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The Columbia house was completely silent, save for the hum of the old refrigerator and the erratic, heavily accented syllables spilling from Kevin’s mouth.
It was 3:00 AM. They had returned from Eden’s Twilight hours ago, but the copious amounts of cracker dust and vodka in Kevin’s bloodstream meant his brain was currently trapped in a high-speed, anxiety-ridden loop. He was pacing the length of the worn living room rug, a half-empty glass of water clutched in his large hand, completely ignoring the fact that he was supposed to be winding down.
"The passing lanes are entirely compromised," Kevin slurred slightly, gesturing wildly with his free hand, splashing a few drops of water onto the floorboards. It was the seventh time he had brought up the exact same offensive drill since they left the club. "If defense don't adjust their shoe traction for the hard court, the speed is useless. It’s exy logic, Andrew. The boundaries are too tight. I am going to get boxed in by the defensive line before I even cross the half-court mark. It’s a disaster."
Andrew was sitting perfectly still in the center of the sagging sofa, watching Kevin wear a hole into the rug. He had stripped off his night clothes hours ago, using a t-shirt that was clearly Kevin’s and black boxers. His hazel eyes were dark and heavily lidded, tracking Kevin’s frantic, looming figure with the terrifying, absolute patience of a predator waiting for a wounded animal to finally drop.
"You're repeating yourself, Day," Andrew pointed out, his voice a low, flat drawl that barely disturbed the quiet of the room.
"Because no one is listening to me!" Kevin groaned, his shoulders hiking up to his ears in a physical manifestation of his stress. He stopped pacing, swaying slightly on his feet as he looked at Andrew with wide, glassy green eyes. The alcohol had completely stripped away his usual arrogant, untouchable Exy-star facade, leaving behind a painfully anxious, deeply needy omega whose scent was currently souring the room with distress. "If we don't fix the defensive line, the Trojans will snap us in half. Wymack won't see it until it's too late. I have to—I have to redraw the diagrams—"
Kevin turned, taking a wobbly step toward the coffee table where a pile of crumpled napkins and pens sat.
Andrew didn't let him make it that far.
He reached out, his hand snapping out to catch the waistband of Kevin’s sweatpants. With a sharp, sudden tug, Andrew pulled backward. Kevin’s drunken center of gravity was already compromised, and he completely folded, collapsing backward onto the sofa right beside Andrew with a heavy, uncoordinated thud.
Before Kevin could scramble back up and resume his frantic pacing, Andrew shifted his weight. He turned slightly, bringing his knees up to bracket Kevin’s leg, and placed one of his hands heavily on top of Kevin’s thick, court-conditioned thigh.
The touch was completely anchoring. Andrew’s hands were cool, the grip firm and completely uncompromising, pressing down through the soft cotton of Kevin's sweatpants. He didn't squeeze, but the sheer, undeniable weight of an alpha pinning him to the cushions sent an immediate, violent shockwave through Kevin’s nervous system.
Kevin’s mouth snapped shut. The frantic, spiraling rant about hard courts and passing lanes died instantly in his throat.
"Breathe, idiot," Andrew commanded softly.
Kevin let out a ragged, shuddering exhale, his entire body going slack against the back of the sofa. The heavy, sour scent of his anxiety began to dissipate, instantly neutralized by the thick, steadying wave of crushed mint and smoke radiating from Andrew. It was a chemical and physical tether. Andrew was functionally sober, entirely grounded, and the weight of his hands on Kevin's thighs was a silent, indisputable order to stop moving.
Kevin couldn't have fought it if he tried. His omega instincts, exhausted and desperate for comfort, practically sang under the pressure of Andrew's grip. He felt the terrifying, fast-paced world of his own brain completely short-circuit, replaced by the simple, heavy reality of the hands holding him down.
"Better," Andrew murmured, feeling the dense muscle beneath his palms finally stop trembling.
Kevin didn't say anything. The adrenaline crash hit him with the force of a physical blow. The alcohol, the exhaustion of the week, and the overwhelming relief of being silenced finally dragged him under.
Slowly, completely stripped of his pride, Kevin slumped sideways. He was nearly a foot taller than Andrew and heavily built, but he folded himself down, seeking the source of that steadying scent. He let his head drop heavily onto Andrew's shoulder, his face turning inward until his nose pressed directly into the warm, scent-heavy crook of Andrew's neck.
Andrew didn't flinch at the sudden, heavy weight resting against his throat. He just sat there, an immovable wall, his hand remaining firmly planted on Kevin's thigh.
Kevin let out a soft, pathetic sigh, a tiny sound of pure contentment, as he inhaled deeply. The smell of stale smoke, mint, and pure, concentrated alpha safety flooded his senses. He instinctively nuzzled closer, his lips brushing the faint pulse point beneath Andrew's skin, utterly intoxicated by the proximity. It was entirely forbidden, entirely reckless, and completely vital to his survival.
