Omega Wanted: Bad Boy Mpreg Romance

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Omega Wanted: Bad Boy Mpreg Romance Page 107

by Stephan James


  “They’d better not have,” said Greg, gloomily. “Sure, I’ve got others, but that one’s my favorite.”

  Greg walked into the room and threw himself down on one of the bunks. It was definitely not a hotel room, that’s for sure, but judging by the fact he had a nice pillow and a real, fleecy blanket, it wasn’t just a standard barracks room either.

  “There’s a mini fridge,” said Joe, “but there’s no liquor. You can bring fruit back here and stuff though.”

  “Great, no liquor.”

  “What do you think this is, an Alcoholics Unanimous?” asked Joe, bemused. “No, we’re here to get you back and flying. I heard about you. You’re not bad. We gotta nip this right in the bud before you have an actual problem.”

  “Glad you think so,” said Greg, flinging one arm over his face. “When do we start?”

  “Tomorrow,” said Joe. “ADAPT is in the morning, and then you get the rest of the day assisting Colonel Burns. And,” he said pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, “I’ll come pick you up from Colonel Burns’ office after… oh crap, really?”

  “What?”

  “I’m in the psych ward again, for monitoring the suicide attempts. Ugh.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Can’t I be in the Operating Room or something? In the OR, sure, sometimes you get drenched in blood, but at least you never need to deal with a kid who is so broken they don’t wanna live anymore. That’s the shit I can’t handle. Thank god I only have a few months left on this tour.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Greg, thinking back to his time at the Air Force Academy. He talked a kid down, once. They were both eighteen, and there was a boy hanging out the window, just waiting to let go and die. Greg threw up as soon as he was safe. All of the people watching weren’t helping, but he just had to let the boy know he was okay. Of course, the boy was separated from the Academy on the same day, sent to a civilian hospital for help. The Air Force had cracked him.

  “These kids,” said Greg, “civilian?”

  “Service,” said Joe. “Eighteen, nineteen years old. Mostly the men, surprisingly. Sometimes you get an older one, but that’s rare. It’s usually if he’s been on multiple tours.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “It sucks. I mean, I don’t know what I can do for these bastards sometimes,” said Joe. “Anyways. We got a lot of time to kill. Tell me about yourself.”

  “Well, you’ve got my medical file.”

  “Yeah, Greg Kramer, 25, 160 lbs, 6’3, fighter pilot. Tell me something I haven’t been studying up on.”

  “I like the color orange,” said Greg, picking up his arm and flinging the other one back over his face. “My favorite foods are hamburgers, and my favorite drink is a good whiskey sour.”

  “Tell me more about your relationship with alcohol.”

  “I thought ADAPT didn’t start ’til morning.”

  “How about you treat me like a friend who’s here to help,” said Joe.

  “Fine,” said Greg. “God, I don’t even know where to begin. Seriously, I was bored at the bar and so I ordered more drinks than I should have. I mean, I drink a lot, but never while I’m working, and I have never been called out for it before.”

  “Gotcha,” said Joe. “You have been, though, somebody tipped on ya a week ago.”

  “Who?”

  “Classified to protect the rights of the informant,” said Joe, ruefully. “Truth is, I don’t know. I just got a memo to possibly add another name to the ADAPT roster.”

  “Great.” said Greg. “Any idea about what it said?”

  “You can ask the Colonel,” said Joe. “I really don’t know, nor do I care. You know what you have and haven’t done and as long as you are one hundred percent honest with us, I don’t care what your answers are. No judgement.”

  “Gotcha,” said Greg. “I don’t need to know, really. I just hope it wasn’t Mac.”

  “Mac, the bartender?” asked Joe. “Nah, he’s an oldie. He doesn’t see anything wrong with alcohol use.” Joe seemed to have a distant look in his eyes. “I just wish they’d ban bars from stressful places like these, that’s all,” Joe continued. “I’ve had to send so many poor sods home, or worse, put them six feet under.”

  “I don’t think it’s the stress, or the alcohol for some,” said Greg. “Have you ever had to fly back and forth between continents? It’s the boredom.”

  “Places of boredom, then,” said Joe. “Remember, you’re here because you need to dry out. Big time.”

  “I don’t even have a problem,” said Greg, muttering to himself.

  “Well, let’s get some shuteye,” said Joe. “We have a few hours until dinner, and I have a late shift tonight in the damn psych ward.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Greg, groaning internally. He wasn’t sleepy, and if he slept now, he wouldn’t be able to sleep in the morning.

  “Don’t think that you’re on vacation,” said Joe. “We have a civilized schedule here, but it isn’t a walk in the park, either. Chow is at seven in the morning. All standard rules apply, grooming, etcetera.”

  “Gotcha,” said Greg, trying to drift off to sleep. However, it was very hard to do. He was in a new environment, and that was always difficult. And he would have to be up bright and early in the morning. The last thing he thought about as he drifted off to sleep was the picture of his mother and sister. He hoped it was safe.

