Archive of Our Own

“Hold on,” Mydei coaxes, his hand wrapped tight around Phainon’s waist. “We’re almost there, okay? Bathroom’s just down the hall. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

“Ughgh,” Phainon says faintly, his feet out of line. His scent is out of control; he can’t seem to manage it at all, and it rolls off him in uneven waves, sometimes thick and sometimes nonexistent. “What the fuck d’they put in that pitcher?”

“Horse tranquilizer, apparently,” Mydei mutters, wrenching the door shut behind them. Phainon isn’t even a lightweight; the drinks must have been extra strong. “This fucking—wooden—ugh, can we get a better door? I hate this thing. Swells up every time it rains and then I have to wrestle it into—”

“Mydei, please,” Phainon grits out, already bracing himself against the wall.

Oh. Right. His stumbling-drunk, half-green boyfriend. Mydei wonders, not for the first time, what he sees in him. “Come on,” he says, helping Phainon walk steadily to the bathroom. “We’re almost there.”

Phainon plunks himself down in front of the toilet like it’s the greatest relief he could imagine. He sighs heavily and closes his eyes.

“It’s okay now,” Mydei says, voice low. He pushes Phainon’s hair back with one hand. “You’re fine.”

Phainon stares at his own reflection in the toilet bowl. Then he turns back around, his mouth soft. “It’s not really happenin’,” he says, a little raspy. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” Mydei presses his thumbs into the divot of his spine, rubbing soothingly along his lower back. “Just rest, okay? You’ll be fine.”

Phainon sighs heavily, leaning into Mydei’s touch. His scent flares up as he exhales, filling the room pleasantly. Like he’s trying to stake his claim. To mark his territory.

He leans in even closer. Mydei’s heart thunders in his chest. “Phainon?”

Phainon’s scent softens, swirling around Mydei like he wants to keep him there forever. “You’re so pretty,” he slurs, eyes clouded. Then, leaning in right next to Mydei’s ear, he murmurs, “I want you to have my babies.”

Mydei’s hands falter against his back and dig into his spine. “What?”

“Excuse me,” Phainon says, very politely. Then he turns back around and empties his stomach into the toilet bowl.

Mydei blinks, baffled. He pulls back Phainon’s hair and stares into the void.

This has to be important. But it’s not as important as Phainon’s health, so he files it away for later.

***

“So,” says Mydei the next morning.

Phainon doesn’t even open his eyes. He just kicks Mydei weakly under the covers.

“You want to get me pregnant.”

Phainon groans and buries his face in the pillow. “You already know I like you,” he mumbles, like this is something he has to be embarrassed about. Like they haven’t been dating for over a year. Like they aren’t already mated and living together. “Obviously I’m into you. Think you’re hot and stuff. I wanna get you pregnant. Duh.”

“Phainon,” says Mydei carefully. “I’ve never wanted to get you pregnant.”

“Well, that’s you,” says Phainon, like this means anything. He lifts his head from the pillow and blearily stretches his arms above his head. “Is it just me or is it really bright in here? Or is that Castorice’s mai tai pitcher talking?”

“Castorice has never wanted to get someone pregnant.”

“You don’t know that,” Phainon says, raising his eyebrows. “What’s your point, anyway? It’s just dirty talk. I can’t really do it, obviously. I’m an omega.”

Mydei looks at him pointedly. “Are you?”

Phainon blinks. “Yeah…? I mean, I was born an omega.”

“But you want to—”

Phainon shifts in bed, looking a little flustered. “You don’t have to keep saying it! But, like, yeah. Who wouldn’t? I mean, look at you.” He gestures vaguely at Mydei, still wearing the T-shirt that he stole from Phainon during his last heat, three months ago. “Like, wow. You know?”

Mydei sighs heavily and drags his head to rest in the curve of Phainon’s shoulder. “You need to sleep more,” he mumbles, forcing him back down into the cushions. “But… if you weren’t an omega, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” Phainon asks, a little desperately. “Am I weird for this?”

“No,” Mydei says, closing his eyes again. “You’re not weird. I always kinda wanted you to be my alpha, anyway.”

Phainon audibly swallows. Beneath Mydei’s leg, slung over his waist, something twitches.

Mydei grins into his shoulder. “Knew it,” he mumbles, letting his sharp teeth drag against Phainon’s skin, over the lingering scar of their mating bond. “You like it when I call you that, don’t you? Pervert.”

“M’not a pervert.”

“I can feel your cock.”

Phainon groans and tips his head back into the pillow. “Let me have my crisis when I don’t feel like shit. In fact, let me think about this next month. Next year. Never, actually. Let me ignore it for the rest of our lives.”

“Next week,” Mydei decides, already half-asleep again. “We’ll book you a secondary gender consultation next week.”

Phainon tucks him closer against his chest. He mumbles something that might be a vague confirmation, and then he’s asleep again.

One week later Phainon starts his HRT shots, and their friends start calling him an alpha instead of an omega, and that’s that.

***

“Ooh,” says Cipher, grinning devilishly. “Hard shot. Impossible, some might say.”

Phainon just laughs. “You haven’t seen me in action,” he warns, his smile jagged. “In college I bagged a trick shot so good that the KGD sorority carved my portrait in their wall with nail clippers.”

“It’s true,” Hyacine pipes up, nodding proudly. “Pre-meds like to be precise. We carved him perfectly.”

“The portrait was mostly just your ass,” Mydei points out drily. “You were bent over the table and you hit glutes three days a week. I don’t think they were too interested in the actual pool shot.”

