амега (peterick)

un.

"Lay him down," Buzz instructs hastily as he bursts through the door into my bedroom. "On the bed."

Too flustered to argue, I do exactly as he says, carrying the writhing boy up to the edge of my bed and lowering him gently onto the king-sized mattress, where he immediately proceeds to whine and claw at the neck of my shirt in protest, attempting to drag me down on top of him. With minimal effort I manage to unclasp his fists, hurriedly standing up straight and backing as far away from him as possible without making it look as though I want to run away and hide. It pains me to watch his delicate body squirm so violently, and my stomach churns with guilt in the realisation that I literally have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing to help him.

I look to Buzz for guidance. "What do I do?"

"Don't look at me," he backfires from the foot of the bed. "You're the Alpha."

"And you boss around Omega strippers for a living," I argue. "I've never said more than three words to one, let alone been in possession of one." I risk an alarmed second glance at the exposed boy sprawled across my duvet. His eyes squeezed tightly shut, the Omega tosses and turns and mutters inaudible expletives, his thighs crossing over one another and uncrossing and crossing again. He's quickly becoming aroused, which is more than evident through his black lace brazilian panties, sitting low and crooked on his hips. Once again, he unfolds his legs, and drops his right hand to begin stroking himself aggressively while his left dances across his heaving chest, thumbing the straps of his bikini top and tugging at the collars of my own leather jacket. His entire body pulses and trembles despite the excessive amount of sweat clinging to his skin. I swallow hard and force my gaze elsewhere. "At least tell me how to stop him shivering."

Buzz shrugs. "I don't know, just keep him warm. Cuddling usually does the trick."

"Cuddling? But I've-"

"Pete, you need to get this into your head." He comes to stand toe to toe with me and points at the boy urgently. "He's an Omega in need of an Alpha; you are an Alpha, so I suggest you teach yourself how to be one ASAP. If you don't think you're cut out for this, then maybe you shouldn't have interfered in the first place."

My jaw hangs open, baffled and silent, but only for a moment. "I had to interfere; I couldn't just leave him to be harassed by that bastard." I don't even know his name, but the recent memory of his face scorches my tongue, and I suddenly feel the need to spit.

Buzz smiles and slaps me playfully on the shoulder. "See? Instinct. You're already halfway there."

Instinct. The sixth sense inside of me that has been preparing me my entire life for this very moment; begun the vital journey to finding a lifelong mate. I was conceived and raised by two Alpha parents, but instinct hasn't been passed down through their genetics; my second gender, maybe, but my instincts, those lie entirely under my influence. Instinct is what has taught me to favour wealth over friendship, to raise a fist against my bullies rather than cower in fear and let the adults deal with the problem. Instinct should draw me to the boozed up dancefloor of Reine Loups, not the alcohol stocked shelves of the bar. I am at an age, now, where I should be taking interest in Omegas, so why have I not been? Why have those instincts in particular kept themselves locked away until now? And more importantly, how the fuck do I control them?

I grit my teeth to restrain the pleading whimper from escaping my throat. Even for an inexperienced Alpha such as myself (by inexperienced I specifically mean a lack of practise in domination; see above), sexual tension isn't easy to ignore. Furthermore, an Alpha will only enter rut if they are in close proximity of an Omega in heat, so you can't exactly blame me for the intumescence currently threatening to interrupt my dignity.

Buzz purses his lips and nods slowly, trying to look anywhere but at my strained face, or the Omega buried in my bed sheets, unconsciously jerking himself off. Betas are rarely hormonally affected by these sorts of things (the females go through their regular monthly menstrual cycles; the males just get horny whenever they feel necessary), but that doesn't make heated situations like this any less comfortable to witness. "Look, I wish I could stay, honestly, but I gotta get back to the club," he mournfully announces. "Rest him up for a couple of days before you bring him back in. You have suppressants?"

"Plenty."

"Good. Make sure he takes them twice a day, morning and evening."

I nod, looking again to the Omega - Patrick; I need to start calling him by his name if I'm going to assert the highest level of dominance - who continues to pleasure himself in the same bed I've been sleeping in every night for the last five odd years. You can't really tell from a distance, but it isn't uncommon for Omegas to take suppressants nearing and during their heats. Only about twenty percent of male Omegas grow up to conceive and nurture their own children; the other eighty percent are either forced to, or willingly, start taking suppressants as soon as they hit puberty. Other families are so against the idea of male pregnancy, so afraid that their sons will be bullied, or worse, sexually harassed, that they ask for a vasectomy to be performed at birth, a simple procedure whereby the valve separating the rectal and vaginal canals is repositioned and cauterized in such a way to ensure the Alpha's sperm is not able to enter the uterus.

Suppressants are the most common type of contraceptive, and both Omegas and Alphas, as well as Betas, can take them to avoid any chance of pregnancy. For Omegas and Beta females alike, the drug works by directly targeting the potentially fertile egg, breaking the cell down quickly so it won't be able to carry sperm. Although an unfertilized egg will break down naturally during each heat (much like they do during the female menstrual cycle), the danger of becoming pregnant remains extremely high due the overwhelming scent released throughout the Omega's heat. In that case, suppressants must be taken to eliminate all chances entirely.

Another unfortunate side effect of the drug worth taking into consideration is the possibility of a heat being triggered early. Luckily these heats are temporary, and are usually only triggered under potentially traumatic circumstances - such as witnessing or experiencing sexual abuse - but they are no less painful or challenging to deal with.

Patrick has calmed down immensely. Aside from a few irregular, involuntary spasms, he looks like he's drifted off, albeit drenched in his own semen, but I'm not going to breathe a sigh of relief just yet. I've already contemplated the possibility that he may currently be experiencing one of these untimely heats, having been triggered by the Alpha who attempted to abuse him earlier tonight, so I shan't count on him sleeping through the rest of the night without disturbance.

Undoubtedly, Buzz is having similar thoughts and is eager to get back to work. "That's all I have for now," he says. "The rest is up to you. I'll make a note to talk to Dallon." He pauses, the corners of his lips arching upward briefly. I assume Dallon is this so-called Alpha that he might be having relations with. "He might have some advice for you," he says. "But advice is all anybody can give, I'm afraid. Patrick is in your possession, so it is extremely important that nobody else interferes with the relationship. Especially not an Alpha."

"Ok." (I'm not really ok, though.)

And clearly, judging by Buzz's look of concern, I'm no good at hiding my insecurities. "Don't sweat it," he says. "If you can manage walking into that club every evening without getting a boner, I'm sure you can manage this. Patrick's a real sweetheart, and I trust you'll take good care of him." Right on cue, Patrick's hips jerk, and a gaudy, whorish gargle emits from deep in his throat. My eyes widen in beseeching horror, and Buzz raises his own brows in unison. "Anyway, I'm going to leave now. I'll see you soon, ok?"

"Wait," I panic as he makes a deliberate bolt for the nearest exit. "So you want me to-?"

"Remember, consent is key!" he yells on his way out.

"I'm cold." I startle. Patrick is now sat up on the bed, staring around the room in wonderment before his gaze rests on me. Then he looks down at himself and grimaces, but he's far from embarrassed. "And sticky."

"Right," I mutter. "I'll run you a bath."