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Jack Abbott’s left shoe made a whispery squeak on the polished marble floor as he stepped into the Burrow Grand Hotel & Spa. The glass doors closed behind him with a muted hush, locking out the Pittsburgh chill and enveloping him in a warmth scented lightly with fresh flowers and a tinge of fruity booze.
Even before Jack took another step, he recognized the ambient conditioning, clever work by the hotel’s hybrid-savvy HVAC. It cut pheromones without erasing them, letting everyone read the room without choking on it. Still, something about the cleanness made his nerves spike.
He had dressed sharply for this. Button-down, muted olive. Navy slacks with a gentle taper that hid the upper contour of his prosthetic; suede shoes chosen for grip and minimal scuff on marble. And the tie, a safe gray, knotted and reknotted three times at home, now feeling like it would throttle him before any Omega could.
Jack paused by a glossy vase at the lobby’s edge, fingers brushing his collar to let in air. His ears, which he’d carefully pressed straight and tight at the base, kept wanting to flop sideways. He pressed them back in place with both hands, then let his palms drop, fidgeting. He could see his reflection, tiny and distorted in the steel trim of the planter, which made him look even more pinched and harried than he felt.
Check-in for the “mate and greet” was somewhere beyond the mob of rabbits, foxes, wolves, and the occasional otter or deer. The lobby was designed to keep hybrids comfortable: velvet-lined benches at a range of heights, tactile wall textures, and discreet sound baffling that kept every conversation confidential yet left a purr of background life.
Under the riot of clothing, spring brights, severe blacks, and the odd vintage suit, Jack read the secret language of fur and posture. Predators wore tailored cuts and open jackets to showcase their lines; the prey species went for soft knits and sweaters, arms crossed or hands jammed in pockets. A nervous Alpha ferret in white jeans was already pawing at his phone, glancing up every six seconds as if to check for sniper fire.
The registration table loomed at the far end, manned by a pair of Beta hybrid cats in black vests. The one on the left looked up as he approached, her ears flicking in professional alertness.
“Welcome to the Burrow, sir. Name, please?”
“Abbott. Jack.” He offered his ID, but she only glanced at it.
“Alpha?” the other cat asked, already holding the correct packet. “You’ll need to fill out the consent and compatibility forms. Did you bring a copy of your scent marker profile?”
Jack nodded and reached into his inside breast pocket, passing over the folded document. He’d triple-checked that morning: bloodwork up to date, no flagged pathogens, hormone panel normal for his age. Still, the cat’s efficient scan made him squirm.
“Great, Doctor Abbott. Everything is in order. Just sign these spots here,” she said, highlighting his title on her monitor.
He signed the forms with hands that looked steady, though the pen left the faintest tremor on the paper.
The questions were both clinical and humiliating:
Have you sired a litter in the past five years?
Have you knotted a partner in the last five years?
Have you any history of domestic or Alpha abuses?
Have you any medical conditions that should be disclosed?
Jack ticked through them in the same order he’d done for hospital forms, methodical, detached, thumping his good leg when he had to disclose his prosthetic, then froze at the last section. There, in plain type:
Please describe in detail your preferred physical traits in a mate, including but not limited to body type, grooming, and reproductive anatomy.
He felt his ears try to wilt again. He scribbled “no strong preference,” then hesitated.
He instead wrote: “Prefer large partners as big or bigger than me, with gentle disposition and open communication,” then crossed out “gentle” and wrote “honest.” Left the anatomy box blank, because, to him ,Omega was Omega, male or female or whatever they were in between.
“Here,” Jack said, handing it back.
The Beta read it. “We’ll have you badge in at the ballroom entrance. Good luck, Doctor.”
The elevator ride up was too short, even with a party of Chinchillas packed into the far corner, chattering at supersonic pitch. The doors opened on a corridor trimmed in pale birch and soft brass. The scent here shifted to something sweeter, maybe vanilla, or a powdery floral. He followed the signs to the ballroom, every step measured, the faintest click from his prosthetic a metronome for his thoughts.
At the final threshold, he paused. There was a full-length mirror, intentionally positioned, as if daring every guest to reconsider. Jack took himself in: five-five, chestnut hair neat except around the base of his the ears, slight bulge of medical muscle at his calves, prosthetic left leg perfectly aligned beneath the hem of his pants. He looked like a doctor, a veteran, and exactly what he was, a woefully short and underweight middle-aged Alpha with no clue how to sell himself. He gave his tie one last adjustment, then brushed his hand along his jaw, feeling the steady beat of his pulse at the angle.