Phainon pouts at him. “Don’t ruin my fun! It was a good shot!”

It was a mediocre shot at best, but Mydei was the only sober one at that party, so he’s the only one who can accurately remember the truth. No one will ever believe him about the mediocrity of that shot. The ass, however, was phenomenal; Mydei will concede that much.

Phainon frowns at the pool table, tongue between his teeth. He holds the cue delicately, rubbing chalk between his thumb and forefinger. Mydei watches his fingers move, back and forth and back and forth, the friction making a soft sound in the air. His mouth feels dry. He takes a long sip from his seltzer bottle.

“You can always give up,” Cipher says loftily, through an insufferably smug smile.

Phainon gasps dramatically. “When the prize is this beautiful omega? Of course I can’t give up!” He shoots Mydei the world’s corniest wink. Then he adjusts his grip and hikes his leg up on the pool table, bending over it to line up his shot.

Mydei watches him move his leg. Watches his cock bulge against the fabric of his pants. Watches his thighs strain atop the table. He grits his teeth so hard that his temples sting.

Phainon stares at the cue ball like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. When he concentrates, his lips part, and his stupid canines peek out. They’ve gotten bigger since he started taking hormones six months ago. Not big enough that they’d fundamentally change the mating bite on Mydei’s shoulder, but sometimes Mydei likes to imagine. Thinks of Phainon, his alpha, his alpha, his alpha, biting over that mark like he’s trying to prove himself all over again. Leaving a bigger imprint. Leaving a bigger claim.

Mydei’s grip on his drink slackens. He touches his tongue to the points of his canines. Wonders how they compare to Phainon’s now.

Hyacine watches intently from the side of the table. She’s kneeling down too, her eyes in line with the ball like she’s the one making the shot. “Good form,” she says, like a sports commentator might. “Good lineup. Now let’s see the follow-through…”

“Shh,” Castorice says, tapping her on the shoulder. “You’re distracting him.”

“We want to distract him,” Cipher complains, her tail swishing behind her petulantly. “If he sinks this shot, we lose.”

Mydei isn’t actually the prize; he’s playing on Phainon’s team, while the girls are against them. Three-on-two would be unfair ordinarily, but Phainon is decent at the game and Mydei doesn’t drink, so their skill often outmatches the trio of tipsy girls. Hyacine is the only outlier; she’s so good at pool that they have to make her wear Castorice’s bifocal reading glasses every time she takes a shot, just to even the playing field.

Either way, the real prize is that the winners get to choose their next brunch spot. And Mydei has been dying to get pineapple pancakes, so they have to win.

(“Couldn’t we just get pineapple pancakes by ourselves?” Phainon pointed out, when Mydei brought this up before the game.

“No,” Mydei said, with such finality that Phainon just nodded and chalked up his hands.)

At last Phainon pulls back his arm. He leans closer over the table. He stares down the ball. And then he strikes, clean and precise and beautiful.

Mydei nearly bites through the glass of his seltzer bottle.

The eight-ball—the last remaining ball for their team—sinks neatly into the pocket on the side of the pool table.

“YES!” Hyacine cries, leaping up from her crouch. “INCREDIBLE!”

Phainon just beams. “Pineapple pancakes next weekend,” he declares, with eyes only for Mydei. “Did you see that?! That was legendary!”

“Pretty good,” Cipher admits, clapping him on the back. “Another round in celebration?”

“No,” Mydei says suddenly, before he can catch the word on his tongue.

Everyone looks at him oddly. He tries his best to calm the searing fire in his mind. It doesn’t really work. All he can think about is Phainon, Phainon, Phainon—

“Ah, I can’t,” Phainon says, ducking his head. “With the hormone shots, I’m supposed to be on two drinks per week.” He drums his nails against his nearly-empty beer bottle. “This is it for me! And besides, it’s pretty late! We’ve kept you long enough already.”

Hyacine checks her phone. She yelps. “I have a shift tomorrow at six,” she says quickly, already grabbing her giant tote bag. “Sorry, but I should really go!”

“Princess and I will be on our way too,” Cipher says, with an odd look at Phainon. Her mouth quirks up on one side. “Have fun.”

Phainon frowns a little. “You won’t stay? We bought vegan cookies for you, Cas…”

Castorice flushes bright red and looks anywhere but Mydei.

“Nah,” says Cipher, too casually. “You guys have fun, though.”

Phainon follows them to the door, smiling wide the whole time. Mydei stays in the game room, pretending to clean up their drinks. Mostly he stares at the wall vacantly, his teeth aching.

It hurts. Not in the way that his heat hurts, but not unlike it either. This is less of a biological need and more of an obsession. He doesn’t need it. He just wants it. Wants it so bad he has to bite his own tongue to quell the feeling.

At some point Phainon comes back down the stairs into the game room. “Hey,” he says, grabbing his now-empty beer bottle and bringing it to the counter. “Let me help out with the clean-up, yeah?”

Mydei takes the bottle from him. He slams it down onto the counter. It quivers from the impact.

Phainon stares at the bottle, perplexed. Then he looks up. “You okay, Mydei? You’ve been kind of off all night.”

Mydei takes a deep, measured breath. “I’m fine.”

“I’m just worried,” Phainon says gently, leaning in a little. Then he hesitates. “Not to say that you’re acting weird! I just mean, if you need support, I’m here for you. You know that, right? Anything you need, I’m—”

Mydei slaps his hand over Phainon’s mouth.

Phainon stares up at him, helpless. His lips are still parted beneath Mydei’s hand.

“If you want to help,” Mydei says, low, “then take your clothes off.”