  An alarm sounded loud and clear in the morning, causing Greg to leap out of bed, pull his clothes on quickly, and make his bed as neatly as he could. He saw that, in contrast, Joe rolled out of bed, pulled on his slightly rumpled uniform from the day before, and then just pulled the sheets up, not caring if there were wrinkles or lumps.

  “Joe?” asked Greg, sitting down to rub a last layer of polish on his shoes.

  “Yeah?”

  “Aren’t you going to…?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, make your bed, anything that normal people do.”

  “I’m fine! My bed is made.”

  “Your uniform is a little wrinkled.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s only fine by civilian standards, said Greg disdainfully.

  “I don’t even know why I’m here,” said Joe, raising his voice, “trying to detox entitled little fighter pilot brats like you. You ought to thank me for being here and spending the night here with you instead of in a nice comfortable bed in my own apartment minding my own business. For the next six weeks, you’re my challenge to overcome.”

  “What did you just call me?”

  “Entitled, or a challenge?”

  Joe’s eyes widened as he saw Greg flicker right before his eyes, from the outline of a shape that looked like a bear, and his human form, which was glowing slightly.

  “What are you doing?” asked Joe, fearfully.

  “Trying to not get mad and lose my shit on you,” said Greg. “Nothing to worry about. I’m a shifter; I have my papers and everything. They should have been in your file.”

  “I’ve never seen a real shifter before,” said Joe, forgetting their little quarrel and staring open eyed and slack jawed at Greg. “Shifter status is usually classified,” he continued. “People mistrust shifters a lot, and I don’t know why. To be honest, it makes me sad.”

  “Are you a shifter too?”

  “No, I’m just a human,” said Joe, only slightly bitterly. “It would be a nice ability to have. I don’t know what shape I’d want to take though. Colonel Burns is a hawk shape shifter, and my uncle turns into a walrus. They’ve never showed me, though. People tend to keep it private.”

  “A walrus.” repeated Greg, letting this all sit in. Joe talked at a mile a minute especially when he was excited, and now was no exception.

  “Yeah, I mean, he’s always been fat so this is perfect!”

  “I see.”

  “I’m sorry; I’ve got to be boring you. Now hurry, wash up and stuff, breakfast starts in ten minutes.

  “Right,�
� said Greg, “breakfast.”

  “It’s not bad, here,” said Joe, “don’t worry too much. We can buy some really good rations from the Japanese down here, and if we go out on the town at some point, damn, there’s nothing really like the most authentic stuff around, actually in its own country, with all the beautiful flavors and variety, I—“ he stopped and looked at Greg, curiously. “I don’t know,” he ended, lamely. “What foods do you like?”

  “I’ll eat anything,” said Greg. “I’m always hungry because I’m burning a lot of calories. Let’s go.”

  It sucks when you don’t understand their language, thought Greg, knowing the music was in Japanese and knowing that he would not be able to speak to any of the workers in Japanese.

  They ended up only a minute early for their opening lecture into ADAPT, which was unfortunate because the speaker had decided to begin early. Greg was surprised by how many people they had crammed into a small room. It was more than just an intimate environment, but also, it was probably the worst place to be sitting and listening to an old person talk.

  The lectures were unsurprisingly boring, and their workshops were no better.

  “What drives you to drink?” asked Joe, reading off a preplanned worksheet they were filling out. The rest of the men in the group were enrolled in the residential detox program, and they were partnered with each other. Greg was growing uncomfortable with the amount of one on one time he was having with the lieutenant.

  Three days later, Greg was becoming increasingly disturbed by Joe's carefree attitude and his lax interpretations of military order and cleanliness. Joe was, on the other hand, frankly uncomfortable with the tall, dark man. Joe twitched slightly sitting on his bed and waiting for Greg to tie his shoes and head to dinner. He shifted, trying to put into words what he was feeling.

  He was undeniably attracted to Greg. As a bisexual in the Air Force, he had to stay closeted in order to keep his position. He was often satisfied with relationships with women, however, it was the crushes on men that left him longing in pain, denying a whole part of him that loves men.

  "Are you just going to leave your bunk like that?" Asked Greg, disdainfully.

  "I don't know why can't I?" Asked Joe. "We aren't in training; we can do whatever the hell we want."

  "Oh, I don't know, it's the principle of the thing," said Greg.

  “Listen, it’s not your place to be correcting me on this,” said Joe.

  “I’m a superior officer,” Greg complained.

  “A superior officer enrolled in a drug detox program, and under those circumstances, I’m in charge,” sniped Joe. “Medical override.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I don’t like that tone,” said Joe, “sir.” He tacked sir on the end with a barb.

  “Dude, I don’t know what your problem is,” continued Greg, “but you sit here pissing me off and then when I try to bring it up, you give me attitude.”