He held the moment.
Ballrooms were supposed to be intimidating, but this one felt more like a sterile theater, amber lights dimmed to hide flaws, the tables set with place cards and triple-ply napkins, every chair a potential trap. From behind the heavy doors came the muted pulse of upright bass and the sibilance of low conversation. It was easier to imagine himself prepping an OR, counting scalpels and checking vital signs, than walking into a social warzone with nothing but his medical CV and a limp.
Jack stood at the threshold a second longer, then pushed open the door and stepped in, letting the ballroom swallow him whole.
+++++
The ballroom was worse than an OR under a teaching spotlight. Every guest’s gaze was a potential diagnosis, every small cluster of conversation a hazard to be triaged and survived.
Jack took a second to orient himself to those already mingling: three distinct clusters at the open bar, four at the food tables, and a couple of loose floaters in the middle, easy marks for a social EMT, or for anyone with the confidence to approach.
Too bad he wasn’t social. Or confident. Or a looker.
He started with the safe bet: a fox hybrid in a crisp white jacket, leaning against the bar with a posture that said “approachable but not desperate.” Her scent was all Omega, and sweet. Jack slipped in beside her, setting his glass of seltzer on the lacquered top.
“Evening,” he said. “Do you know if the cheese here is real, or just a simulation?”
The fox’s left ear twitched in amusement. “If you have to ask, it’s probably not cheese.”
Jack grinned, grateful for the banter. “You’d think with the cover charge, they’d spring for the genuine article.”
She returned the smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Doctor, right? Jack?”
He blinked. “Yes, actually…”
She sipped her drink. He realized that she hadn’t even looked him in the eyes yet. “The pre-match apps aren’t very subtle. You’re probably the least threatening Alpha in the room, and while I appreciate a Alpha who’s easy to control…” She trailed off, scanning his ears, then his left leg, her nostrils flaring. “I work at a big four firm. I work seventy hours a week. My hobbies are naps and avoiding drama. I know what you’re looking for, and I’m just not…”
Jack let her finish. It was almost comforting, how quickly she cut to the chase.
“Compatible,” he supplied, a practiced smile on his face.
She nodded, lips pinched in apology. “It’s not personal. Good luck, though.”
He drained his seltzer in a single swallow, counted to five, and pivoted to his next candidate: a deer hybrid in a moss-green dress, sipping club soda near the jazz trio. Jack approached with more caution, mind already cataloguing her physical tells, calm breathing, arms open, tail flicking in slow, loose sweeps. She seemed nervous, but not unfriendly.
“Is this seat taken?” Jack asked, gesturing to the banquette.
She shook her head and offered a tentative smile. “It’s yours.”
Jack took the opportunity to lower himself carefully, making sure his left knee didn’t lock.
“I’m Jack,” he said. “Dr. Abbott. Veteran’s Hospital.”
She extended a small, slender hand. “Marcy. Private sector, but my dad’s at the VA.”
That was all the opening he needed, shared context, common ground. He spent a minute talking about their mutual acquaintances, the merits of synthetic cartilage, and the VA’s godawful parking lot.
But when the conversation drifted to the “mate and greet,” Marcy’s composure shifted. Her eyes dropped to his lap, lingered on the hard line of his prosthetic, then darted up to his face.
“You’re, uh, a lot shorter than I expected,” she blurted, then immediately went pink around the nose. “Sorry! That came out wrong.”
Jack forced a laugh. “No offense taken. I’m a below the national average, but I make up for it in not being a raging asshole.”
Marcy giggled, but it was the sound of social obligation, not interest. She fidgeted with her drink, then: “I’m really just here for the cheese, honestly. My family’s been hounding me to meet someone but I’m… not ready.”
Jack nodded, polite. “Understood. Thanks for the company.”
He stood, a little too quickly, and felt the click in his knee this time, a sharp metallic clack that echoed in the silence between jazz numbers. The deer’s ears jerked at the sound, her gaze snapping downward with a look of mild horror.
He left before she could apologize again.
