The Omega Awakened: A M/M Omegaverse Erotic Short Fiction (Omegan Tales Book 1)

by Elijah Stierne

  This might have been rut. Or, this might’ve been rut’s roid-raged cousin, coming to knock on his car window and yank him from the driver’s seat.

  There were things that Jackson remembered clearly. Falling into a restless sleep in his bedroom with Micah at the end of the mattress, curled around his calves. He was sure that he’d been at the dorm the last time he’d closed his eyes. Waking up to the sterile interior of a rut room was… staggering, to say the least.

  He took in every detail, eyes running over the cracks in the walls and the shadows beneath the fluorescent ceiling lights. His eyes were still sticky with residue, only open half-mast as he booted back to the land of the living. There was a terribly stale taste in his mouth, and he turned to the side to roll out of bed, ready to brush his teeth and freshen up.

  But then he’d seen someone in the bed with him, and immediately pulled his lips back over his teeth, and snarled.

  Micah gasped, head whipping in Jackson’s direction.

  “Jackson! Fuck! Sorry.”

  His mate. His lover. Such a sweet thing. It hadn’t been long enough for Jackson to be this mindless about someone, but he’d almost learned to love the way his name sounded in the man’s mouth. The cadence, the soft ring to it, the song-like quality that the omega blessed the letters with.

  It was all the more strange, then, that for some reason or another, there was none of the warm relief he often felt from Micah calling out to him. Instead, his chest began to sting, an unidentified pain blooming behind his ribs. A renewed sense of vigor flashed through Jackson’s body, and he restrained himself from reaching out and sinking his teeth into Micah’s neck to claim him a second time.

  Jackson jerked back, putting an inch more of distance between them. Then he began to pull and tug anxiously on his shirt to remove it. He wasn’t completely lucid yet. He could see Micah in front of him, understand at a primitive level that this was his omega, and yet he couldn’t calm himself.

  When the man reached out to help him with the shirt, Jackson wrenched himself away.

  “Don’t…” he choked.

  “Whoa, whoa. Stop,” Micah said quietly. “Don’t panic. I want to help you.”

  “Fuck. No, don’t t-touch me,” Jackson stuttered. It felt as if he’d been sleeping for days. The fever-induced dream was still sitting heavy in his mind. He was feeling… jilted. Jackson took a deep breath, filling his lungs with sweet oxygen. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but until he could orient himself, he wasn’t likely to settle down. As calmly as he could muster, Jackson said, “Where are we?”

  “A rut room. You were pushing me into heat, but I couldn’t get you to wake up and go with me, so I - I called the doctor. They admitted us together,” Micah explained. His eyes were latched onto the neurotic movements of Jackson’s hand against his shirt, the quick drag of the alpha’s palm against the scratchy fabric. Just the sound of it was probably driving him insane. “It’ll rip if you keep doing that. Can I?”

  “I don’t want you to,” Jackson snapped. Then, after a second of contemplation, “Fuck. Micah, I’m sorry. My chest is just… it’s fucking killing me.”

  Micah’s scent - which until then had been a crisp, slightly sweetened smell of preheat - was mutating to something sharper and more bitter. Anguish? Disappointment? Honestly, Jackson wouldn’t have been surprised if it were a bit of both. Even he was feeling exhausted by his mood swings.

  The wall was cold, and Jackson gravitated towards it. He pressed his shoulder up to the paint and then tilted his forehead until it was leaning against the wall.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  There was very little way to explain the feelings in Jackson’s body. Perhaps the most astute was the rancid fear in his gut, unbidden, completely unfounded. He was scared. It hurt to admit - he’d never gone into rut feeling so down on himself - but one look at Micah’s distressed face, and Jackson didn’t have much of a choice. He was breaking down. For the last few days, he’d been under some spell and he was petrified. His thoughts and his body were being taken from him, replaced by an alpha that was so emotionally-bound that it was dangerous.