Then he grabs Phainon by his shirt and hauls him in to kiss him like he wants to suffocate together.

Phainon’s eyes fly wide open. He stands there, baffled, as Mydei pulls him closer. He keeps standing there when Mydei finally kisses him. His hands remain stiff at his sides, but he lets his lips slide apart, like his body subconsciously remembers how to be kissed. How to let Mydei kiss him. Ordinarily Mydei would probably find this sweet, maybe a little charming. Now it just infuriates him. It’s not enough—not close enough—nothing is close enough, he doesn’t want anything between them, nothing at all, and he bites Phainon’s lip hard enough to taste salt between them, and—

Phainon finally regains control of his hands and wrenches him away. His breath is ragged, his smile a little amused. “What’s gotten into you?”

Mydei’s hands tighten on his shoulders. He inhales deeply and gets a giant lungful of Phainon’s scent. His cock twitches in his pants.

Phainon tilts his head. He leans in and smooths his thumb over Mydei’s scent gland, the one without his bite mark on it. “Are you—Mydei, it’s not your heat yet, is it? It’s not supposed to come for another three months. Is it that early? That’d be ridiculous…”

“It’s not my heat,” Mydei agrees, a little lightheaded. He slides his hands down Phainon’s body, landing at the curve of his waist, where he squeezes, pleased with the resilience. “…You were so damn skinny when I met you.”

Phainon breathes a laugh and kisses his jaw. “You like me better with more meat on my bones, huh? S’that why you lecture me about protein and shit?”

“No. I lecture you because I’m a nutritionist.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Phainon says, grinning against his jaw. “People pay you for that. But I get it for free ‘cause you like me. I must be one lucky bastard, huh?”

“Mhm. Besides,” Mydei says, lowering his voice, “I clearly liked you just fine even before the lectures.” He tilts his neck sideways, pointedly exposing their mating bite.

Phainon, predictably, swallows. His eyes widen guiltily, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to desire Mydei, even after all this time. “Well,” he says, his voice suddenly uneven. “You like me just fine now too, don’t you?”

Mydei laughs drily. He grabs one of Phainon’s wrists and guides his hand below his waistband. Phainon still looks nervous when he touches him; it’s kind of cute. Makes Mydei want to pretend he’s taking his virginity. His fingers tighten around Phainon’s wrist. He can see it now: a young, inexperienced alpha, nervously staring up at the older omega he met at the bar… Mydei letting him get his dick wet, Phainon thanking him for it like he’d never get the chance again…

“Mydei?”

Mydei snaps out of it. He blinks a few times, clearing his mind. His face is warm.

“You’re wet,” Phainon observes, his eyes wide.

Mydei snorts. “You thought I’d be able to watch your infamous pool shot without getting turned on? KGD carved a mural of that ass. I think your boyfriend’s dick getting a little wet when you’re bent over in front of him is the least of your worries.”

“No, I mean—” Phainon drags his fingers down from Mydei’s cock, so his touch lingers heavy at Mydei’s rim. Maintaining eye contact, he carefully presses the tip of his middle finger inside. It slips in without resistance.

Mydei hesitates. Without… resistance…

“You’re wet,” Phainon repeats, letting his finger slide back out. He takes his hand out, lingering on Mydei’s hip beneath the waistband of his underwear.

“Oh,” Mydei says, a little stupidly. He’s usually not wet there, not unless… “But I’m not—I’m not in heat.”

Phainon looks at him oddly.

“I’d know,” Mydei insists. “It’s different. I’m not feverish or anything. And you’d know if I was in heat. You’d feel it through the mating bond like you always…”

He trails off. Phainon stares at him. He stares back.

“Remind me,” says Mydei, suddenly lightheaded. “How long it’s been since you got your first shot.”

All the color drains from Phainon’s face. “Six months.”

“Remind me how often you’re supposed to have ruts.”

“…Every six months.”

Mydei looks at him. Phainon looks back.

“Oh, fuck,” Phainon says faintly.

“And remind me.” Here Mydei presses Phainon’s wrist down again so that his fingertips catch against Mydei’s rim. “What happens when you’re mated to someone in rut.”

Phainon squeezes his eyes closed. His fingers twitch, sliding into Mydei just enough to have him jolting. Then he pulls them back out again, like he was never there at all. “They said,” he says, a little strained. “They said being really fucking horny on HRT was normal. I didn’t even think about—” He shudders, his breath a little uneven. He inhales deeply against Mydei’s scent gland, the one he bit with his own teeth last year. “It’s fine. The first rut is never that bad. It’s like a practice run. I know we’re not prepared but—”

Mydei stares at him, darkly entranced. He lets go of Phainon’s wrist and starts unbuttoning his pants.

“—And we don’t have rut condoms, and we don’t have anything to protect you from my teeth, and I forgot to buy that soup you like so you won’t get pissed at me for not letting you cook because I want to fuck you all the damn time,” Phainon is saying, when Mydei decides he’s had enough and shoves his thigh between Phainon’s legs.

Phainon’s face flushes bright red. He blinks.

“Thought you wanted to knock me up,” Mydei says through his sandpaper mouth. His voice sounds rough even to his own ears. “Can’t do that with a rut condom on.”

Phainon’s throat bobs. “Well. Yeah. You know.”

“You’ll like it more without one,” Mydei says, pressing his thigh harder between Phainon’s legs. “Won’t you?”

Phainon groans. His hips twitch against Mydei’s leg, like if he grinds subtly enough, Mydei won’t notice. It’s endearing, how pathetic he looks.