Andrew’s right hand shifted slightly. His fingers uncurled, his thumb brushing a slow, rhythmic line against the inside of Kevin’s knee. It wasn't sexual; it was purely territorial, a grounding, methodical touch designed to keep the nightmares and the Exy statistics completely at bay.
"Go to sleep, Kevin," Andrew said into the quiet room, his voice a low vibration that rumbled directly against Kevin’s ear.
Kevin’s eyes slipped shut, the last of his tension draining away into the couch cushions. Tucked perfectly into the space Andrew had carved out for him, anchored by heavy hands and drowning in mint and smoke, Kevin finally surrendered to the dark, completely oblivious to the agonizing, tragic misunderstanding that his biology would cause them just a few short weeks later.
—
The air in the Fox Tower dorm suite was practically toxic. It was thick, cloying, and suffocatingly sweet, heavy with the frantic, overwhelming scent of an omega's biological meltdown.
Kevin had locked himself in his room yesterday when the initial fever spiked, but the isolation was clearly failing him. The bedroom door slammed open, the sound echoing sharply in the quiet suite.
Andrew didn't look up from the book resting on the kitchen island, but his entire body went completely still.
Kevin stumbled out of the hallway. He was a complete disaster. He was wearing only a thin pair of gray sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips, his bare chest heaving with erratic, shallow breaths. His skin was flushed a dark, feverish red, glistening with sweat. His green eyes were completely blown out, the irises swallowed entirely by dark, dilated pupils. There was no court strategy in those eyes, no arrogant Exy striker. There was only pure, unadulterated instinct.
He locked onto Andrew the second he crossed the threshold.
Andrew casually closed his book, setting it on the counter. He turned, bracing his hips against the edge of the island, and watched with flat, calculating eyes as Kevin practically lunged across the room.
Kevin threw his entire weight at Andrew. He was massive, built of heavy muscle and broad shoulders, but he collapsed against the smaller alpha like a puppet with its strings cut. His hands, usually so perfectly controlled and terrified of crossing a line, flew out to grip the front of Andrew's black shirt. His knuckles turned white as he dragged himself flush against Andrew's chest.
"Andrew," Kevin gasped. The sound was broken, completely stripped of pride. He buried his face in the crook of Andrew's neck, inhaling the heavy scent of mint and smoke with a frantic, starving desperation. He dragged his hips forward, pressing the aching, desperate heat of his swollen pussy directly against Andrew's thigh. "Fix it. You have to fix it. I need it."
Andrew didn't move. He didn't wrap his arms around Kevin to hold him closer, but he didn't immediately shove him away, either. He stood like a stone pillar in the middle of a hurricane.
"You are burning alive, Day," Andrew stated. His voice was a low, clinical drawl that betrayed absolutely none of the physical toll it took to remain perfectly still while an omega in peak heat ground against him.
"I don't care," Kevin whined, a high, reedy sound vibrating against Andrew's collarbone. He shamelessly tilted his head back, exposing his throat in a blatant, desperate display of submission. He knew the word he wasn't allowed to say, the one Andrew despised, so his fever-addled brain frantically searched for anything else. "Claim me. Just take it. I want you in my nest."
Kevin pushed his hips forward again, a violent, uncoordinated grind that sought out the heavy friction his body was screaming for.
Andrew’s hands finally came up. They were cold and entirely unforgiving. He didn't grab Kevin's waist to pull him in; he grabbed Kevin's wrists, his grip like iron manacles. With a sudden, forceful shove, Andrew pushed Kevin backward, breaking the body contact completely.
Kevin stumbled, letting out a sharp, devastated noise. He looked at Andrew, his chest heaving, his body trembling violently from the sudden, agonizing loss of the alpha's anchoring heat. "Why? I'm giving it to you. I'm right here."
"You aren't here," Andrew said. His hazel eyes were pitch black, sharp and completely uncompromising. He searched Kevin's flushed face, looking for any sign of actual lucidity, and found absolutely nothing. "Your biology is here. Your fever is here. The actual Kevin Day checked out twelve hours ago."
"It's me," Kevin argued desperately. He tried to step forward again, driven entirely by the blinding, agonizing ache between his thighs and the heavy pooling of slick dampening his sweatpants. "Andrew, you need to—. I'm empty. Fill me. I'll take whatever you want to do."
Andrew caught him by the shoulders before Kevin could close the distance, stopping him dead in his tracks. The grip was bruising, designed to physically ground him, but Andrew's expression remained completely impassive.
"No," Andrew said flatly.
It was a single syllable, but it hit Kevin with the force of a physical blow. The absolute finality in Andrew's voice bypassed the fever just enough to strike the deepest, most insecure core of Kevin's chest.
"You don't want me?" Kevin choked out, his vision swimming with thick, heat-induced tears.