  Jackson hated this part. He’d always hated this part, and when Micah had stood up at that podium in the class and tried to argue that hormones and pheromones didn’t make a person, Jackson had wanted so badly to believe that was true. He’d latched onto every word in the hopes that the man’s confidence would make his words sincere.

  But looking at the omega now, Jackson could only see traces of the man who’d given that speech. Instead, he could only see the omega that the man had become.

  “You don’t want me, then,” Micah said quietly. “Is that what this means?”

  No. Jackson wanted Micah more than anything. He wanted him so badly that he was physically in pain over it. Jackson whined, shaking his head to try and get the point across. His chest only seemed to blossom further under the thorns of his emotions.

  “Okay. Fine. I’ll call the doctor,” Micah said, peering nervously over at his unfinished, makeshift nest. Jackson hadn’t even noticed it, too busy trying to flatten himself against the wall and take some of the heat out of his body to actually make it to the end of the bed.

  The blankets and the pillows were in a semicircle, an unfinished barrier that was likely meant to protect the two of them from visitors. Jackson had only seen Micah make a few nests, but he’d always liked how neat the man managed to make them. It seemed to be a back and forth between Micah’s omega side and his human side. Jackson wondered if he should have said something about it - he wanted to say something about it. But Micah was crawling off of the bed already, sniffing mildly as he walked towards the intercom on the other side of the room.

  Micah pressed the red button on the device and it slowly fuzzed to life, loud static blaring through before a person’s voice said, “Hello?”

  The sound was abrasive. It rung around Jackson’s head and made the base of his skull throb painfully. There was a thin trickle of sweat starting to travel down his neck. When Jackson rumbled unhappily, Micah glanced over his shoulder apologetically.

  “Uhm, hi…” Micah said, more softly than usual. “Jackson’s awake, and I think there’s something wrong with him.”

  “Alright. Can I ask you what’s going on?”

  “He’s aggravated. He still smells a bit off.”

  “Mm. Okay. What’s he doing?”

  “I don’t know. A lot of things. He’s… trying to get his clothes off,” Micah answered shortly, tilting his head. There was a slight spike in his scent, the pheromones sitting harshly in the air as the frustration started to mount.

  “That’s usual in prerut,” the stranger said. Their voice was tinted with derision. “Is there something else that he’s doing?”

  “Well, he won’t let me touch him. That’s not usual.”

  There was a short radio silence. Micah folded his arms across his chest and tapped at his forearm while he waited. Eventually, the voice graced them again. “Okay, Micah. Are you currently in heat?”

  “Would I be talking to you if I were in heat?” Micah snapped. “I thought you guys had a track of that kind of thing.”

  “Answer the question, please.”

  “No. I’m still in preheat, and I’m not interested in forcing someone to mate with me when the heat actually hits, so I’d appreciate if you hurried the fuck up and sent someone in here to deal with this.”

  It didn’t sound as if there were an alpha on the other line. Jackson almost wondered if the intercom operators were all omega, ready to deal with the short tempers of young men and women in crisis. Fuck, Micah’s tone was getting to him, a strange tug to reassert his dominance forming in his belly. Jackson tilted his head a bit more, hiding his face from the room and trying to block the omega out completely. He didn’t want to be that type of alpha. What the fuck was going on with him?

  “…Right. Someone will be in momentarily.”

  The inte
rcom shut down with no more than a soft click and then the room lapsed into silence. When Jackson peeked back over at the omega, Micah hadn’t moved an inch. Instead, he was hunched over the intercom with his hands cupped over his face. He sniffed occasionally, but didn’t make a sound otherwise. He looked so small like this, shoulders hunched over on himself and thin fingers just spread out against his face.

  It would have been good for Jackson to go to him. If Micah hadn’t planned to mate with him - or mate with anyone for that matter - and they were still forced into this, didn’t he owe it to the guy to at least be a good alpha for him? One who could handle situations like this without throwing a fucking fit.

  “Why is it like this?” Micah hissed. “Why does it feel like I’m fighting my body all of the fucking time? I can’t get it right.”

