by Willa Okati
A baby. One with his hair and Darius’s eyes, or the other way around. He didn’t care. Healthy, happy, safe. His body ached and he felt tender inside, as if his organs were already shifting to give an infant room to grow.
Darius would make such a good father. He’d love their child more than anyone else except Jory, and he’d burn the world down to keep them safe. Jory wanted that. He wanted it so much. He swallowed hard, and turned the pregnancy test stick over.
Negative.
Damn. Next time, he told himself. Like Darius said. Just wait. Next time. There’s still plenty of hope and no reason to doubt your chances yet.
* * *
And for all that, Jory woke up Thursday morning in the blackest possible of moods. A real stinker of a mood, the kind that kicked cans and cursed anyone who dared stumbled across his path. The itchiness of the wool in his favorite sweater made him want to scratch himself raw, and the radiator in his kitchen stank of boiled cabbage for some ungodly unknown reason. If glares could kill then the poor bastard who’d dared to chew gum while standing next to Jory in line at the bodega would have been reduced to a greasy spot on the linoleum. And the last stubborn edge of his suppressants still hadn’t cleared. Were the manufacturers sadists? Did they enjoy tormenting Omegas for daring to try and control their fertility when the time wasn’t right?
He fumed and fretted until his student teacher kicked him out of their classroom to go and, “Do whatever it takes, just don’t come back until you’re acting human again. This is kindergarten, not Grimm’s!”
At least he hadn’t scared any of the kids. He hoped.
All things taken into consideration, it probably would have been a bad time for Mother Theresa to drop a dime on him, let alone the object of his frustrations. Obsessions. Fantasies. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.
Darius.
Being busily occupied with lying on his bed, palms pressed hard over his eyes -- hormones were a bitch, were a royal bitch, were the queen of all evil bitches, and adjusting to changes in them doubly so -- Jory didn’t answer his phone when it rang. He had no idea who it was. He’d stopped customizing ringtones about the time he switched from a flip model to a smartphone, and after too long lying in one spot his joints throbbed sullenly at the thought of rolling out of bed.
When the ringing stopped, he subsided back into his pillows with a grumble. What was wrong with him, seriously? Was it all the hormones? Did they do this to everyone when they came off the pills?
Or was it just him? Was he broken somehow? He’d known better, he had, but just in case the first one had been wrong he’d taken a second pregnancy test. Name brand, physician approved, guaranteed accurate.
And negative.
His phone chimed with an incoming text. Jory growled between gritted teeth, flipped to his stomach to hang over the side of the bed, and dug through his discarded work clothes until he found his phone. Sharp stabs brought it to life.
One text. From Darius.
Heard you were having a bad day.
And that was it. No more.
Now, if he had followed that up with sorry to hear about it or need anything? or even how ‘bout them Bears? then his reaction would have been a different thing. Jory hoped. Not what did happen, which was his throwing his phone against the wall with a crack! Like a gunshot.
The damned thing didn’t even break. It bounced. Jory expected he would be all kinds of grateful to the resilient design of his phone case when he had his wits about him, but for right now, since it’d failed to shatter into a million pieces, he would have settled for biting the fucking thing in half. Which might have been wiser than stalking over, snatching it up, and stab-typing a reply.
Who are you talking to about me?
Silence for five minutes. Then, finally, an answer.
OK, so they weren’t wrong. What the fuck?
A sane, sober Jory would have admitted he deserved that, and explained himself. Sane, sober Jory had left the building.
Are you with them right now? Jory demanded, suddenly aware of what was wrong with him. He ached with loneliness, as bitter with it as if he’d been tossed out naked into the cold, and he burned to have his Alp -- to have Darius -- to not be alone. Hot tears, humiliating in their suddenness, made his eyes burn as he typed. Are they better than me? Do you want to breed them instead?
Silence.
More silence.
Nothing.
He’d really pissed Darius off, then. Or hurt him. Or both. Damn it! Jory started to throw his phone across the room again, stopping himself only a split second before it left his hand. He shoved it under his pillow instead and threw himself onto his stomach, fisting double handfuls of the tousled comforter.
The one he and Darius had fucked on first, as it happened. Slowly, Jory’s fists opened and he stroked the material instead of wanting to shred it. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased and he managed to let go of a shuddering breath.
Carefully, he picked up his phone and sent a text. I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. My head’s in a dark place this week but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Please forgive me. I promise I won’t bite your head off again.
The silence went on for another minute, long enough to make him nervous, before the incoming message chime sounded. Talk to me.
Not much, but enough. It’s been a bad day. I didn’t have any right to accuse you.
Darius’s reply was simple, and sliced cleanly through the dark tatters wrapped around Jory’s heart. You trusted me with everything this weekend, and you haven’t seen me since. I’d be pissed too.
Even so.
Even so, Jory.
Jory let out another long breath. He didn’t feel better yet, but he might be in about the same ZIP code.
I’ll see you tomorrow Darius texted. And don’t worry. It’ll turn out all right in the end. You’ll see.