"It's not a no for you." Andrew corrected sharply, his fingers digging into Kevin's shoulders. "It's simply a no."
Kevin sobbed, his knees buckling slightly. He was practically vibrating out of his skin, the rejection amplifying the physical agony of his unfulfilled heat. "I want you, I swear I do—"
"Shut up," Andrew commanded, the rough edge of his voice silencing Kevin instantly.
Without another word, Andrew shifted his grip. He grabbed Kevin by the bicep and effortlessly hauled the larger, completely uncoordinated man toward the hallway. Kevin stumbled blindly alongside him, too weak and fever-drunk to fight the momentum, letting out pathetic, broken whines every time Andrew's grip shifted. Which was ridiculous and almost pathetic for a man his size.
Andrew dragged him back into his bedroom and shoved him forward. Kevin hit the edge of the mattress and collapsed heavily onto the tangled sheets, burying his face in the pillows to muffle a devastated sob.
Andrew didn't linger. He walked over to the nightstand, snatching up the orange plastic bottle of heavy-duty omega suppressants and a glass of lukewarm water that had been abandoned there earlier. He dropped them onto the mattress right next to Kevin's head.
"Take the pills, Day," Andrew said, his voice entirely devoid of sympathy.
Kevin turned his head, looking up at Andrew with utterly shattered, glassy green eyes. He felt completely bare, exposed, and violently rejected. He curled into himself, pulling his knees up to his chest in a desperate attempt to protect his aching, empty center.
Andrew stepped back out into the hallway and pulled the door shut. The heavy, metallic click of the lock sliding into place echoed through the room, sealing Kevin inside with his suppressants, his fever, and the crushing, agonizing misconception that he was entirely unwanted.
—
Days later, when the heat broke, the air in the dorm suite was brittle enough to snap. It had been three days since Kevin’s heat broke, and the resulting silence between them was thick, suffocating, and entirely miserable.
Kevin was functioning purely on spite and compartmentalization. He had thrown himself into a brutal regimen of court practices and late-night tape reviews, using his obsession with Exy as a physical shield. He thought he knew exactly where he stood. The memory of being in heat, burning alive with a biological fever, completely stripped of his pride and desperate for an anchor burned him alive. He had confessed to him. And Andrew had walked away, locking Kevin in a room with suppressants and cold water.
To Kevin, the rejection was absolute. It was the harsh, humiliating proof that beneath the protection deals and the complicated gravity between them, Andrew wanted nothing to do with him when it actually came down to it.
So, Kevin sat at his desk, his shoulders drawn up tightly to his ears, his green eyes burning as he stared blankly at a paused frame of a Binghamton game on his laptop. He wasn't seeing the plays. He was entirely focused on ignoring the heavy, terrifyingly clear presence of the alpha sitting on the windowsill behind him.
Andrew was displaying a sharp, unrelenting clarity that missed absolutely nothing. He was quiet, grounded, and his focus was a physical weight in the room.
The quiet click of Andrew’s lighter echoed like a gunshot in the tense silence.
"Turn the tape off," Andrew commanded. His voice wasn't loud, but the flat, bored authority in it vibrated straight down to the marrow of Kevin’s bones.
"I have to review the defensive line," Kevin replied automatically, his voice stiff. He didn't turn around. He forced his hand to move to the trackpad, clicking play on the video. "Wymack wants the analysis by tomorrow morning, and their backliners are—"
The screen suddenly went black.
Kevin jumped, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth as Andrew reached over his shoulder and slammed the laptop shut with a decisive, violent snap. Kevin spun around in his chair, his green eyes flashing with a sudden, defensive anger, but the words died instantly in his throat.
Andrew was standing right there. He had boxed Kevin in, one hand resting heavily on the desk, the other holding his lit cigarette. His hazel eyes were dark and piercing, entirely devoid of the chemical haze that used to cloud them. The scent radiating off him was immense—a heavy, suffocating wave of crushed mint and smoke that made the lingering, bruised omega instincts in the back of Kevin’s mind flare in instant, desperate submission.
Kevin’s hands twitched, a visceral urge to reach out and grab Andrew’s shirt surging through his blood. But he didn't. He rigidly locked his fingers around the plastic armrests of his chair, his knuckles turning white with the effort of keeping his hands completely to himself. He knew the rules. Even fresh of his heat, Kevin knew better than to touch Andrew Minyard without explicit permission as he did previously, and right now, completely sober and lucid, the fear of having his hand broken again—or worse, pushing Andrew further away—kept him entirely paralyzed.
"You're giving me a headache, Day," Andrew said softly.
"Then leave," Kevin snapped, though his voice lacked any real bite. He pressed his back hard against the chair, trying to build a physical barrier between them. He hated how entirely small he felt under the weight of Andrew's clear-headed stare. "No one asked you to stand there. I have work to do."