The third attempt was a bad idea. He knew it going in. The wolf Omega had been circling the food table for fifteen minutes, mostly ignoring overtures from a rotating cast of desperate Betas and a lone bodybuilding Alpha who looked like he lifted delivery vans for fun. Jack had seen the wolf’s file in the pre-match: brilliant, high-achieving, a total firebrand. He also remembered the notes in the margin: “potential for antagonism, especially with traditional Alphas.”
Still, Jack approached.
“Some people say these events are like speed dating, with how fast you get rejected,” he offered, voice light.
The wolf Omega glanced over his shoulder, unimpressed. Up close, the guy was nearly a head taller than Jack and twice as broad. The fur on his ears and tail were a black and silver black gradient, his canines just visible even at rest.
“So? What’s wrong with rejecting the weak?” the wolf drawled.
Jack tried to smile. “Uh, I mean…”
The wolf rolled his eyes. “God. Don’t you rabbits ever take a break? You really do just think about fucking, don’t you?”
Jack hesitated. “I… uh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…”
“Yeah, you thought what? I’d just roll over and let you put a ring on it because you’re an Alpha with a war story and a limp? I’m not into rabbits, too much emotional baggage and way too much libido. Or short guys. Or pity projects. Try the far table, maybe someone over there likes their Alphas soft-boiled, limp dicked, and a bigger pussy than my actual cunt.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Jack managed a nod, but his chest felt hollow. He could sense the wolf’s gaze lingering, waiting for a reaction. He turned away with as much composure as he could muster.
Jack reached for the edge of a table to steady himself. He tried to remember the breathing exercises from physical therapy, but his brain was already playing the last exchange on loop, analyzing it from every angle. Did he come on too strong? Too soft? Was he actually broken, or just fundamentally… off?
“Am I really that unattractive?”
He made his way to the far side of the ballroom, the pressure in his chest building until it ached. Jack pretended to study the drink menu, but his eyes kept flicking to the reflection in the wall’s polished brass. His ears had collapsed and sagged sadly over his shoulders, and his smile was gone, replaced by a tight line that was more grimace than anything.
He flexed his left leg, out of habit, out of need, re-aligning the socket until it felt natural again. The artificial limb worked as well as any, but to Jack it always felt a little colder than the rest of him, like a reminder that he’d survived but wasn’t whole.
He thought about leaving. He really, really did.
Instead, he closed his eyes, counted backward from ten, and waited for the ache to fade.
+++++
Jack lingered by the service entrance, close enough to the exit that he could be gone before anyone noticed but not so far as to look like he’d given up. He gripped his glass, just water, this time, with both hands, letting the chill numb his fingertips. The ballroom was filling with an undercurrent of fatigue; the bold and the beautiful were already pairing off and heading to the hotel rooms to fuck, leaving behind the “b” squad.
The host’s playlist had shifted into sad jazz, the percussion a steady throb in Jack’s ears and the saxophone a whining prelude to another night alone. Across the room, a Beta otter and a lioness Omega slow-danced in the shadow of the grand piano, bodies close, tails entwined. Even the city-planner fox was deep in what looked like real conversation, lips pursed, eyes intent. Jack watched them with a cocktail of envy and something like hunger, the part of him that was supposed to drive all of this, the Alpha imperative, waking up at last, just when it was least welcome.
He set his glass on a sideboard and rubbed his forehead, feeling the deep-set ache of a tension headache. He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to admit defeat. But every social interaction ended with the same punchline: not enough, not right, not what anybody was looking for.
Jack was about to leave when a new movement caught his attention, a flash of brown, a seismic ripple in the far corner. His eyes snapped to the anomaly.
It wasn’t a glitch in the décor. It was a Hare hybrid, male, with a presence that bent the atmosphere around him. Seven feet tall or more, easily, broad in a way that was imposing, not comical. The hybrid’s ears were a plush, rich brown, darker at the ears, and his suit was an engineering marvel, tailored to perfection, with subtle vertical stripes that made him look both more massive and more dignified. He stood alone, arms crossed, a single glass of red wine cupped in one enormous hand that could have wrapped all the way around Jack’s head.
Jack stared. He couldn’t help it.
He watched as the big rabbit surveyed the room, a study in contrasts, eyes cool and analytical, but the line of his jaw set in a challenge.
Not an Alpha. Not even a Beta.
