Omega Wanted: Bad Boy Mpreg Romance

by Stephan James

  Our child.

  The words rang through Caleb’s head like a bell, leaving his eyes sparkling with happiness when the other leaned down and pressed their lips together. Until that point, he hadn’t thought of the baby growing inside of him as his. It was just a strange foreign body taking up residence inside of him.

  Hearing Johannes call it theirs, and express his love for the child was enough to leave Caleb’s heart fluttering in his chest. He was carrying their child, and he was going to start to grow a family with the gorgeous man above him.

  Feeling tears build up in his eyes, Caleb laughed and kissed Johannes sweetly on the lips, his hands trailing over his sides while the man cradled him to his chest. Tangling his fingers into the man’s shirt, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be surrounded by the man’s warmth.

  “I promise you as soon as our baby is born, I’m going to take us all somewhere safe, where they can go to school like a normal kid, and we can live our lives normally,” Johannes mumbled, earning a soft hum from Caleb. The idea of living a normal life surrounded by the love Johannes had already provided him with was breathtaking.

  “Just gotta make sure those bastards don’t find us again,” he smirked up at Johannes, coaxing a laugh from his lips.

  “If they do, I’ll make sure that they regret it,” Johannes grumbled, kissing Caleb on the nose with a smile. “No one touches my man without feeling my wrath.” He growled dangerously, chuckling when Caleb let out an excited laugh.

  “I’ll hold you to that, soldier,” Caleb winked, pressing his lips to the others gently and humming as he relaxed against his chest. He knew that things were never going to be easy for them, but as long as he had Johannes, he was sure that he was going to be ok. “Do you think they’ll let me try some of those chemicals? See if I can be a hybrid? It won’t be fair that the kid’s got powers and I don’t.” Johannes laughed at this, rolling his eyes and slumping onto the couch with Caleb in his arms.

  “I doubt it, but I’ll ask just for you,” Johannes smiled, kissing him on the forehead with a satisfied smile, his hand resting over Caleb's stomach gently.

  Falling to sleep wrapped up in Johannes’ arms; Caleb felt his heart flutter in his chest warmly. He was safe, happy, and wrapped up in the arms of the man he loved. He’d like to see anyone try to take that away from him.

  **********The End**********

  Polar Bear In Heat

  Greg watched kind of listlessly as the marshal signaled with his wands to direct him where to taxi. Greg had taxied across this particular stretch of tarmac in Alaska at least twice a day for the last six months of his employment. Due to its proximity to Russia, he was stationed in Alaska, but flew out to his day assignment in Japan since they were trying to decrease military presence there. Quite the expensive commute, especially for the government to be sending fighter planes out and back. Of course, they sent more C-130s than anything else, but that was because they are longer range cargo planes. But he was about to zip out across the pacific in an F-16. The air marshal was taking forever. Greg was circling around in his head, thinking about his assignment some more. The more he thought about it, the more absurd the entire situation became. Who the fuck cares if thousands of people were stationed in Japan, anyways?

  Oh right. The Japanese.

  Greg groaned. He really, really needed a drink. He drank like a fish nowadays; it was the only thing that kept him sane. It wasn’t so much the stress of the job at all, no, it was the boredom.

  He stared over at the picture of his mom and sister that he had taped just above the instrument panel where it met the windshield. It was a slightly crumpled photograph that had a tear in the upper left-hand corner, just stopping where it touched his sister’s curly brunette hair. He stroked the picture with a wistful finger, and then looked back out at the tarmac. Shit.

  “Captain Gregory Kramer? Polar Bear, do you copy?”

  “Yes, sir?” Greg’s heart always skipped a beat when they used his call sign polar bear. His buddies had chosen it for him, but it was amazing how close to the truth that one was.

  “Ready for take-off?” asked a bemused voice, over the intercom. Greg smiled. It was his buddy Schultz. Captain Schultz worked in air traffic control.

  “I’m going to speak freely, Polar Bear, but you’ve got a C-130 en route to land and if you don’t move your ass, you’re going to be a splat of raspberry jam. Got it?”

  “You bet your ass, Schultz,” said Greg, and he started to taxi out after the air marshall. Once he got in position, he switched the fuel mixture to rich and ran up the engines. As he took up speed, and finally pulled back the joystick to bring them up into the air, he started to feel his worldly cares leave him as he felt the bird start to soar.

  “Yippeekaiyay!” he whooped, in true US Air Force Academy fashion.

  “Polar Bear,” said a disapproving voice over the com, almost immediately.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You’d better have a stuck mic,” said Schultz, “because if you didn't turn that motherfucker off again, I—“

  “My dearest apologies,” said Greg in the most contrite voice he could muster up. The good thing about being thousands of feet away from the ground in a metal bird was that he was the only one truly observing himself. He was grinning ear to ear.

  “It’s not stuck, is it?”

  “Nope.” said Greg. “I got some flying to do now. Polar Bear out.”