"You haven't processed a single play on that screen for the last hour," Andrew observed ruthlessly. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the space over Kevin's shoulder. "You are sulking. It is loud, it is pathetic, and I am bored of it."
"I am not sulking," Kevin hissed, his face flushing a dark, angry red. The sheer mortification of his rejection was bubbling dangerously close to the surface, making his chest tight. "I am giving you exactly what you clearly want. Space. Distance. I understand it now, Andrew. You made it perfectly clear during my heat. You don't have to stand there and rub my face in it."
Andrew didn't move. He stared down at Kevin, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he processed the sheer, blinding depth of Kevin's idiocy.
"You understand nothing," Andrew stated, his voice dropping to a low, rough gravel that sent a shiver straight down Kevin’s spine. "You are a genius on the court, and a complete, functional moron everywhere else."
Kevin flinched, his fingers gripping the armrests so hard his hands ached. "I threw myself at you, and you locked me in a room. I think the message was incredibly clear."
"The message," Andrew interrupted, his voice cutting through Kevin's rising panic like a scalpel, "was that you were out of your mind."
Kevin froze, his breath catching in his lungs.
"You were burning up," Andrew continued, his tone entirely clinical, yet heavy with an unyielding conviction. "You were completely stripped of your logic, running entirely on pheromones and a biological imperative to get off. You were a mess."
Andrew reached out, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and crushing it out in the metal tray on Kevin’s desk. He didn't pull his arm back. He left his hand resting on the wood, leaning his weight forward, effectively trapping Kevin between his body and the desk.
"A heat is not a yes, Kevin," Andrew said softly, his dark eyes locking onto Kevin’s with terrifying intensity. "It is a demand forced on your brain by your biology. It does not allow for rational thought. It does not allow for a clear, conscious choice. And I do not fuck fevers. I do not take what isn't given to me with a completely clear, sober mind. Do you understand the difference?"
The dorm room suddenly felt entirely devoid of oxygen.
Kevin’s green eyes widened, the defensive, angry walls he had spent the last three days meticulously building fracturing straight down the middle. He stared up at Andrew, replaying the words in his head over and over again. Andrew hadn't looked at him with disgust three days ago. He had looked at him with that same, intense, unbreakable focus, calculated the exact level of Kevin's lucidity, and found it lacking. He hadn't rejected Kevin. He had rejected the heat.
"You..." Kevin's voice cracked, the word scraping out of his dry throat. "It wasn't... it wasn't a rejection?"
"I don't play games, Kevin. If I didn't want you, I would have told you to your face that I didn't want you," Andrew said perfectly evenly. "But you didn't ask me. Your biology asked me. I was waiting for the actual Kevin Day to come back and string a coherent sentence together. Instead, I got this dramatic, sulking martyr routine."
Kevin swallowed hard, his entire body trembling as the realization crashed over him. The heavy, sour scent of his own anxiety that had been clinging to him for days began to rapidly clear out, instantly replaced by the sudden, sharp spike of genuine, lucid arousal.
He was entirely clear-headed now. The cycle was completely over. There were no hormones forcing his hand, no fever clouding his judgment. Just the cold, harsh light of the dorm room, and the man standing inches away from him.
"I'm lucid now," Kevin whispered. His voice shook, a pathetic, desperate plea bleeding into the words despite his best efforts. He wanted to touch Andrew so badly it physically hurt, his hands practically vibrating against the armrests, but he remained perfectly obedient, keeping his fingers rigidly locked exactly where they were.
"I noticed," Andrew murmured. The air in the room shifted entirely.
Andrew stepped fully into Kevin’s space, his thighs brushing against Kevin's knees. He reached down, his cool, calloused hands gripping the armrests of Kevin's chair, entirely caging him in. He leaned forward, stopping mere inches from Kevin’s face. The heat of Andrew's body radiated right through Kevin's clothes, the heavy scent of mint and smoke wrapping around him like a physical tether.
Kevin’s head fell back slightly, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat, his chest heaving with erratic, shallow breaths as he waited, completely at Andrew's mercy.
Andrew’s eyes were completely dark, completely focused, burning with a heavy, possessive intent that made Kevin’s heart hammer violently against his ribs.
"Yes or no, Kevin?"
The words hung in the space between them, heavy and absolute. It wasn't a surrender to a fever; it was a conscious, deliberate choice, asked by a man who was completely sober, of a man who was completely awake.
"Yes," Kevin breathed, the single syllable trembling violently as it left his lips. "God, Andrew, yes."
Andrew’s control finally snapped. He didn't bother with the slow, bruising preamble he usually favored when they were carefully testing boundaries. He grabbed Kevin by the front of his shirt, hauling him up and shoving him backward until the backs of Kevin’s knees hit the edge of the mattress. Kevin collapsed onto the bed with a heavy thud, gasping as Andrew followed him down, blanketing him in a suffocating, intoxicating wave of mint, smoke, and sheer alpha intent.