An Omega, Jack realized, but not at all submissive, not at all like the frail images from school textbooks or his mother’s endless monologues about “proper pairings” growing up, or even the dainty images he’d seen scrolling porn.
Jack’s nose twitched, a full-body reflex, and his pulse did a strange skip as his soft spherical tail began to shudder. He should have felt threatened, this was the kind of Omega that could break him for sport. Instead, he felt something uncoil at the base of his spine, an urge to get closer, to press himself against that solidity and see what happened next.
The hare's gaze swept the room and landed briefly on Jack, then moved on, then jerked back.
Jack felt it, a pure animal connection, a click of bio-chemistry that hit before either of them could fake a smile or rehearse a line.
He straightened, ears snapping up, and tried to get himself under control. Maybe the guy hadn’t really noticed him. Maybe he’d just been scanning for threats, or for someone less pathetic. But when Jack glanced back, the big rabbit was still looking, face unreadable but eyes very alert.
Jack felt his own body betray him: his tail flicked, his jaw clenched, and something ancient in his hindbrain screamed: Go. Now. Seek the giant. Let him crush you. Death by snu snu.
He let his hands fall to his sides, flexed the fingers of his prosthetic left, and started moving, one careful step, then another, each step easier than the last. He could feel the shockwave as he cut through the social field: some eyes followed him, most did not. He didn’t care. The only gaze that mattered was the one fixed on him from the corner.
He skirted the edge of the dancefloor, weaving through the slow-moving couples, his focus never wavering. As he drew closer, the big Omega straightened to full height, Jack had underestimated it; the guy was nearly seven and a half feet, even without the ears, with a good bit of meat on his bones. Up close, his features resolved into a sculpted, expressive face, with deep amber eyes and the faintest trace of a scar on his right cheek. His hands, god, his hands, were so big…
Jack hesitated just inside conversational distance, unsure what to say. The rabbit’s nostrils flared, taking in Jack’s scent, and Jack tried not to panic about whether he’d sweated through his shirt.
“Hi,” Jack managed, voice just above a whisper.
The Omega’s ears rotated forward, attentive. “Hello,” he said. His voice was unexpectedly soft, a low tenor filled with authority. It suited him.
They stared at each other for a moment that stretched out, neither one blinking.
Jack tried again. “I’m Jack. Abbott. Dr. Abbot. From the VA.”
The Omega nodded, his lips curling in what was almost a smile. “Robby. Robinavitch. Dr. Robby to my friends. Chief of OB at Pittsburgh Memorial.”
Oh. That explained the confidence, the way he held himself as a hospital’s Chief. He felt his face go warm, but also a strange relief: they were both here under duress, both top picks in their own little league. Maybe that leveled the playing field, just a bit.
“I saw you come in,” Robby said. “You looked like you wanted to murder someone. Or faint.”
Jack laughed, more startled than amused. “I get that a lot. Usually I’m better with a stethoscope than a martini.”
Robby shrugged, a massive roll of shoulder. “I’m more of whisky guy, but they never get it right here. They always screw up the ice.”
Jack nodded, then looked down, realizing he was still fidgeting with his sleeve. He forced his hands to stillness and met Robby’s eyes again.
“Did you come here for the forms, or for the show?” Jack asked, risking a little more honesty than was safe.
Robby leaned back against the wall, a flicker of something passing over his face. “Both, I guess. Family wants me to settle down. I want to settle down. Start a family. I’m a little late on that front, I’m halfway to fifty right now.”
Jack grinned, the tension in his chest finally loosening. “Yeah. Me too.”
They stood in silence for a second, then Robby raised his glass. “To a successful trainwreck,” he said.
Jack laughed, and this time it was real. He clinked his water against Robby’s wine.
They kept talking, slowly at first, then with more urgency, like two people who’d circled the same problem for years and finally found someone who spoke the same language. Jack told the story of his last deployment, how he lost the leg and went through hell and back getting his prosthetic due to the red tape. Robby, in turn, described the endless hours at Pittsburgh Memorial, the quiet cruelty of hospital politics and insurance agencies, and the rare joy that came with each successful, healthy birth.
They talked about their goals. What they wanted.
A family. To settle down. To be themselves and not be embarassed.
"I'm not a typical Omega. I like to take charge. In life and in the bedroom. You okay with that?"