Mydei sets both hands on his hips and forces them to a standstill. “Answer me.”

“…Yeah,” Phainon admits, his eyes are a little wild. “I like fucking you without a condom, you know that. S’why you sent me to the clinic in the first place.”

“I sent you to the clinic,” Mydei corrects, “because I wanted my alpha to raw me stupid for five days straight.”

Phainon’s pupils go huge. It makes Mydei flush with satisfaction, the way he wears his desire so plainly. He opens his mouth. Then he closes it again. At last he says, “The short end is three days. Maybe two, since it’s my first one.”

Mydei just laughs. “I have faith in you,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss Phainon’s shoulder. “I think you can give me five right away. You want me bad enough, don’t you?”

Phainon whimpers. His hips twitch against Mydei’s thumbs, like he’s restraining himself from grinding on him like a dog.

“We’ll take each day as it comes,” Mydei says against his shoulder. He starts kissing his way along Phainon’s neck until he reaches the scent gland with the bond mark. Phainon’s whole body jolts beneath his touch. “Fuck me stupid today,” he murmurs, “and we can renegotiate tomorrow.”

“Renegotiate,” Phainon repeats weakly. “What am I, a fucking client? Shit, shit, oh my god, Mydei—”

Mydei traces his tongue along the bite mark like he’s thinking of refreshing it. Carefully, he pulls his hand up Phainon’s cock, down to the base and up to the tip.

Phainon’s knees buckle. He whimpers and stumbles backward, scrambling for purchase with his hands. Mydei doesn’t relent. Eventually Phainon’s hands find support on the edge of the pool table. He grips it for dear life.

Mydei grins into his shoulder. “If you’re this fucked up from my hand, how the hell are you gonna deal with my ass?”

Phainon forces out a laugh through gritted teeth. It trails off into a pained moan. “Dunno. Fuck, do that again. Please.”

“No,” Mydei decides. He pushes Phainon further back against the pool table, until their hips are flush. “I won’t do it again.”

Phainon hesitates. He looks up at him, wide-eyed and panting for breath.

“Because,” Mydei continues, adjusting his hand in the scant space between them, “If I do it again you’ll come.” His wrist strains at the odd angle, but he holds tight to Phainon’s cock anyway. He brushes his thumb over the slit until Phainon whimpers, his knuckles going white against the edge of the table.

With his flushed face and his hazy eyes, he really does look like an alpha in rut. Mydei feels a little thrilled by it. Phainon’s heats were always strange, more a depressive episode than a frenzied sex marathon. When they started dating, Mydei thought maybe he’d been put off his body’s functions for life after his family’s death—omegas were supposed to be family-oriented, after all, and Phainon didn’t have much family to be oriented around these days. But perhaps the heat itself was the problem; the functions of an alpha suit him much better, and his body clearly recognizes it. He’s a textbook victim of rut, desperate and drooling all over himself with desire.

“—Mydei, please,” Phainon whines, interrupting him. He can hardly focus his gaze; he keeps looking vaguely at Mydei’s neck instead of meeting his eyes. “I’m in rut. Obviously I’m gonna come. I’m—huh—gonna come a hell of a lot of times.”

Mydei twists his free hand into Phainon’s hair and leans in next to his ear. “I know. But if you come anywhere that isn’t inside me, I’m making you wear a cock ring for my entire heat.”

To emphasize, he drags his hand down to the base of Phainon’s cock and squeezes.

Phainon chokes on nothing. His hands falter on the side of the pool table, releasing it entirely. Then his eyes slip out of focus and he makes a strange, helpless sound, and then suddenly he collapses forward, slumping into Mydei’s hold on his hair like a puppet with his strings severed.

Mydei stares at him, baffled. “What—did you—?”

Phainon groans. His face is searing hot where he’s leaning his weight against Mydei’s bicep. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes, his voice wrecked. “This is the easiest rut?”

Mydei looks down at him, a little amused. “You came in your pants.”

Phainon ducks his face into Mydei’s arm and, looking mortified, nods.

“Hey,” Mydei says, gentler than usual. He smiles down at the pathetic lump of boyfriend in his arms. He slips his hand out of Phainon’s pants. “You feeling okay? I know this is new for you. You can take a minute. I’m here.”

Phainon breathes out steadily, halfway to a laugh. “Thanks,” he says, lifting his head at last. He takes his pants off with Mydei’s help, cringing when they get to his underwear. “Didn’t mean to do that. Sorry.”

Mydei can’t even look at him. He stares at the stupid fucking boxers Phainon was wearing. Because—that’s a lot of come. More than usual, he thinks. His mouth feels dry.

Phainon blinks at him. “Uh, Mydei?”

Mydei snaps himself out of it. “Yeah?” he says, a little strained. “Do you need anything? Water? A break?”

Phainon’s mouth quirks up. He taps the bite mark on his shoulder. “I can tell you’re still horny.”

Oh. He means through the bond. “It’s not that important,” he says, though his tongue feels like cotton in his mouth as he forms the words. “You should take priority. What do you need?”

“To fuck you.”

Mydei halts in his tracks.

“I need to fuck you,” Phainon breathes, with his thick voice and his pleading eyes. “Need to knock you up. ’S all I can think about.”

Mydei’s stomach drops. It’s not like Phainon can actually do it yet; he hasn’t been on hormones for nearly long enough, and even once he has, his fertility will probably be pretty low. And Mydei isn’t in heat, so his own fertility isn’t high either. The chances, realistically, are almost zero.

…Almost.