Kevin’s hands, previously locked in a rigid death grip on the armrests, finally flew up. He didn't grab, still too conditioned and terrified of crossing a line without permission. His hands hovered frantically over Andrew's shoulders until Andrew caught Kevin’s wrists and slammed them down into the mattress above his head. The forceful, grounding grip was exactly the command Kevin needed. He melted instantly, a pathetic, high-pitched whine tearing from the back of his throat as his body entirely surrendered to the dominant weight above him.
Andrew began to dismantle him, his movements deliberate and maddeningly precise. He caught the hem of Kevin’s shirt, dragging the cotton slowly up Kevin’s torso. The heavy fabric dragged against Kevin's hypersensitive skin, snagging on the tight peaks of his chest before Andrew pulled it entirely over his head, leaving it bunched around Kevin's pinned wrists.
The cool air of the dorm room hit Kevin’s flushed skin, but it did nothing to extinguish the fever burning inside him. He was an absolute wreck, his body weeping with a desperate, pent-up thirst that had been torturing him for three straight days.
Andrew’s hands dropped lower. The thick, calloused pads of his fingers traced the sharp lines of Kevin’s hips, mapping the tense, court-conditioned muscles there before moving to the rim of Kevin’s pajama pants. Andrew didn't yank them down immediately. He hooked his thumbs under the waistband, his knuckles pressing heavily into the soft, bare skin of Kevin’s lower stomach.
Kevin’s breath hitched violently. Andrew was agonizingly close. As Andrew slowly began to drag the fabric down, the rough denim of his own jeans brushed against Kevin's inner thighs, and the backs of Andrew’s fingers grazed the very top of Kevin’s slick, swollen pussy.
The brief, accidental friction was devastating. Kevin’s hips jerked upward entirely on their own, completely blind to anything but the scorching heat radiating from Andrew's hands and the desperate, aching void between his own thighs. He was entirely soaked, the thick, sweet scent of his arousal completely flooding the space between them.
"Impatient," Andrew murmured against Kevin's jaw, his voice a low, vibrating rumble as he paused the descent of the fabric, leaving Kevin half-exposed and vibrating out of his skin.
"I need it," Kevin whimpered, swallowing down the forbidden, pathetic word he knew Andrew despised. He knew better than to say please. Kevin’s green eyes were blown wide and glassy, completely shameless as he arched into the heavy pressure of Andrew's knuckles. "Andrew, just—You have to. Give it to me."
But Andrew always liked to play with his food before taking the final bite. He didn't immediately grant Kevin what he was demanding. Instead, keeping one hand clamped over both of Kevin's wrists, Andrew shifted his weight lower, pulling the pajama pants completely off and tossing them aside.
He trailed his lips down the long column of Kevin's throat, leaving an open-mouthed, bruising kiss right over his erratic pulse, before moving down to his chest. Kevin gasped sharply as Andrew’s hot breath fanned over his right nipple. The skin there was already tight and painfully sensitive from the lingering effects of the heat. Andrew didn't hesitate; he opened his mouth and closed it over the peak, the wet, rough muscle of his tongue flicking relentlessly over the swollen bud.
"Ah—fuck!" Kevin arched entirely off the mattress, a high, reedy sound of pure desperation escaping him.
Andrew sucked hard, pulling the sensitive flesh deeply into his mouth while his teeth gently scraped the base. He laved it with flat, heavy strokes of his tongue, swirling and biting, weaponizing his oral fixation to drive Kevin completely out of his mind. Kevin was thrashing, his heavy muscles trembling helplessly under the onslaught. He was a tall, broad man, but under Andrew's mouth and pinning grip, he was reduced to a writhing, desperate mess, completely at the mercy of his own biology. Andrew shifted to the other side, his tongue flicking and dragging across the left peak with the same calculated, agonizing rhythm, until Kevin was practically sobbing, his hips stuttering upward in a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm.
Andrew finally pulled back, leaving the swollen peaks wet, thoroughly loved, and completely wrecked. Kevin let out a devastated whine at the sudden loss of contact, his hands twitching blindly, but Andrew simply caught his wrists again, pinning them effortlessly back to the mattress.
Andrew shifted his weight, dragging himself lower until he was kneeling flush between Kevin's completely spread thighs. The scent down here was practically suffocating—a thick, intoxicating cloud of sweet, heavy omega heat. Kevin was entirely soaked, his body weeping profusely. The slick was pooling between his thighs, hot and undeniable, staining the sheets beneath him.
Andrew didn't hesitate. He leaned down, his face pressing directly into the wet heat.
Kevin let out a blood-curdling gasp, his spine bowing so hard his hips snapped off the mattress.