  Greg was flying high and level over the Pacific Ocean, watching the water zip by like wrinkly elephant skin. He just about had time to eat a sandwich before he touched down in Japan.

  “Howdy,” he said, to the mechanics that started preparing to tow his plane away after he got out of it. He got no response, as usual. They were all required to wear ear plugs on the tarmac.

  Greg started to walk inside, briefly saluted at the gate, and entered the base. He would stay here until he was ordered to leave, and another pilot would take his place. If he wasn’t living in Japan, he couldn’t possibly be based in Japan. The whole system was an absolute mess. He wondered if anybody would think he was out of place at the bar at only one o’ clock in the afternoon.

  “Good morning, Colonel Burns’s sir!” he said as he walked past one of his commanding officers. Burns nodded in his direction and beetled off, probably to check on some poor sod that wasn’t following orders to the “T”.

  “I guess I can just have one drink,” muttered Greg to himself as he started to unbundle himself. It was a little chilly in the fighter plane, but southern Japan in summer was pretty warm.

  “Your usual?” asked the old bartender, a grizzled man around the age of sixty five.

  “Mac,” said Greg, jovially, swinging onto a barstool. “I’ll have two whisky sours and a ‘sex on the beach’.”

  “Your usual, then,” said Mac, grinning. “Drinking a ‘sex on the beach’ cause you can’t get none in real life? Must be extra difficult for you, eh?”

  “Oh, shut up, you,” said Greg, Of course, Mac knew his secret. Mac was the only person in the whole goddamn Air Force who knew Greg was gay. Course, Mac wasn’t straight either. They needed to keep each other’s secrets.

  “I say, one of these days you’re gonna get yourself in real hot water between, well, that, and the hair of the dog if you take my meaning,” said Mac, bustling around polishing the already sparkling glasses he expertly mixed his drinks in.

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Greg, downing the whole sex on the beach drink in one gulp. Of course, he had came out to Mac in a drunken, slurred way, but he wasn’t planning on getting drunk with anybody except the bartenders he knew well. He wasn’t much of a socialite, quite the opposite in fact. He had just started to have a grand old time, after his third go at ‘sex on the beach’, when Colonel Burns walked in.

  “Captain Kramer!” he exclaimed.

  Kramer tried to say something to the effect of “Yes, sir!” but it came out a little more slurred than he intended.

  “Kramer!�
� he shouted, “Now, you listen to me, man.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Mac, get somebody to take him away. I’ll talk to him when he sobers up.” Colonel Burns did an about face, and strode out of the room.

  ***

  “Captain Gregory Kramer, reporting as ordered, sir,” said Kramer, saluting and standing in front of Burns’ desk. It wasn't an ideal situation, the one he was in, and the hammering in the back of his head was a testament to his poor decisions.

  “Drinking whilst on duty,” said Burns, disapprovingly. “Wasting Air Force resources.”

  “What resources?”

  “Your time, man, wasting your time, which belongs to us and will for, oh, the next three years.”

  “Two.”

  “I don’t care, I see a million men in here every day. Let’s get back to the point.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re drinking?”

  “What about it?”

  “Mac told me you drank two whiskey sours and, four, um.”

  “Sex on the beach,” replied Greg, smiling a little.

  “Yes, sex on the beach,” said Burns. “That’s six drinks containing hard liquor.”

  “I know, sir.”

  “A blood alcohol level of .14, Kramer. That’s not acceptable.”

  “I was fine.”

  “You couldn’t even say ‘yes sir’ without sounding like you were coming out from under water. No, Kramer, it won’t do, it simply won’t do. Sit,” he said, beckoning to a chair beside his desk. “We have some stuff to discuss.”

  “What?” asked Greg, fidgeting.

  “You haven’t technically done anything terrible,” said Burns, thoughtfully, “you’re a good man, Kramer. I know you wouldn’t fly pissed drunk.”

  “I was only mildly impaired,” protested Greg, “but you’re right. I’ve never drank and flown.”

  “But you drink all the time.”

  “Yes, sir.” said Burns.

  “That’s a problem there,” he said. “Here in the Air Force, as you know, we have a vested interest in preventing substance abuse. Now, as your superior officer, I have no choice but to report it.”

  “This isn’t, I mean, I don’t have a problem,” said Greg.

  “No? Then why were you drinking at two o’ clock in the afternoon by yourself?”

  “I was bored.”

  “I’ve heard that one before. Listen, the Air Force isn’t judging you on your drinking habits, only your conduct. And your nose is clean there, so we aren’t going to hand down any discipline.”

  “Thank god,” said Greg, and raised his head to look at Burns, who was staring at him with a curious expression.

  “What?” asked Greg. “What is it? Oh, there’s a ‘but’, isn’t there?”