“Thank fuck,” Mydei mutters, already fumbling with his belt. “I didn’t think I could wait much longer. Not with how much you’re telepathically salivating over me over the damn bond.”

Phainon looks lost. “I’m… what?”

“Telepathically horny,” Mydei repeats, frustrated. He struggles to wrench his pants down his thighs, hands already unsteady. “Help me strip already.”

“You’re the one who’s telepathically horny,” Phainon accuses, not helping him at all.

“No,” says Mydei slowly. “It’s coming from your side. You’re the one in rut.”

“It’s only spiraling so badly because I can feel you.”

Mydei’s pants fall to the floor in a heap.

“I can feel you,” Phainon says, quieter this time. His canines flash under the low light of the game room when he says it. “Can feel how wet you are. How bad you want me to fuck you. It’s driving me crazy, Mydei.”

“…Am I,” Mydei says faintly. He remembers vaguely how easily Phainon’s fingers had slipped into him. How hard it had been to take off his pants, sticking to him with slick. “Oh.” Then he glances down. His inner thighs are glistening wet. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Phainon says, laughing a little. He pulls Mydei back in close and kisses him sweetly on the corner of his mouth. “And you wonder why I was two seconds away from coming that whole time?”

When Mydei leans back in for another kiss, the edge of Phainon’s sharp canine catches on his lip. It doesn’t even draw blood, doesn’t leave a mark. But Mydei feels it. His heart roars in his ears.

He knows what Phainon’s canines felt like, before all of this. And he knows that wasn’t it.

Phainon grits his teeth. “Whuh,” he mumbles, blinking a few times. “What the hell? Is that the rut kicking in or did you just, like, bust a nut or something?”

Stupid mating bond, letting Phainon know what turns him on. “Why don’t you use your damn mouth for something useful,” Mydei snaps, grabbing onto his hips, “like fucking biting me already.”

Phainon stares up at him dumbly. “I already did,” he says, his voice weak. “Over a year ago, Mydei, when we were both omegas. Don’t you remember?”

Mydei digs his thumbs into Phainon’s hipbones so hard that Phainon winces. “You don’t get it,” he says, leaning in close, too close. He can smell Phainon’s scent spiking from here. Can tell that he’s enthralled. “You’re my alpha. I want you to bite me every time you get the chance.”

Phainon audibly swallows. The space between them gets smaller.

“I want you to get jealous,” Mydei continues, a little crazed. “Every time you think about your past self sinking his teeth into me, I want you to get jealous and make us claim each other again. Like each time is better than the last.”

“Nnh, unh, okay,” says Phainon eloquently. His cock jerks back to life against Mydei’s hip.

“Oh, good,” Mydei says, already stripping his button-down off over his arms. He throws it somewhere across the room. It lands on the pool cue rack, draped over the cues haphazardly. He pays it no mind; instead he just slips one of his hands over and wraps his fingers around the base of Phainon’s cock. “I love your rut refractory period. Why can’t you have this shit all the time? Put it in already.”

Phainon makes a strained noise and throws his hand out. “Mydei, wait, we, you,” he pants, already breathless. “You need to prep. You can’t just—put it in.”

Mydei squeezes the base of his cock harder. He’s right, and that’s the worst part. “Why are you reasonable?” he grumbles, unintentionally baring his teeth a little, like an alpha challenging another alpha. “You’re supposed to lose your judgment in rut. You should be balls-deep in me already, actually. I should be screaming bloody murder or something.”

Unintimidated even in the face of his anger, Phainon laughs. “That’s just in pornos, Mydei.” He brushes a stray piece of Mydei’s hair out of his face, tucking it securely behind his ear. “‘Course I wanna fuck you. But you gotta keep in mind that I like you. I want you to feel good when you’re with me.”

There’s a headache building incessantly behind Mydei’s temples. Phainon’s sweetness makes him simultaneously sick and endeared. He tries to take a deep breath to clear his mind, and gets a faceful of rut pheromones instead. He doubles over, his head spinning. When he shifts his legs, they stick together awkwardly. Stupid slick. He’s not even in heat; he’s not supposed to start dripping at any minor inconvenience.

“Fine,” he mutters, hiking one leg up unceremoniously on the edge of the pool table. “You wanna do it or should I?”

Phainon’s eyes are halfway to begging already. “Let me?”

Mydei adjusts to allow him room. When Phainon reaches for his hip, his hands shake with nerves or arousal or something else entirely. Mydei closes his eyes and tries to remain sane as Phainon sinks two fingers in at once. Ordinarily it would be too fast, too rough, but his fingers slip in so easily that anything less probably would have pissed Mydei off.

He shifts his hips back and forth in tandem with the thrusts of Phainon’s fingers. It’s not quite what his body wants, but it’s not terrible. Eventually he relaxes into it enough for it to feel comfortable.

Just as he’s about to ask, Phainon presses a third finger against his entrance. It’s not as hard as usual; he’s adjusting fast, either from sheer arousal or from the effects of Phainon’s rut through the mating bond. He can’t quite tell, anymore, who the desire is coming from. Sure, Phainon’s got his rut going on, but Mydei spent the better part of an hour staring at Phainon’s teeth and imagining them sinking into him, so. He’s definitely not guilt-free, either.

Phainon’s always been good with his fingers, maybe because of his strong farmer’s hands, or maybe because Mydei lets him get too much practice. Even at the odd angle, forced by the table, he finds Mydei’s sweet spot easily. He doesn’t press too hard, just teases it enough to keep Mydei on edge as he stretches.

Mydei sighs into it, trying to enjoy the pleasure and the pressure. Despite the urgency, Phainon’s good at this. He deserves a reward.