Jack's brain malfunctioned. "I... Yes. Crush me."
"Excuse me?"
"I... I mean."
"Oh, no, I heard you alright." Robby grinned. "You sure you want all of this, bunny boy? Because my cunt can eat you alive."
Jack had never gotten harder in his life. He didn't even have the chance to answer.
"Oh, you're precious," Robby leaned forward, grabbing one of Jack's ears and kissing it tenderly.
When the house lights finally dipped and the jazz trio started their last set, Jack realized he’d stopped noticing his own limp, or his height, or any of the little humiliations that had haunted him all night. All he could see was the warm, steady presence across from him, who’d taken the lead in their conversation and was guiding it beautifully.
At the end of the set, Robby leaned in, voice even softer. “You want to get out of here? I've got a suite with our name on it.”
Jack didn’t hesitate. “God, yes.”
They left the ballroom side by side. Robby put his arm on Jack’s shorter shoulders, guiding him through the halls, dwarfing him and pulling him closer to his side. Jack grinned, wondering what it would feel like to have all of Robby on top of him.
+++++
The ride up in the elevator should have been awkward, two men, one a head taller than the other, not speaking, not touching, just standing in mirrored silence as the floors ticked by, but Robby radiated an authority so strong it bent all awkwardness into something kinetic.
Jack, for once, felt only the humming charge beneath his own skin. He kept his eyes on the elevator display, watching the numbers light up. When it hit eighteen, Robby’s hand landed gently at the small of Jack’s back and stayed there.
“You’re shaking, bunny” Robby murmured as the doors whispered open.
Jack grinned at his own reflection. “Can’t help it. You’re uh… Getting me going.”
Robby’s own reflection grinned back, ears popping up, eyes predatory but not unkind. “You can bail at any time if I'm too much, but I’ll be disappointed.”
Jack felt the heat in his cheeks and said, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He nearly stumbled on the carpet as they stepped into the hallway; Robby caught him with a palm that wrapped almost fully around his upper arm.
They moved in step down the hall, Jack’s stride half again shorter than Robby’s, but the Alpha didn’t mind falling behind. He watched the way Robby’s shoulders rolled under the suit, how the tail, a full, bristling wedge of fur, swished in time with his steps. He realized with a start that he was actively ogling, and tried to look away, but Robby caught him in the act and winked.
Jack laughed. He couldn’t help it. “This is insane,” he said. “I don’t even know your favorite color.”
Robby stopped at the end of the hall, the presidential suite’s double doors looming in front of them. “It’s blue,” he said, deadly serious, then, “But you’re your knot’s pretty pink can be my favorite for tonight.” He swiped his key, waited for the tiny green light, beaming as a red flush covered Jack’s face, then pushed the doors open.
The suite was dim and perfectly still. Light from Pittsburgh’s nighttime skyline bled in through the wall of windows, tinting everything in ghostly blue and gold. The room was enormous, living room and bar to the left, a bedroom platform a step up, king bed that looked like it had been custom built for a hockey team. Even with the lights off, the place sparkled. Jack’s attention locked on the enormous bed, then on the small galaxy of hotel soaps and bottles spread on a table, then on the view, which made him dizzy.
Robby closed the door and flicked on a few lamps, keeping the ambiance warm and low. “You can look around if you want. Or come here.”
Jack moved to the window, the city sprawling beneath them. He pressed his hand to the glass and marveled at the cold, then caught Robby’s reflection in the pane, a shifting, hulking silhouette moving with practiced quiet. He turned, already breathless.
Robby was slipping out of his jacket, then his shirt, folding both neatly over the arm of the couch. His undershirt, white and tight, left nothing to the imagination. Jack let his gaze linger on the curve of Robby’s gut, the way it swelled powerfully over his waistband, the dense thatch of fur that started at the neck and disappeared below. Robby noticed him staring and arched an eyebrow.
Robby beckoned him closer. Jack stepped up, pulse thumping. Robby undid his tie, then, with surprising gentleness, reached up to unbutton the top of Jack’s own shirt, fingers slow and warm. “You look good,” he said.
Jack tried to laugh it off. “I look like an accountant.”
“You look like a fantasy,” Robby corrected. “You always this nervous, or am I special?”
“Both. Neither. I… I don’t get out much.”