  “Well, you should just mind your own business,” said Joe. “Also, emotional resilience is one of the skills you’re supposed to learn in ADAPT. Maybe that’ll help you with having a roommate you disagree with. You’ll realize that my unmade bed has no impact on your life at all, and you’ll stop losing your shit when you see things that aren’t to specs. This isn’t a fucking barracks.”

  “Yeah, it’s Air Force property,” said Greg.

  ‘I have nothing out of place, just one rumpled blanket. Grow a pair.”

  “What did you just tell me to do?”

  “Grow a pair,” said Joe, placidly. “Look, I know you’re out of your element. You’re used to being in charge. Big, macho fighter pilot.” Joe knew he’d get a reaction out of Greg with that one.

  Greg lept forwards into his polar bear form and snarled at Joe, whose cheeks flushed bright red. He knew that Greg wasn’t going to hurt him; from their limited interactions he knew Greg was a good guy. It was almost arousing, their argument, and it was definitely hot that Greg was a shifter. He felt a twitch in the front of his trousers, and he rolled his eyes. Still, not good timing. Greg shifted back into human form and stood in front of Joe, panting. Their faces were inches away from each other’s.

  Joe blinked. Greg’s eyes were dark and fiery, and Joe wanted to know why. It wasn’t anger anymore. Greg’s lips curled into a smirk.

  “I think I’ve got your number,” Greg said.

  “Don’t tell anybody,” breathed Joe, his eyes wide. Now he was just plain terrified.

  “It’s okay, baby,” said Greg, “me too. I suspected as much, really.”

  “How?”

  “You’re so wimpy, must be a twink.”

  “Hey!”

  Joe lunged forwards to get by Greg, but Greg caught him and kissed him as his protestations melted away and he eagerly returned the kiss.

  “Shouldn’t we go to dinner?” asked Joe.

  “I have dinner right in front of me, babe,” said Greg.

  “I mean, uh, that sounds great, but I don’t know about this, we could get in some serious hot water,” said Joe.

  “Well, we can just skip dinner,” said Greg. “Go out on the town after. Nobody will care.”

  “Mm,” said Joe, “Tempting, but— oh,” he gasped, as Greg reached down and grabbed at the front of Joe’s trousers.

  The aggression they had felt only moments before charged static through the air and electrified Joe to the core. They toppled over onto one of the bunks, Greg’s he thought. So much for neatly made beds and crisp sheets.

  “Greg,” Joe moaned as he was nearing his climax. His face was squashed against the bunk and his ass was in the air, jiggling as Greg jack hammered his cock into him.

  “Oh god, oh god, I think I’m going to —“

  Joe couldn’t even finish his sentence, and he came, his asshole contracting with the force of his orgasm. With one final thrust, Greg roared and collapsed over his back, shuddering through his climax.

  “What the fuck was that noise?” asked Joe, when he was able to think clearly again. “It’s both our asses if we are caught.”

  “No, just tell them I raped you and you’d be able to stay in the service.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “No, it isn’t,” said Greg, darkly. “I’m sorry; I’ll be quieter in the future. Let’s clean up.”

  They got up and took turns in the shower quietly. Greg came in toweling his hair as Joe started getting into his uniform.

  “No,” said Greg, “can’t we wear civvies? We could go out to a restaurant and nobody would care.”

  “O-okay,” said Joe, nervously, unbuttoning his uniform shirt again. “Where do you plan to go?”

  “I’m sure you know this place better than I do,” said Greg, “but we can look at a phonebook or something if you like.”

  “Yeah, no,” said Joe, “I do, but I don’t know any restaurants that are local.”

  “You got a car?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Let’s find one that’s a little away from here then.”

  “Well, I—“

  “I’ll pay for the gas and dinner. Consider it a date.”

  “That’s…sweet,” said Joe.

  “And if you let me drink, I’ll even buy ya dessert.”

  “No dice.”

  “Then you’re buying dessert,” said Greg.

  Joe swatted at Greg’s ass as he walked by to get dressed, and Greg grinned. This might not be so bad, after all. Six weeks in detox seemed a hell of a lot brighter.

  They signed off the base and started the walk to Joe’s apartment, which was just a ten minute walk away. Greg was only just starting to appreciate the landscape around them. A single snowcapped mountain rose to the sky to their right, on the other side of the base’s landing strip.

  To their left, a town was growing up around the base, glowing slightly in the 6 pm sun. They finally made it to Joe’s apartment building, and he opened the several door garages to take out his car. It was a small, old vehicle, but perfect for the locat
ion.

  “Get in;” said Joe, “we’re headed to Tokyo.”

  “Can I drive?” asked Greg. He hated being chauffeured around.

  “The Japanese drive hard, fast, and on the left,” explained Joe, “and Tokyo’s a veritable maze. It’s an amazing city,” he continued, “but I’d rather you didn’t drive my car in it.”

  “Gotcha.”

 

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