“You’re that sure it’ll turn out all right?” Jory murmured at his phone. He pressed it to his forehead as he lay back down. “Even if I love you, and I can’t say it? And even if I can’t ever have your baby? What then, Darius? What happens then?”
* * *
And maybe that was what had needed to happen. Something to clear the air. Jory woke up feeling… different. He studied himself in the mirror, in the early twilight of Friday night, cataloguing the changes. Some were bold and easy to read. His temper had faded and taken with it the tight lines around his eyes and mouth, the tension from the tendons in his neck, the flex and curl of hands that wanted to fist and the stalk-stomp of his walk. His skin had faded from irritable red to its normal pale with a faint sprinkling of freckles.
Some changes were more subtle, deep under the skin. The sullen ache that’d plagued his joints had eased, leaving him loose-limbed with relief. Itches in places impossible to reach were gone. His hips felt looser, too, strung less tightly than usual, and in the very center of him he felt warm and soft and fluid, not dry and hard and cold. It was the strangest sensation, the hardest to describe, but it made him want to reach between his legs and finger himself wide open enough to admit a fist. Two fists, maybe. A sharp emptiness that begged to be filled.
Best of all, the scent of suppressants was almost, almost, almost gone. Jory had to close his eyes and sniff hard to catch the faintest edge of their chemical scent.
Jory’s breath came quick and light with anticipation as he washed and dressed himself, though when he remembered, he tried to take slower sips of air to keep himself calm. He could do a lot when he put his mind to it, and managed not to fist-fuck himself in the shower though he almost bit his cheek bloody in the struggle.
He smelled like a ripening Omega, and he wanted Darius to get that full force. He could wait. It showed in his step, he thought, as he walked the few blocks between his apartment and MacInnes’s. Familiar strangers, faces he knew by sight but whose owners he’d never spoken to, stopped and turned their heads to give him a second glance. Omegas, Alphas, Betas too. Maybe they didn’t know why, but th
e pheromones on the air made them all prick up their ears. Jory walked faster, feeling himself already starting to get wet, even the wind that tugged at his clothes an erotic inflammation.
Which, in itself, was starting to make his mood simmer again. Felt like having his collar one button too tight, or his jeans half an inch too short. Something wrong that needed fixing, something that needed correction.
Jory walked faster, cutting through the early night, darker than usual with what looked like storm clouds gathering overhead, and then faster still, until he was nearly running. He didn’t stop until he’d clattered down the half-stairwell to MacInnes’s door, and only paused for a moment then because he caught sight of his reflection in the door.
He looked… Jory licked his lips. He looked like he wanted to be fucked. His eyes were huge, pupils belladonna-wide and dark, and his lips red from being bitten, his cheeks boldly marked with a pink flush. He exhaled, his breath making a warm patch of fog on the glass, and almost couldn’t smell even that final shred of suppressants there.
A hot flush suffused him, triumphant. He’d done it. Or he’d almost done it. The irritation eased a little, and when he opened the door to a roar of song and an overwhelming gust of hops and barley, and saw Darius in their usual spot, it dissipated entirely.
Darius must have felt Jory’s gaze land on him. He turned his head, eyes bright with beer and Friday night freedom, and raised his pint glass. He tilted his head, beckoning Jory to the table.
A pulse of… something… grabbed Jory’s heart and squeezed, and he knew one thing then for damn surer than ever before. They would be all right. Come hell or high water, Jory would make it so. He raised his hand in greeting and flowed down the stairs, headed straight for Darius’s side.
Chapter Five
It felt like coming home, sitting next to Jory. It felt right, and it made things in Darius relax that he hadn’t even realized were tense and tight. His shoulders twanged with exquisite pleasure-pain when he raised his arm and waved to ask for another round.
Jory grinned at him, points of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Need a massage?”
“Too much jerking off,” Darius told him, straight-faced, only laughing when Jory threw a handful of popcorn at him. “You get your kinks worked out already?”
“I might have. And even if I hadn’t, I exorcised my -- everything -- being a hormonal asshole yesterday,” Jory said as he stood. He offered Darius a hand up. “C’mon. The beer can wait. We need to get you limbered up.”
Ideas danced in Darius’s head, none of them particularly PG-rated.
Jory hooted at him. “Mind out of the gutter, Alpha!” He pointed at the dart board, empty of players. “Two out of three, and the loser buys tonight’s rounds?”
Any other night, Darius would have said yes and been on his feet already. Tonight… He shook his head. “Maybe later.”
“How come? You love darts.”
“I’d rather be here with you,” Darius said simply, because it was true. He kicked Jory’s shin lightly. “And I’ve got plans for getting us both warmed up and worn out later that don’t involve bar games.”
Jory’s cheeks bloomed a beautiful red. Darius watched him duck his head, enjoying the view, content to be lazy and indulge in watching him color with pleasure. He’d missed that, this week. He’d only had it for one weekend, granted, but it’d already become something of an addiction.
And that could be a problem if he let it. Jory wasn’t in love with him, for Pete’s sake. He’d asked Darius because Darius was his best friend. He imagined Jory had thought just as much about him as he had about Jory this past week, but it wasn’t vanity. It was only natural. It was chemistry.