  “I’m afraid there is,” said Burns. “I am going to request that you self identify as having a problem, so I can enroll you in our alcohol substance abuse detoxification program, called ADAPT. You’re going to spend a dry six weeks here, in Japan, and then you can carry on business as normal. Although, you’d better leave here a changed man, or, at least, drink where we can’t see you during hours where you’re unlikely to be called up. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir. Why do I have to stay in Japan? What about Alaska?”

  “Kramer. Would you rather have your CO there oversee this, or would you rather I was your commanding officer for the meantime?”

  “Right, sir,” said Greg, gloomily.

  “A nurse is going to be coming for you in a minute, and they're going to bring you down to the special arrangements we’ve got for you,” he said. “You’ll be in the outpatient intensive program, since I think you’d have problems with being stuck in a hospital. You don’t need that, Kramer.”

  “So I live…?” asked Greg.

  “In the Air Force equivalent of a hotel room,” said Burns, “with your nurse. You see, you have to have some supervision. The ADAPT program is dry, after all. Usually, we’d have you in our barracks, but we’ve downsized rather severely recently, as well you know. We’re at capacity.”

  “Yeah, sparking the need for my ridiculous commute. Sir,” Greg said.

  “I understand your frustration all too well, Kramer,” said Burns, nodding his head. “As far as your commute. You’ll have a break from that now. You are relieved of primary duties during your treatment phase of ADAPT. Instead, you will be doing administrative work, in my office.”

  “Sir?” asked Greg. He was immediately nervous again; if that meant that he would be doing the Major’s paperwork or taking phone calls. Besides, he was a trained pilot, there were secretaries who were probably already overqualified for the position working for Colonel Burns.

  “No, not like that,” said Colonel Burns, smiling. “Nothing to demean your duties. You’re due for a promotion, or you were. Look, the Air Force likes you.”

  “Why?”

  “Did you forget what happened during your first summer at the Air Force Academy?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “You saved a man’s life. That takes courage.”

  “Well, somebody had to talk him down.”

  “Suicide prevention is no joke. We didn’t forget that, man,” he said. “And how about last year?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing really, you probably don’t even remember. Do you remember that day you refused to take off?”

  “Yeah,” said Greg, “what about it?”

  “That day, the Russians were flying a mission. Classified, or so they thought. They lost three spy planes in the ocean. We could have lost you as well. And a host of other planes. You kicked up a small fuss, but big enough for us to ground most of the North Pacific.”

  “Oh.”

  “The point is, watch me. Someday, you may be in my shoes.”

  “I don’t think I could cram my feet into them, sir” said Greg, joking.

  “You know what they say about foot size,” mused Burns. “You’ll make whoever she is one lucky lady indeed. But please, don’t go getting tangled up with the geisha girls. You’ll make a right mess for yourself and an expensive one too.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, the nurse should be here any minute.”

  There was a smart knock on the door and a tall, lean man entered, snapping to a salute.

  “Nurse, Lt. Joe Walsh,” he said, “reporting as ordered, sir.”

  “This is Captain Gregory Kramer,” said Burns, rising and indicating to Greg. “F-16 pilot. Drinks like a fish.”

  “I’m here to sort y’all out,” said Walsh, smiling gently. “You got your kit, sir?”

  “I wasn’t expecting to be spending this long in Japan,” said Greg, getting to his feet.

  “Army always has surplus,” said Walsh, chuckling, “and what they can’t sell to civilians; they can certainly fork over to the Air Force. Come on, let’s go, sir.”

  “Please, call me Greg,” said Greg as soon as they got out of earshot.

  “Fine, call me Joe then,” said Walsh, striding along beside him. Greg considered himself to be a tall man, but Walsh was only a little bit shorter than he. He was immediately drawn to Walsh’s easygoing manner and friendly smile. He shook his head. A grounded pilot, falling in love with his nurse. Only happened in movies, after all.

  “I’m your battle buddy, for all intents and purposes,” said Walsh, as they rounded a corner. “You got one you’re close to in Fairbanks?”

  “Yeah, his name is Schultz,” said Greg, “Captain Andrew Schultz.”

  “I want you to call him, when you have a moment,” said Walsh, opening up a door and stepping inside. “That’s very important, to keep contact and stuff. You got a family?”

  “No,” said Greg, sighing, “not any more. Fuck!”

  “What is it?”

  “My F-16!”

  “What about it? I’m sure it’s well taken care of.”

  “No! It has a picture of my mom and sister inside it.”

  “Well, I�
��“

  “You don’t understand!” he said, raking his hands through his hair. “They died in a car crash during the first week of my deployment. Fuck! I need that picture!”

  “I’m going to call somebody and —“

  “Let me go get it, please, let me go and I’ll—“

  “DON’T—“started Joe, before biting his tongue. “Don’t make a scene. If you yell anymore I’ll check you off as being mentally unstable, and then this whole process is going to go from paid vacation to separation from the service. I’ll get somebody on it. Nobody is gonna throw out a personal item like that, not without checking.”