Robby finished unbuttoning the shirt and eased it off Jack’s shoulders, baring the cream-and-chestnut furred chest beneath. Jack’s left sleeve caught, but Robby simply worked it off with the care of a surgeon, laying the shirt aside.
“God, you’re so small,” Robby said softly. “I could eat you whole.” There wasn’t a hint of malice in the words, just awe and raw sexual hunger.
Jack blushed, but found the idea more thrilling than terrifying. He wanted to say something clever, but Robby was already undoing his own belt, then the tailored pants, letting them fall in a soft heap. Jack’s jaw dropped a little; the boxer briefs beneath barely contained the mass of Robby’s thighs and crotch, the latter already tented with a dark patch of slick at the center.
Robby must have seen the way Jack stared. He grinned, then, in a move so smooth it felt rehearsed, hooked his thumbs under the waistband and peeled everything down in one go, stepping out and letting himself be seen.
Jack’s mouth went dry.
Robby was built for the cover of some forbidden magazine, but what drew Jack’s eye most was the thick, plush mount between Robby’s legs. The body hair thinned out there, subtly, exposing glistening, exposed lips that bulged forward, a generous clit already stiff and glistening at the crest. The effect was exaggerated by the rest of Robby’s mass, there was nothing delicate about it.
He looked both virile and obscene, like some sex-mad fertility idol from an exotic fantasy novel.
Jack just stared.
Robby watched him, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.”
“I, uh…” Jack tried to form a sentence, failed, and instead blurted, “You’re… beautiful.”
Robby’s lips twitched. “You’re sweet, but this is the part where you do as you’re told.”
He strode over to the bed, making it creak as he threw himself back onto the pillows, spreading his legs wide and leaving nothing to the imagination. He didn’t even bother to cover himself. One big hand was already cupping his own mound, index finger tracing slow, lazy circles around the exposed nub of his clit. He watched Jack with a hunger that made it very clear who was in charge.
Jack’s knees went weak.
Robby jerked his chin at the edge of the bed. “Come over here.”
Jack obeyed, nearly tripping over the hem of his own pants in the process. He fumbled his way closer, then knelt, awkwardly, at the foot of the mattress. Robby’s thighs were spread wide enough that Jack could have crawled through. The heady scent of arousal filled the air, far richer than anything at the ballroom, it was earthy, dark, and impossibly inviting.
Robby’s voice dropped, taking on the tone of command. “You want this, don’t you?”
Jack nodded, ears trembling. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then worship me, you horny bunny.”
Jack didn’t need further encouragement. He dove in, hands sliding up over the dense hairs of Robby’s thighs, kneading gently as he worked his way higher. The Omega’s skin was soft and hot, hair damp with sweat already. Jack took a moment to simply inhale, close enough that the scent made his eyes water. His nose pressed against the slick, and he shuddered with need.
He started by licking. Slow, methodical, up and down the length of Robby’s parted lips, tasting the salt and musk and something sweeter beneath. Robby hissed in delight, pushing his hips up to meet Jack’s mouth, grinding the clit against his tongue.
Jack’s medical training betrayed him; he mapped the anatomy in his head, noting every ridge and fold, tongue searching out the most sensitive points, experimenting with pressure and speed. He found that Robby liked it best when he sucked the clit between his lips and rolled it, gently, before flicking the tip with the flat of his tongue.
The noises that came out of Robby were primal, grunts, then moans, then a sort of growling purr. He gripped Jack’s ears, not hard, but with just enough force to hold him exactly where he wanted him.
“Fuck, you know what you’re doing,” Robby said, breathing heavy. “Don’t stop.”
Jack didn’t stop. He increased his pace, using two fingers to open Robby up, tongue diving deeper. The flavor got stronger as more slick flowed, coating Jack’s chin and making his own head spin. He loved the way Robby trembled under his hands, every shiver and twitch feeding the desperate need in his chest. It was so easy to lose himself in this, the act, the taste, the sense of being useful.
The joy of being submissive and no longer feeling like the fraud of an Alpha.
Robby’s legs started to close around his head, thighs flexing, trapping Jack against the mound of wet flesh. He could feel Robby’s entire body tensing, the rhythm of his hips going ragged.
