple’s thing. Only something we would understand. We had fun with it. Scott would try to hold me back, but I would get him in the stomach with a light upper cut, or I would give him a hefty punch in the ribs. I didn’t try to hurt him, but sometimes we got pretty rough. And when he had had enough, he would flop over right where he was and pretend to be dead.

  For some reason, I didn’t like that.

  Usually things stayed pretty one-sided. Scott blocked, and I sparred. If I was really trying I could overtake him in a second, and we both knew it. I’m not much of a talker, so we got to know each other being physical instead of telling each other our life stories. Since Scott wasn’t much of a talker either –although he did start jabbering a little more often. I tuned him out- so it worked.

  There is a lot you can learn about the way a guy fights. His personality comes through. What he thinks of you comes through. Scott protected himself most of the time, but he let himself lose too. I would have let him win if he wanted, but he wanted to lose.

  He liked being dominated. He liked getting a little uncomfortable, being held against his will a bit, in an uncomfortable position. He liked the rush of being trapped, almost craved it. I would catch him leaving parts of his body unprotected on purpose. He let me pin him down sometimes, even though seconds earlier he could have avoided it.

  Usually we wouldn’t wrestle for long. A minute or two of fooling around and then I would let him go. His hands would be on my shoulders, burning my skin. I’d get him in a tight lock that he couldn’t get out of no matter how hard he pushed, and felt him squirm a bit before going limp. His skin would be hot with energy and excitement, and his cheeks would be flushed. Like I said, he liked it. Then I would set him free and he would catch his breath. I just wanted to show him who was boss. I liked it when he submitted to me.

  It got more serious when we started to spend more time at Scott’s place. My condo was hard, sharp and new. It wasn’t a place people could really relax, and I liked that. I didn’t have anyone over except Scott since I moved in, but if anyone did come over I wanted them to keep still. I wanted to be able to keep them exactly where I wanted them, and making my place uncomfortable and cold was how I did that.

  Scott didn’t like my place. It unsettled him in a bad way. So, we stopped going there as much.

  Scott’s place was more comfortable. He didn’t have to scare people, and he had a lot of small things. There were things that told you about who he was and what he liked. Pictures of him and his friends were scattered around, not in frames, just in piles around the place. He had a strange collection of stuffed animals that looked like the real things. “My building doesn’t allow pets so I’m compensating,” he told me, smiling.

  Not my thing, but we weren’t the type of people who would have met at all if it wasn’t for this hiding bullshit. His place was softer than mine was, with more plants. There was a weird homemade-looking pillow that looked like a cat, on his couch. Everything was an animal, or living. It was easy to fall asleep at his place. He liked to watch soap operas and tell me about them, his eyes bright and happy. That made it even easier to fall asleep. His laughter and his voice were soothing, like a lullaby.

  I woke up on his couch to a hard poke in the forehead. Scott was trying to start a wrestling match. He was getting more aggressive lately, pushing our boundaries. He was also learning my moves. The forehead poke wasn’t one of them. That was Scott just being Scott, fucking aro
und and having fun. But now that he knew my moves, he was starting to defend himself longer. He was getting more into our fights, more competitive, and he was letting me win on purpose less often.

  But, I could still tell he wanted to lose. He just didn’t want to make it easy anymore. He wanted me to chase him, and hard.

  It was hot in Scott’s apartment, so I slept without a shirt. I stood up close to his chest. I was surprised to find that he was standing up straighter than usual. We really were almost the same height.

  The hair on my chest brushed his bare skin. I felt it way more than I should have for such a light touch. My blood was pumping in my veins. My heart started pounding in my ears. Why? We weren’t even fighting yet. What has happening to me? Why did I want to just skip all the fighting and grab him?

  I told myself to focus and gave him a macho stance. Our faces were nearly touching. His soft lips were right in front of mine. I snarled, the corner of my mouth turned up. “You wanna fight, you little shit?”

  The corners of Scott’s mouth turned up, too. His face was filling with blood, and I could feel his breath getting hotter on my neck. He pressed his chest to my chest. He wanted to get rough.

  I couldn’t help myself. My blood was boiling now. I skipped all the foreplay and grabbed him by his hips. My palms burned to touch him. His back arched, trying to get away. I kept holding on and pushed him down onto the couch. I pinned his arms down by his sides. His muscles were flexed, and he was trying to squirm around, but I pressed harder. He was getting away; I fucked up by pushing him on the couch. He was pressing hard into the couch so that I couldn’t grab around him.

  I slipped my right hand to his hip bone and kept my other elbow digging into his chest. He was pushing his foot into my stomach to keep me off him. I flexed my gut and slammed down. He was kicking me in the chest now, his foot slipped under my right arm. I clenched it between my biceps and my ribs and jumped on him.

  He was lying on his back. His leg was bent in-between us. His knee was separating our chests so as he slipped his leg out, my body fell on his. We were chest to chest, and I was sweaty, but he was smooth. I pressed into his chest and moved half an inch, our skin stuck together from the heat. Like shiny, pretty flint and impassive stone, we struck together and I felt sparks. I actually felt them. This was more than simple lust. I knew, because I had felt a lot of lust but never something like this before. Our faces were almost touching, and our hearts were pounding together frantically. I could feel his hard cock through his shorts. It was warm, pushing into me. The rest of his body was as soft as always.