Andrew’s tongue dragged slowly, deliberately up the slick, swollen cleft. The taste was devastatingly addictive—pure, concentrated honey spiked with absolute desperation. Andrew laved at it with a dark, territorial hunger, swallowing down the heavy overflow of Kevin's juices. He weaponized his mouth all over again, his tongue flattening to lap wide, heavy strokes over the hypersensitive flesh, drinking Kevin in like a man who had been starving for days.
"Andrew—god, Andrew!" Kevin thrashed, his heavy thighs trembling violently as they instinctively tried to close around Andrew's head to chase the friction, but Andrew's broad shoulders ruthlessly wedged him open.
He lapped up every drop of the sweet, addictive slick, swirling his tongue perfectly around the swollen bud at the top until Kevin was completely mindless, a high, broken keen vibrating constantly in his throat.
When the wetness was thoroughly tasted and Kevin was entirely unraveled, Andrew brought his hand down. He used the heavy overflow of Kevin's own juices to coat his calloused fingers before pressing the blunt tips against Kevin’s entrance. With a slow, merciless pressure, Andrew pushed two fingers inside.
Kevin sobbed, his inner walls instantly, frantically clamping down around the intrusion. It was agonizingly good, perfectly smooth and hot, but it wasn't nearly thick enough to satisfy the hollow, aching void the heat had carved into him.
Andrew began to move his hand, establishing a slow, incredibly precise rhythm. He hooked his fingers upward as he thrust, dragging against the hyper-sensitive ridges deep inside Kevin's pussy, methodically mapping out the devastating stretch he was about to provide. With every pull, more of that sweet, heavy slick rushed out, completely coating Andrew's hand with the loud, wet sound of pure arousal. Andrew added a third finger, stretching Kevin wider, his thumb dropping down to press firmly against Kevin's clit, trapping the omega in an absolute crossfire of localized, paralyzing pleasure.
Kevin was a complete mess. His breath was coming in short, ragged pants, his head thrashing side to side on the pillows. His court-conditioned body was completely hijacked, entirely at the mercy of the alpha's torturous, meticulous preparation. He didn't want fingers. He didn't want to be prepped anymore. He wanted the heavy, unyielding reality of the alpha to split him open.
"Enough, I can't—" Kevin choked out, his vision swimming with white-hot tears. "Andrew, fuck you. You need to do it now."
Satisfied that Kevin was completely unraveled, Andrew finally moved back up. letting Kevin drop limply to the mattress. Andrew’s cool hands slid to grip Kevin’s hips, his fingers digging bruisingly into the skin. He aligned them perfectly, the blunt heat of his length pressing directly against Kevin's slick, aching entrance.
Andrew drove himself inside with one long, unbroken, devastating thrust.
Kevin screamed, the sound muffled instantly as Andrew surged forward and crushed their mouths together.
The stretch was absolute heaven. Kevin’s back bowed sharply, his fingers curling into the sheets as he took the full, thick length of the alpha deep into his pussy. He loved this. He loved the heavy, anchoring reality of being completely full. For three days he had felt hollowed out, fragile, and completely detached from his own skin. But this—the burning, stretching pressure of Andrew burying himself entirely inside him—tethered him violently back to the earth.
Andrew pulled back almost all the way, the friction dragging a strangled gasp from Kevin's lungs, before slamming his hips down again. He established a brutal, unrelenting rhythm. He didn't make love; he took apart. Every downward strike of Andrew's hips was a loud, wet snap of flesh against flesh, completely knocking the breath out of Kevin’s lungs.
"Look at me," Andrew grunted, the muscles in his arms flexing as he braced his weight over Kevin.
Kevin forced his eyes open. Andrew looked terrifying. His hazel eyes were pitch black, completely blown with arousal and dominance. His jaw was locked tight with effort, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his pale skin as he practically punished the mattress with the sheer physical exertion of claiming the omega beneath him.
Andrew’s hands left Kevin's hips, sliding down the long, muscular length of Kevin’s thighs. With a sudden, forceful movement, Andrew pushed Kevin’s legs up and back, completely folding him. Despite Kevin being nearly a foot taller, Andrew manipulated his weight effortlessly. He pushed Kevin’s knees all the way back until they were pressed flush against Kevin’s own chest, spreading him impossibly wide and exposing his wet, completely wrecked pussy to the devastating angle of Andrew's thrusts.
The new position drove Andrew impossibly deeper, hitting a spot that made Kevin's vision literally blank out. Kevin sobbed, completely unable to hold back the loud, whiny sounds tearing from his throat. He was entirely bent to Andrew’s will, folded in half and pinned to the bed, taking every single bruising, deep hit with a helpless, mindless gratitude. Andrew was a machine above him, his hips snapping forward with terrifying torque, grinding the base of his cock flush against Kevin's slick folds with every single thrust.