So as Phainon scissors his fingers apart inside him, Mydei leans in and presses his mouth to Phainon’s jaw.

“Ngh,” Phainon says vaguely, tipping his head back, “Okay,” and then Mydei starts sucking a bruise into the corner of his jawbone and he chokes on nothing and—

“You’re kidding,” Mydei says against his skin. His hand stops on Phainon’s cock, wet with his come already. “Again?”

Phainon blushes all the way down to his jaw beneath Mydei’s lips. “You clenched on me or whatever.”

“On your fingers.”

“Yeah, well,” says Phainon defensively, still flushed beyond measure. “You try fingering the love of your life while you’re in rut.”

Mydei looks at him judgmentally.

“Okay, point taken,” Phainon says hastily. He readjusts himself awkwardly on the edge of the pool table. His fingers twitch inside Mydei, then slide out. “Um, do you think you’re ready? I think you’re prepped enough. Just give me a minute and then we can—”

“No,” Mydei says, lower than usual. “I’ve given you enough time.”

Phainon falls silent. His throat bobs.

“My stupid fucking boyfriend is in rut,” Mydei says, sliding his hand down to Phainon’s chest. “And he’s come outside of me twice.”

Phainon opens his mouth, then closes it again.

Mydei’s chest swells with some kind of sick satisfaction. “Good. You know better than to protest.”

“Uh huh,” Phainon says weakly. He looks up at him like he’s the only light left in all of Amphoreus. “Mydei, I think I’m a little dizzy. Um. Like, a lot dizzy, actually.”

Mydei stares at him. His cock is hard again. And—god, Mydei can’t look away, because there shouldn’t be a knot there yet, but the base of his cock is suspiciously fat, and the tip is flushed so red that it’s a small wonder Phainon can think at all, with all the blood leaving his head. “You’ve got a knot,” he says, incredulous.

Phainon looks entirely lost. “…What?”

“A knot,” Mydei repeats, looking him in the eyes. “Phainon—”

Phainon stares down at his own cock. “But… huh? I’m not even a real alpha, why would I—AH—!”

Mydei presses his palm flat against Phainon’s chest and slams him down onto the pool table.

Phainon blinks up at him, back flush to the tabletop, eyes wide.

“You are,” Mydei insists, leaning down over him. He climbs over Phainon, bracing himself with his arms on either side of Phainon’s head. “You are a real alpha. My alpha. I’ve never met anyone worthier.”

Phainon’s expression softens. “You think so?”

“Look at yourself,” Mydei breathes, tracing one hand down Phainon’s face. “Look at your stupid canines.” He slips his thumb into Phainon’s mouth, pressing the pad of his finger against its blunt tip. Phainon lets him feel it without biting down. “Your fucking scent.” Mydei trails his hand down to the scent gland on Phainon’s neck, stroking his thumb across it. Phainon gasps. His scent floods the air, like he’s helpless to contain it. “You’re in rut, for fuck’s sake.”

“Okay, well,” Phainon struggles to say. His hands clench vaguely at his sides, like he wants to touch Mydei but isn’t sure if he’s allowed to.  “When you put it like that…”

Mydei shoves him back down with a firm hand on his sternum. “I’m not done.”

Phainon visibly swallows. Through the mating bond, Mydei feels a sudden surge of dizzying arousal. He grits his teeth, letting it wash over him. The feeling coalesces in his stomach, dripping down through his whole body until he feels the slick gathering between his legs.

Mydei’s waited too long already. “Give me your hands.”

Obediently, Phainon holds both his hands out together.

“Good,” Mydei says, and then he grabs both of Phainon’s wrists in one hand and slams them down above his head.

Phainon yelps. He struggles fruitlessly against Mydei’s hold on his wrists. “Hey—! What was that for?”

“That,” Mydei rasps, “was so you won’t try to stop me from fucking myself stupid on your dumb cock. Now shut up and take it.”

Then he shifts his hips and sinks down until all of Phainon is sheathed inside of him.

Phainon wails. He thrashes against his grip, gritting his teeth. “Mydei,” he gasps, “Mydei, you can’t just—shit, shit, shit—”

“What?” Mydei breathes, his thighs straining. The stretch is intense; the wetness makes it easier to take him, but also encourages his body to take Phainon in deep. Deeper than he’s used to. He squeezes Phainon’s wrists harder and braces himself against the pool table, lifting off again until just the tip remains inside him. “I can’t just what?”

“Can’t just fu, uuh, nnh…”

Mydei grins, triumphant, through the onslaught of overwhelming pleasure. He drops back down, taking him all the way back inside.

Phainon’s eyes roll back, unfocused. He makes a choked, half-coherent noise. His cock twitches inside, right in sync with the flash of sensation from their mating bond.

The table is evidently sturdy enough for both of them. Mydei slowly shifts his weight onto the table, rolling his hips back and forth so that the rhythm is smoother, easier on his thighs. The angle from the table pushes Phainon’s cock up into him, making it laughably easy to hit his sweet spots.

Phainon has given up on protesting. He just lays boneless on the pool table, letting Mydei pin him in place and ride him to oblivion.

Mydei loosens his hold on Phainon’s wrists and slides upward, intertwining their hands. “Good boy,” he grits out, sinking his fingers into the gaps between Phainon’s. “Keep doing that.” He’s close; he can feel something building, though he’s not sure if the pleasure is his or Phainon’s or both of theirs. He isn’t sure he cares.