  “I know,” Jackson agreed. He sounded wrecked. Like a smoker who’d spent years inhaling the smoke from cheap packets of cigarettes. He still needed to clean his mouth out, the lingering taste of sleep on his tongue, and he sounded as terrible as he looked, but he needed for Micah to understand him. They were on the same ground, being molded and shaped by their circumstances in a way that made them feel like strangers to themselves. At this point, they probably knew each other more than they knew what was going on inside their own heads. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I know you weren’t gonna mate. No offense, but from the first time I saw you, you didn’t seem the type to want something like this. Just… an alpha to take care of you.”

  “Who really wants that?”

  “A lot of people want that, Micah,” Jackson huffed. “Just not you.”

  “No, I - god damnit, Jackson. Who would listen to me if I… spent my whole life arguing that we’re fine without an alpha, that we don’t need one, and then I went home to one every night anyway? I did all I could to get into those stupid fucking classes,” Micah said, voice strained. He sniffed hard again and shook his head. “Really, I wanted to learn. I wanted to do better. I wanted people to take me seriously, and I just… I fucked it all up.”

  “You didn’t,” Jackson said quietly. He could feel the guilt now, pouring more acid heat into the cavity behind his ribs. Not only was he a terrible alpha, he was a shit human too. Responsibility was something he thought he’d learned as a child, and he’d forgotten the most basic etiquette of public social engagement. Track your rut. Consider the others. The realization that he’d caused all of this was a heavy burden. The least he could do was apologize. “I’m sorry I did that to you.”

  Micah curled in on himself even more.

  “God, I never even recognized you,” Micah sobbed, and - ouch. It was the truth and it stung all the same. “You never talked to me in class. Not once. And I didn’t recognize you.”

  “I wasn’t brave enough to talk to someone like you,” Jackson admitted quietly. His hand was now rubbing slow, soothing circles over his chest, the only movement keeping the sting at bay long enough for him to talk. When he did talk, his voice still trembled around the words.

  He was exhausted. He could feel the flames of his prerut starting to flow, staunched only by how restless he felt. What would a rut look like if he didn’t even want his mate to touch him? Console him? Help him through the depths of degradation? He imagined that it would be worse than the old ruts where he had nobody, and no choice but to be alone. “My alpha’s a lot stronger than I am. He’s better than me.”

  “You think?” Micah said. Then, as an afterthought, he said, “Feels that way for me, too. My omega, he’s friendlier than I am. More reliable. Pliant. For this last month, there’s just been this heat under my skin and I don’t like it, because it means that once it’s gone, I’ll be back to usual. What’ll I do if you don’t like my usual? If you hate who I am when I’m not this?” And then, “But what’ll I do if I never go back to the way I was? Either way I look at it, I’m fucked.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “You won’t let me touch you. It’s only been one cycle and you’re already starting to realize that this isn’t worth it.”

  “Look at me, Micah,” Jackson cracked, laughing derisively under his breath as another series of tremors shook through him. “Do I look like I’m really in control of anything right now? I’m more fucked up than you are. I hate it too. But I’m telling you the truth. I noticed you before you ever called to me. You were always a potential mate. Once this is all cooled down, I’m not leaving you. If anyone goes, it’ll be you.”

  Micah finally turned around, sliding down the wall so that he could plant his ass on the floor. He was crying, eyes glistening and cheeks puffy as he wiped at them wildly. His forehead was misted with sweat from his preheat. He had some curls tucked behind his ears, a few earrings that Jackson had never noticed before on display, and he still looked so dazzling despite all of the anguish.

  “I don’t wanna leave. I mean, doesn’t this whole situation make you wanna just give it a try?” Micah said quietly. “I don’t know if that’s me or just the heat talking.”

  “Does it matter if it’s just the heat talking?” Jackson asked honestly. “Either we succeed at making this happen, or we fail. If we don’t try, doesn’t that eliminate one of those options altogether?”

  “Yeah, but-”

  “Tell me if you feel like I do. If you feel like this was meant to happen to you and me.”