“Oh, fuck,” Robby grunted. “That’s, Jack, don’t…”
He tried to say something else, but the climax hit so hard he only managed a strangled, wordless shout. Robby’s whole frame locked up, then pulsed, slick gushing over Jack’s mouth and hands, soaking the bedding. Jack lapped at him, coaxing every last drop, until the Omega finally pried his head away, panting.
Jack looked up, breathless, face slicked and fur askew. He tried to wipe his mouth, but Robby stopped him with a gentle finger on the chin. “No, don’t. Leave it.”
Jack’s pulse was a drumline in his chest. “You taste, so good,”
Robby let out a rough laugh, still winded from the aftershocks. “You have no fucking idea,” he said. Then, after a long pause, “Get undressed, now.”
Jack scrambled out of his shoes and pants, then shucked his briefs in one quick motion. He stood at the edge of the bed, totally naked. He removed the prosthetic, sat it against the edge of the bed, heart pounding. His cock, which had never seemed like a blessing, hung rigid and heavy, the head already leaking with anticipation.
He saw the way Robby looked at it, eyes wide, mouth open, surprise followed immediately by a slow, wicked grin. “Jesus Christ,” Robby whispered. “On that frame?”
Jack’s ears flattened in embarrassment. “It’s… it’s kind of a running joke.”
What Jack lacked in height and weigh as an Alpha, he made up for in his cock. 6 inches soft, 10 hard, impossibly girthy, with a pair of low hanging balls that ensured he was always at a horny scale of 5. He’d been forced into wearing special underwear for years so that he didn’t “show” through his scrubs, after a complaint to HR from some limp-dicked Alpha who was jealous.
Robby interrupted by grabbing Jack’s wrist and hauling him up onto the bed, strength unrestrained. He wrapped his arms around Jack’s back, pulling the Alpha down so they were face to face, and then, with one hand, he lined Jack’s cock up with the wet, eager mouth of his cunt.
“Don’t hold back,” Robby said, voice raw. “I want all of you. Fuck me like you mean it, bunny.”
Jack shivered, feeling his own slick mixing with Robby’s on his fingers, the head of his cock pressed against the pulsing, velvet heat. He let out a desperate groan.
Robby’s hand moved up to cradle Jack’s head, guiding him in. “Do it, baby. Make me feel good. Now.”
Jack did.
The first thrust was a lesson in patience, Jack pressed forward, guided by Robby’s steady hand, cockhead parting the plush folds and sliding through the rivers of Omega slick. The heat was staggering. Robby gasped, grabbing Jack’s hips and pulling him in deeper, greedy for more.
“Careful,” Jack panted, fighting the urge to just slam forward. “Don’t want to…”
“...rip me apart?” Robby grinned, breathless, eyes shining with feral pleasure. “You won’t. Promise. Just fuck me. Hard. Fast. Deep. Do not hold back, I can take what you can give and then some, bunny boy.”
Jack obeyed. He started slow, rocking his hips, inching deeper each time, feeling the velvet clench of Robby’s cunt draw him in, then squeeze, milking him for all he was worth. The sensation was so much it nearly fried his brain; his hands flew to Robby’s hips to steady himself. The disparity between their sizes only heightened the insanity—Jack felt swallowed up, caged between Robby’s legs, but the Omega’s body responded to every move he made, hungry and responsive.
The first few strokes were careful, exploratory. Jack mapped Robby’s depths with the focus of a surgeon, noting how each angle made the bigger man shudder or growl or throw his head back in bliss. Soon, Robby started meeting each thrust with a powerful grind of his hips, the heavy thighs clamping around Jack’s waist and pulling him in even deeper.
“God, you’re so fucking wet and hot,” Jack moaned, voice breaking. He could hear the wet sounds as he moved, could smell the blend of arousal and sweat and pheromones so thick it felt like a visible fog.
“You like that?” Robby’s voice was thick and gloating, but also warm. “Don’t hold back, bunny. You’re mine tonight. Fill me up. I expect a big knot out of a big cock like that.”
Jack lost himself. His control slipped, and he started pounding harder, the slap of flesh on flesh echoing in the high-ceilinged suite. The bed squeaked, the sheets already soaked, and every few seconds Robby would spasm around him, sending a new gush of slick to ease the way.
It was animal, relentless, the sort of rutting Jack had only dreamed about or seen in porn, never lived. But here, with Robby beneath him, no, around him, everywhere, he felt absolutely alive.