Phainon squeezes his eyes shut. He inhales shakily. His fingers twitch against Mydei’s, then go slack. “Yeah?” he whispers, his voice wrecked. He shifts his hips against the rough fabric of the table, fitting their bodies closer together and driving him deeper inside.

Something like sheer, delirious pleasure flickers through the mating bond. Mydei curses and grinds slower.

The arousal from both sides is almost too much. Mydei isn’t lucid during his own heats, but he’s certainly lucid now, and the onslaught of sensation is making his head spin. Is this how Phainon feels during Mydei’s heats? Is this how every one of Phainon’s ruts will feel for him, as his partner? Like he’s the one whose want is inexcusable, whose desire is all-consuming?

Through the bond, Mydei feels a rush of sharp arousal. He clenches down harder; Phainon groans and thrashes, but doesn’t come.

“Hurry up,” Mydei groans, digging his nails into the table beneath their intertwined hands. “Why aren’t you—ngh—coming already? You did it twice so easily—”

Phainon blinks his eyes open. They’re out of focus, lost in pleasure. “That’s, hhuh, why,” he says. “‘Cause you said I came too fast… Mydei, Mydei, shit…”

“I said you came too fast outside of me.”

Phainon’s hair pillows out around his head against the pool table fabric, white on green like dew on the morning grass. “S’there a difference?”

“Yeah,” Mydei breathes, right against his mouth. “This time, when you come, you’re gonna do it deep enough that I’ll drip like I’m in heat for a week.”

Phainon’s eyes go wide. He stares. His lips part. “The condoms,” he says vaguely.

Mydei hesitates. They don’t own rut condoms. They don’t even own regular condoms anymore. It wasn’t exactly a safeword, but… “Do you—I thought we talked about this beforehand. But—I mean, do you want me to pull out?”

“God, no,” Phainon says, punctuated with a half-moan half-laugh. “I’m saying, this is what you tore all our condoms for.”

All the blood drains from Mydei’s face.

“I know you did it,” Phainon says, his voice strained. His hips buck up, shifting Mydei on his cock, but Mydei hardly notices. “They don’t all break in the same way, Mydei. You’re not—ah, huh, fuck, not very subtle.”

Mydei sighs. He loosens his hold on Phainon’s hands, making it gentler, sweeter. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I know it was stupid. Waste of your money or whatever.”

“Don’t ‘pologize,” Phainon says breathily, his eyes fond. “Shit, Mydei, I jerked off about that for months. Got in the shower and thought about you tearing apart all my condoms and couldn't help myself.”

Mydei huffs a breathless laugh. “Freak.”

“Says you.”

In retaliation, Mydei clenches down hard. Phainon bangs his head back into the table and swears. Mydei grits his teeth, his head spinning with double-headed pleasure.

“When you jerked off about it,” says Mydei, a little strained. “You came fast, right?”

Phainon’s canines poke out of his mouth when he gasps. “Huh?”

“You came fast,” Mydei repeats. “When you thought about—nnh, me tearing apart the—”

“Yeah,” Phainon admits, his face flushed. “Real fast.”

“Then think about it now,” Mydei demands. He takes his free hand and pulls Phainon’s head up by his hair and says, “I used my nails. Didn’t even get scissors like a normal person. I tore every fucking condom up with my bare hands.”

Phainon makes a sound like he’s dying. His cock twitches tellingly.

“When you were on that holiday with Stelle,” Mydei continues, increasingly incoherent. He rolls his hips against Phainon’s, his rhythm growing irregular. “When you—fuck, your flight got delayed. And I knew you were gonna fuck me when you got home, so I went in the, hah, the bathroom, and—”

“Mydei, stop,” Phainon wails, his chest heaving. “Mydei, I’m gonna come, I’m really gonna—fuck, Mydei—”

“Couldn't give you the chance,” Mydei adds. He can hardly recognize his own voice. Can hardly process the movements he’s making, the words he’s saying. “Couldn’t let my alpha come anywhere but inside me.”

Phainon inhales shakily, and then he opens his mouth and whimpers, “Mydei,” and then he’s coming.

They’re both coming, Mydei realizes, almost like it’s an out-of-body experience. They’re both coming, and it’s somehow one collective event, like they can’t experience pleasure without the other one following behind, tumbling alongside them. Somehow, he’s not sure which of them came first; he thinks maybe it was Phainon, but then he thinks maybe it was him, because Phainon is still coming inside him.

It’s more than usual. Mydei knows it’s more than usual. It’s—and here he swallows—an amount designed to get him pregnant. Fuck. When he tries to pull out, his tense rim clings to the base of Phainon’s cock, tugging him back into place.

“Shit,” Mydei mutters, his vision a little hazy. He can’t quite process what happened; it feels almost like he came twice. “I think you fucking knotted me.”

Phainon blinks. “I… what?”

Mydei can hardly think through the haze of arousal. He stares down at Phainon, keeping eye contact. Somehow, watching him makes everything feel more intense. Watching, and knowing that every sensation Phainon feels is echoed through their mating bond.

Knowing that Phainon’s rut is for him, and him only.

“Why are you,” says Phainon weakly, and then he cuts himself off with a moan.

Mydei slows the roll of his hips. “Why am I what?”

“You’re, huh, looking at me,” Phainon says. His hands strain vaguely against Mydei’s grip, then fall slack again. “Like I’m the last star in the sky, and—nnh, god, Mydei, you look like you want to make a constellation out of me.”

Mydei blinks at him, baffled. He stops moving entirely. Some of Phainon’s come slips out of him and drips onto the fabric of the pool table; he doesn’t notice. “Huh?”