  Micah sat on it for a second. When he opened his mouth to respond, he was cut off by the squeaking hinges of the weighted door. It opened slowly, and in strolled a woman taller than Jackson had ever seen. She exuded confidence, authority, and Jackson’s alpha perked up, both irritated and awed by someone so much stronger sharing a space with him. Had Micah been anywhere else but beside the door, Jackson might’ve behaved, but the second the doctor slipped fully into the room, he snarled again in warning.

  The doctor quickly made a clicking noise with her tongue.

  “Don’t make me pull the sedative out. Please. I don’t want your mate,” she said quietly. “I just wanna see what’s going on. Let’s see what we’ve got -” the doctor quickly flipped through her clipboard, glancing over their details. “Jackson and Micah. Quite young mates, no? Only spent one heat together so far. Your schedules are still coordinating, so your rut and heat are likely to be a little bit irregular during this time, but from the looks of things, Micah, you’re due to start any day and Jackson, you’re transitioning at the moment. Your rut will begin in a few hours.”

  “So mine is still on time?” Micah asked.

  “Looks to be,” she said sweetly. She reached into a small pouch in her white jacket and pulled out her infrared thermometer. She put the gun to Micah’s head to check his temperature, and Jackson shifted up onto his knees, hands clenched into fists at his sides. The doctor chuckled and then looked over at him kindly. “I know, I know. I’m only taking his temperature.”

  “Sorry,” Jackson said, realizing how ridiculous he looked posturing like this so soon after he’d run Micah off of the bed altogether. He collapsed back onto his ass and crossing his legs, sitting on his hands to keep from doing anything stupid with them.

  “It’s alright. There’s a note in your chart about your prerut. It seems the two of you are an Intractable Mating - unfortunately, what you’re both experiencing is a common side effect of that. Alphas are over-protective, quite aggressive in a handful of cases. Omegas are overly docile, easily manipulated, somewhat self-sabotaging.”

  “For how long?” Micah asked.

  “That’s hard to say. Some of these symptoms may become regular staples of your personality, but most times they wear off throughout the month and surface during heat and rut.”

  Micah tilted his head back. Jackson could feel the negative feedback, knew that Micah was probably berating his heat again in his head. Jackson certainly wasn’t feeling too kind about his rut.

  “I know the symptoms aren’t ideal, but they’re certainly manageable. You both seem to be fighting your instincts quite well at the moment.”


  “Is there anything we can do about it, then?” Micah asked.

  “About what?”

  “My heat,” Micah said quickly. “I can’t go into heat here if I can’t even touch him.”

  “And why can’t you touch him?” The doctor asked. She put her clipboard down by the door and then returned the thermometer to her pocket, switching it out for a small plastic container. The case rattled loudly. Jackson assumed that there were pills inside of it.“Is he not allowed to share the bed with you, Jackson?”

  “I want him to, but I feel weird right now.”

  “In what way?”

  “My chest hurts. My head hurts. I feel like I’m fucking drowning. I can’t talk. I can’t think straight.”

  “Mmm,” the doctor hummed. She walked toward the fridge and yanked open the door, reaching in and then stacking her arms with water bottles. She balanced them all carefully and then nudged the fridge door closed with her foot. Jackson watched her wearily as she returned to Micah’s side and bent down to give him a few of the bottles. “I want you to take those pills. When was the last time the two of you scented?”

  “All break, it seemed,” Micah told her.

  “Break ended more than a week ago. How many times have you scented since then?”

  “He’s been sick. I only did it once on the day that he passed out.”

  “And was he sick all of that week? Is that why you weren’t scenting?”

  Micah cracked open the pill container and stared down at the contents. He seemed to be thinking about what to say. When the doctor cleared her throat, he said, “I was busy. It wasn’t because he was sick. I had homework and school work. I hadn’t seen him much in the days before he got sick.”

  “Ah. Okay.”

  The doctor seemed significantly less concerned than both Jackson and Micah. She flitted around the room easily, walking as if she had clouds on her feet, the soft etch of a smile still fixed on her face. It was infuriating, but it was also comforting. Perhaps this was a good sign of their situation being temporary.