But Kevin’s mind was a relentless machine, too. Even here, entirely wrecked and drowning in physical pleasure, his brain refused to completely shut off, which normally meant he would be replaying exy matches in his mind, but Instead of running Exy drills and calculating passing lanes, his racing thoughts began to wildly spiral around the biology of the man currently tearing him apart.
Andrew was an alpha. A terrifyingly strong, unsuppressed alpha whose heavy scent was currently soaking into every pore of Kevin's skin. Kevin was taking his full length, marveling at the agonizing, perfect stretch, but his overactive mind started to chase a darker, more desperate fantasy. He thought about the anatomical reality of what Andrew was capable of. He thought about the knot.
It was a dangerous, intoxicating spiral. Andrew had absolute, terrifying control over his own instincts. He would never knotted outside of a cycle, Kevin knew Andrew would never let the purely animalistic side of his biology completely take the reins to trap a partner. But lying there, folded up and completely possessed, Kevin found himself desperately, secretly craving it. He wanted Andrew to lose that iron-clad control. He wanted to feel that sudden, agonizing swell locking them perfectly together.
The idea of it—of being entirely stuffed full, his pussy stretched around the heavy, unyielding lock of an alpha's knot and completely flooded with his cum—made Kevin’s inner walls clench violently around Andrew’s length.
What if he did it? Kevin thought frantically, his hips stuttering upward to meet Andrew’s brutal downward strike, completely lost in the fantasy. What if he just let go? What if he breeds me right here?
The thought was blinding. Kevin cried loudly, a deeply submissive, desperate sound. His heels dug into the backs of Andrew’s thighs as he shamelessly bared his throat, letting his head fall back against the pillows. He wanted to be kept. He wanted to be completely, biologically claimed in a way that left absolutely no room for his own agonizing insecurities to ever return.
"Andrew," Kevin choked out, his voice a broken sob as the climax began to rapidly build at the base of his spine, threatening to tear him apart. "You need—I want you to—"
He didn't even know how to articulate it. He was too terrified Andrew would pull back, too terrified of demanding something Andrew wasn't willing to give. But Andrew was completely dialled into every microscopic shift in Kevin's body. He felt the violent, desperate clenching of Kevin's wet inner walls, perfectly milking his length. He smelled the sudden spike of heavily concentrated, desperate pheromones flooding the air, a chemical demand to be bred.
Andrew let out a harsh, jagged moan, all of his iron-clad composure suddenly fracturing under the weight of Kevin's absolute submission.
He drove his hips down one last, devastating time, burying himself to the absolute hilt, and Kevin’s frantic fantasy violently collided with reality.
The expansion was immediate and breathtaking. Kevin gasped, his eyes flying wide open as he felt the distinct, thick swell of Andrew’s knot triggering right at his entrance. It grew rapidly, hard and unrelenting, pushing past the tight ring of muscle to bury itself deep inside Kevin’s slick heat. The stretch was agonizing, right on the borderline of pain, tearing a loud, shocked scream from Kevin's lungs, but the psychological impact was a thousand times more intense.
"Oh god," Kevin wept, his entire body locking rigid as the swollen tissue firmly secured them together, trapping Andrew completely inside him. "Andrew—Andrew—"
Andrew didn't say a word. His hands came up, grabbing Kevin’s shoulders as he buried his face deep into the crook of Kevin's neck. He bit down hard on the juncture of Kevin's shoulder and throat, branding him through the blinding haze of the climax as he finally let go.
Kevin felt the heavy, scorching flood of Andrew's cum shooting deep inside his pussy, filling him completely, coating his inner walls with thick, pulsing heat. The sensation of being knotted and bred broke Kevin into a million pieces. His own orgasm ripped through him with terrifying force, his vision completely whiting out as he screamed Andrew’s name. His muscles clamped down ruthlessly around the locked knot, instinctively milking every last drop out of the alpha as wave after wave of blinding pleasure shook his large frame.
It took several minutes for the white noise to clear from Kevin’s brain. When he finally drifted back into his own body, the reality of what had just happened settled over him like a heavy, weighted blanket.
They were entirely locked together. Andrew’s full weight was crushing Kevin into the mattress, his face still buried in Kevin's neck, his breathing harsh, wet, and ragged against Kevin's damp skin. The knot throbbed deep inside him, a firm, undeniable pressure that kept Kevin deliciously stretched and overflowing.
Kevin’s legs, still folded back against his chest, trembled violently in the aftermath. Slowly, he uncurled his stiff fingers from the bedsheets and wrapped his arms tightly around Andrew’s broad, sweat-slicked back. He held on with a fierce, quiet desperation, burying his nose in Andrew’s blonde hair. He was utterly intoxicated by the smell of his own omega scent perfectly mixed with the heavy, claiming weight of Andrew’s mint and smoke.
He was full. He was claimed. And for the first time in his entire life, Kevin’s relentless, overactive mind was completely, blissfully quiet.