He could feel his own knot swelling, the thickening at the base of his shaft. He tried to slow down, but Robby only laughed, hooking both legs over Jack’s back and forcing him in deeper.
“Don’t you dare hold back,” Robby growled, baring his teeth in a snarl of joy. “Tie me. Now.”
That did it.
Jack slammed in, hips jerking, knot swelling until it finally popped past the entrance, locking him inside. The sudden stretch made Robby howl, arching off the bed, hands clawing the mattress. Jack felt himself squeezed so tight he saw stars.
Then the orgasm hit.
It started as a spike at the base of his spine, then a rolling earthquake of pleasure that stole the breath from his lungs. He could feel himself shooting, pulse after pulse of seed forced into Robby’s clutching heat, and every time he thought he’d run out, another wave hit. Robby’s cunt milked him with a violence he didn’t know was possible, and the bigger man convulsed around him, voice breaking into a litany of curses and “fuck…fuck…fuck…oh god….”
Jack collapsed, every muscle shaking, forehead pressed into Robby’s chest, arms giving out entirely. Robby just held him there, enormous hands gentle as they stroked Jack’s back, soothing him even as the spasms wracked both their bodies.
“Holy shit,” Jack mumbled into the soft expanse of Robby’s pecs. “Is it supposed to feel like that?”
“Only when it’s with me, baby,” Robby slurred, dazed with pleasure. He squeezed Jack’s ass, making him groan and twitch. “And you are full of surprises, "little" Alpha. You should have led with "massive swinging cock" and you might have gotten more matches.”
They stayed that way for a while, panting, bodies locked together. The knot made sure neither one could move, but neither wanted to. Jack’s face was buried in Robby’s chest, breathing in the scent and feeling every heartbeat through the fur. He’d never felt so utterly safe, or so wanted.
Though the real joy came when Robby adjusted them. Jack was on his back, with Robby’s full body crushing down on him, milking his knot from on top. Jack laughed at the sheer weight and heat of it all, happy to go completely limp and let his Omega take whatever he wanted. Hell, if he got milked dry and died with his head forced between Robby’s round chest, then it was a life well lived.
After a long minute, Jack dared to look up. Robby’s eyes were half-lidded, his lips curved in a lazy smile.
“Was that okay?” Jack asked, unable to keep the insecurity out of his voice.
Robby let out a snort. “Better than okay. You ruined me, doc.” He stroked Jack’s ears, then, with a surprising tenderness, kissed his forehead. “I can’t wait to see what round two looks like.”
Jack flushed. “I, uh, me too.” He tried to move, but the knot held him fast. “Sorry, I’m stuck.”
“That’s the point,” Robby said. “Don’t you dare go anywhere.”
Jack didn’t plan to. He shifted until he was fully sprawled on top of Robby, weight barely enough to make the big man notice. The suite was still, except for the sounds of their breath and the distant hum of the city outside.
Jack’s thoughts wandered. He let his hands roam, drawing lazy patterns across Robby’s chest, down his belly, over the soft fur of his sides. He kissed the underside of Robby’s jaw, the pulse point at his neck, then the scar on his cheek. Robby’s arms closed around him, tight enough to make Jack feel small, but in the best way.
“Never thought I’d end up like this,” Jack admitted, voice muffled against the fur. “Always figured I’d be the one doing the crushing.”
“Life’s full of surprises,” Robby rumbled. “But you’re good at this, you know. Not just the sex. The listening. The caring. Could feel a connection with you a mile away. That, and… I think you’re happier being a little submissive. Which I’m happy to provide, because I’ve always liked being a little dominant.”
Jack swallowed, suddenly embarrassed. “Thanks. I mean, thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”
Robby grinned, a flash of those big teeth. “You’re a dork.”
“You’re a giant,” Jack replied.
They laughed together, the sound echoing off the glass and marble, then faded into a warm, blissful quiet.
Eventually, the knot subsided, and Jack slipped free. He rolled to the side, but Robby followed, spooning up behind him, chest pressed to Jack’s back, arm thrown over his waist. Jack marveled at the feeling, safe, held, wanted.
He let his eyes drift closed, content and blissed out of his mind.
Just before sleep claimed him, he heard Robby’s voice, low and gentle in his ear.
“Hey, Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s do this again. Tomorrow. And the next day.”
Jack smiled into the darkness. “I’d like that.”