Phainon turns his face into the side of the table, flushed bright red. “Never mind.”

“No, no,” Mydei says, finally releasing Phainon’s hands from above his head. “I thought it was sweet.”

Phainon winces and turns his wrist over gingerly. It’s stained red where Mydei gripped it.

Mydei suddenly feels a bit guilty. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Phainon says, his eyes suddenly sharper than before. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Mydei sighs, relieved. “Good.” He leans down over him, close enough for their mouths to meet. Phainon leans up and kisses him sweetly, unhurried. His cock still hasn’t gone soft inside of Mydei, but he kisses almost gently, like they’ve got all the time in the world.

Slowly, Mydei sinks into it. The incessant arousal from the bond has subsided. Evidently, coming inside his omega has helped the rut considerably. Mydei feels buoyed just thinking about it. He’s Phainon’s omega. Phainon’s his alpha. What a concept. He might never get used to how good it sounds.

At last Phainon separates their mouths. One of his hands comes up behind Mydei’s head, gently cradling it. Mydei sighs out a long breath and closes his eyes.

“Tired?” Phainon asks, his voice almost normal again.

Mydei hums noncommittally. “Leg day,” he says vaguely, and then he gives up on that thought and lets himself relax.

“Mm,” says Phainon, tracing his hands through Mydei’s hair. His fingernails trace pleasantly against Mydei’s scalp, and Mydei sighs into the touch. Then, suddenly, Phainon says, “I didn’t mean it sweetly.”

With great effort, Mydei lifts his head.

“You want to make a constellation out of me,” Phainon says quietly, smiling a little. “Like you want to carve lines into me until I look exactly how you desire.”

Mydei suddenly feels guilty. He swallows thickly. Is that what Phainon thinks of him? That he’s forever trying to change him? “Phainon,” he says, through his thick mouth. He fumbles to find the words, and ends up saying, “I love you.”

Phainon blinks.

“I love you the way you are,” Mydei says into his neck. “I always have. I don’t need to carve you into something you aren’t. I just want you to be yourself.”

Phainon stares at him. Something odd happens in his eyes, like the blooming of a crystal. Oh. He’s crying.

Mydei sits up, suddenly alarmed. In his alarm, Phainon’s knot slips out of him; it’s a little painful, but he doesn’t care. “Are you okay?” he blurts. “Do you need water now? Oh, fuck, I didn’t cook anything. You won’t have much appetite, but drinking is easy, so—bone broth, and maybe some vegetable stock, and—”

“Don’t go,” Phainon slurs, reaching out for him. He sits up and pulls Mydei close, tucking his head beneath Mydei’s chin. “Don’t go, Mydei. Stay here.”

For a moment Mydei thinks he’s going to say something more. He waits. They breathe together in the quiet until their rhythms fall into sync again.

Softly, so softly that Mydei almost doesn’t hear it, Phainon says, “I love you too.”

Mydei smiles at nothing. He helps Phainon sit up again. His cock is still angry red and slightly swollen at the base, not yet recovered from knotting Mydei for the first time.

“Six,” Phainon says suddenly, out of nowhere.

Mydei pauses in his tracks. “Huh?”

“You said five days,” Phainon says. His eyes suddenly glimmer with a strange intensity, only enhanced by the tears still lingering on his eyelashes. “I’ll give you six.”

Mydei swallows.

“In fact,” says Phainon, “take a seventh day off work, because you won’t be walking.”

Slowly, a grin spreads across Mydei’s face. “Yeah?” he breathes, looking his boyfriend—his alpha—his mate—his equal—in the eyes. “Well, seeing is believing, and I sure don’t see you doing enough to incapacitate me yet.”

Phainon’s scent flares in tandem with the burst of honey-sweet arousal through the bond. Mydei’s mouth waters in anticipation. This, he thinks—this is what he wants. The competition. The thrill. This is what he’s been waiting for.

“Don’t worry,” says Phainon breathily, leaning in closer. “I have five more days to show you.”

And then he sinks his teeth into Mydei’s neck, not over his old claim but on the other side, so that both sides of Mydei’s neck are his, and Mydei groans at the pain but then he laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and he holds Phainon close to him and smiles so wide that his jaw aches.

***

“So,” says Cipher, over her very large mimosa glass. “No more pool games at your place?”

“Not unless you have sixty thousand balance to drop on the replacement table carpeting,” Mydei says.

“Mydei,” Phainon says, his face bright red.

“Oh, and eighty thousand for new wooden legs,” Mydei adds, leaning back smugly in his chair.

Phainon buries his face in the table. “We are in public,” he mutters into the tablecloth. “Is nothing sacred?”

“Ehh,” says Hyacine, waving her fork vaguely. “Don’t even worry about it! I see way worse at the hospital every day. And it’s good to know that my favorite alpha is adjusting to his hormones well.”

“I’m not your favorite?” Cipher gasps, throwing her hand over her heart. “Hyacine, darling, you wound me. I take second place to the mutt?”

“Uh huh,” says Hyacine, unbothered.

“Cassie, surely you like me better.”

Castorice looks up from her decked-out overnight oats and says, “Well, you’re kind of… equal? To me?”

Cipher sulks.

“I think we all know the little lion’s preference,” she grumbles, shooting Phainon a dirty look. “No need to ask him.”

Phainon’s head doesn’t lift from the table, but a strange, possessive sense of pride filters through their mating bond. Mating bonds, now—one on each side, connected into a constellation, just like Phainon said.

Mydei grins to himself. He takes another bite of his pineapple pancakes.

Yeah—his next heat is gonna be good.