—
Kevin had spent the last ninety days functioning on a level of denial so profound it bordered on a clinical delusion.
When he started throwing up every morning at 6:00AM, he violently blamed it on Wymack’s new, brutal endurance drills. When his favorite protein powder suddenly tasted like battery acid, he blamed it on a bad batch from the manufacturer and threw the entire tub in the trash. When his sweatpants started feeling entirely too tight around his hips, he convinced himself it was simply an increase in core muscle mass from doing extra deadlifts in the gym.
And when his scent—usually a sharp, citric smell—mellowed into something impossibly sweet, heavy, and thick, he aggressively accused Nicky of switching their body wash just to mess with him.
But sitting on the closed lid of the dorm suite toilet, staring down at the little plastic stick in his shaking hands, Kevin finally ran out of excuses.
Two bright, aggressively pink lines stared back at him.
Pregnant.
Kevin dropped his head into his hands, his fingers tangling in his dark hair as he let out a sound that was half-groan, half-whine. His overactive brain immediately started running the numbers. Exactly three months ago, Andrew had completely dismantled him in his bedroom, lost his iron-clad control, and tied them together with a knot that pumped him entirely full of alpha rut.
The biology had worked with terrifying, inescapable efficiency.
"Oh my god," Kevin whispered into the empty bathroom. His mind immediately skipped past any normal human reaction and went straight to the logistical nightmare. The spring season. The championship bracket. How the hell do you fit a pregnancy into an Exy schedule? The center of gravity shift is going to ruin my speed. Wymack is going to have an actual aneurysm.
He stayed in the bathroom for another twenty minutes, mentally mapping out a highly detailed, utterly unhinged timeline of how long he could hide it under his heavy chest pads before Wymack noticed. Finally, realizing he couldn't live in the bathroom forever, Kevin stood up. He shoved the plastic test into the pocket of his sweatpants, took a deep, fortifying breath, and opened the door.
Andrew was sitting at the kitchen island, a tub of chocolate ice cream in front of him, looking completely unbothered as he spooned a massive bite into his mouth. He didn't even look up as Kevin shuffled into the room, looking like a man walking directly to the gallows.
Kevin stood rigidly on the opposite side of the counter. He opened his mouth to deliver the world-shattering news, his heart hammering against his ribs, completely unsure if Andrew was going to throw a knife at him, walk out the door, or demand a blood test.
"Andrew," Kevin started, his voice cracking horribly. He gripped the edge of the counter to stop his hands from shaking. "We need to talk. Something... something happened. Three months ago, when we—"
Andrew slowly lowered his spoon. He finally raised his hazel eyes, leveling Kevin with a stare so flat, so profoundly and deeply unimpressed, that it completely derailed Kevin's prepared speech.
"If you are about to tell me you are pregnant," Andrew said, his voice a perfectly deadpan drawl, "I am going to throw this spoon at your head."
Kevin choked on his own saliva. His jaw dropped, his green eyes bulging as he stared at the alpha. "You—what? How—"
"Kevin," Andrew interrupted, looking at him like he was the dumbest creature to ever walk the earth. "You have been puking your guts out for six weeks. You cried yesterday because the cafeteria was out of garlic bread. You nested with four of my hoodies on Tuesday. And your scent has been practically suffocating the entire state of South Carolina with maternal pheromones since October."
Kevin stood frozen, his brain entirely short-circuiting. "You knew? And you didn't say anything?!"
"I was waiting to see how long your spectacular idiocy would hold out," Andrew replied, entirely unbothered, taking another bite of ice cream. "I had a bet with myself. I gave it until the end of this month. You made it to the second week of November. Congratulations. You're marginally less oblivious than I calculated."
"I am carrying your pup!" Kevin yelled, throwing his hands up in sheer exasperation, completely forgetting his terror. "How are you just sitting there eating ice cream?!"
"Because it's chocolate," Andrew said, as if that explained the fundamental mysteries of the universe. He pointed the plastic spoon at Kevin. "And because I deliberately knotted inside an unmedicated omega. I am aware of how basic anatomy works, Day. Wymack is going to bench you by January, so you better start rewriting your precious offensive line diagrams now."
Kevin stared at him. The crippling, suffocating panic of the last hour completely evaporated, replaced entirely by a profound, exhaustion-fueled disbelief. He dragged a heavy hand down his face, letting out a long, defeated breath.
"I hate you," Kevin muttered. "I genuinely hate you."
"No, you don't," Andrew said smoothly. He nudged the ice cream tub across the counter toward Kevin. "Now sit down and eat. You look like a ghost, and your whining is giving me a migraine."
Kevin glared at him for a long, silent moment. Then, driven completely by his hijacked biology and a sudden, violent craving for sugar, he pulled out a stool, grabbed a second spoon, and sat down to furiously eat ice cream with the father of his child.