Speaking of which… Darius scented the air as subtly as he could. Still just a tang of suppressants clung to Jory.
“I know,” Jory said, downing a gulp of his fresh beer. He looked dejected now. “I can’t figure why it’s taking so long for them to clear.”
Darius caught Jory’s wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze before he could get any farther with that train of thought. “It wasn’t a criticism.”
“Not from you. From me?” Jory made a face. “I can’t shake the feeling that I’m doing something wrong. Like I’ve missed a step somehow and I won’t get where I want to go until I sort it out.”
Darius clicked his tongue to get Jory’s attention, then batted him lightly on the head. “And that’s because you think too much. Come on. I changed my mind. Let’s play darts after all.”
Jory could have said no. Darius didn’t think he would have. But just in case, he put a touch of the Alpha in his voice, when he asked, and had the pleasure of seeing Jory’s eyes dilate. It was almost as good as the feel of Jory’s hand in his, warm and dry, and only the first touch they’d enjoy that night.
A good start.
A better one, in a few minutes, when they had a box of darts in hand and Darius stood just a little behind Jory, watching him line up his throw. Well, mostly just watching him -- the curve of his hip, the flow of muscles in his arms and back. From the way Jory glanced over his shoulder, Darius could tell he knew he was being watched and he didn’t mind it. Mercurial, now that he had the darts in his hands he’d turned away and to his second favorite game of people-watching.
Darius decided he didn’t mind. He closed the small gap between them with two and a half steps and spoke quietly, so that only Jory could hear him. “Some newcomers tonight. Did you see the blind date in the corner?”
Jory’s eyes sparkled as he nodded. They were hard to miss -- a threesome instead of a pair. That happened sometimes, when an alpha and an omega needed a beta to really work. It could be tricky, but this threesome had the hallmarks of clicking like old lovers in young bodies. Nice. “And the golden newlyweds?” he asked Darius in return.
Darius raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t noticed, but when Jory pointed toward the bar he wondered how it’d escaped him. Alpha and Omega, but neither could have been younger than seventy at the least. Probably closer to eighty, with smile lines and frown lines and all other kinds of lines, age spots and crepe paper skin and awkward joints as they toasted each other, but the love in the way they looked at each other would knock a man down. Let alone a drunken sailor.
His turn, and he cast about for someone worth commenting on. He took his time, but settled on an Omega alone by the bar, phone in hand. He hadn’t looked away from it, but hadn’t moved a finger to text. Not talking, just waiting. They looked three, maybe four months pregnant, only just enough to notice, and normally a pregnant Omega sitting alone at a bar was the start to a sad, sad story. But not this one.
“He’s happy,” Jory said, almost in time with what Darius was thinking. “I can’t tell if he’s waiting on someone or he’s glad no one’s coming, but he is glad. Glad right down to his toes. Am I wrong?”
Darius shook his head slowly, fascinated. “His life’s just the way he wants it.”
“I think he is waiting for someone,” Jory said after a moment. “He just doesn’t know when they’re going to show up.”
“No?”
“No. But he’s positive they will. That’s the thing. That’s what’s behind that smile. Belief. Faith. He’s sure his Alpha’s going to be there when the baby’s born. Not a drop of doubt. Now, am I wrong?”
Darius looked, and sure, it was all imagination, but he couldn’t say that Jory was wrong when he didn’t know. “We should drink to it. His luck. Their luck.” He raised a hand to signal a passing waitress for another round, and while they waited he edged a few inches closer to Jory. Their bodies touched down, his chest to Jory’s back, and as he moved forward Jory moved back, increasing the pressure from gentle to firm. He drew in a sharp breath when Jory shivered and made a low noise.
But that was where their flights of fancy diverged. Jory cocked his head right before Darius meant to make a move and asked, “Have you ever seen a live birth?”
Now that right there would have shriveled many an Alpha’s erection
before it even got started, but not Darius. It didn’t exactly jump up and shout hooray, but it didn’t tuck tail and run, either. So to speak. “A few times, actually.” He tucked his chin over Jory’s shoulder, not sure where they were headed with this but okay to go along for the ride, for now. “Basic training, sex ed class in school, one truly memorable weekend hunting trip in the country.”
Jory turned his head in keen interest. “That’s a story I have to hear.”
Darius started to say, not much to tell, but stopped. Had he noticed… yes, he had. Jory shivered deeply again, and the sweet smell of an eager Omega grew stronger, richer, earthier. So. Jory liked the idea of giving birth, did he? There were stranger kinks, and Darius had heard a few things about orgasmic labor before. Which could get you some strange looks for mentioning, especially if you were an Alpha, but it was a thing.
Might be Jory’s thing. Hmm. Darius thought he’d like to find out. And if it was asking for trouble, then what was life without a little risk?
“Did I never tell you this story before?” he murmured in Jory’s ear. His lips touched the shell, brushing cartilage, with every syllable. “Do you want to hear it from the beginning?”
Jory barely breathed as he nodded, but nod he did.
Darius hummed as he settled in, his chin hooked over Jory’s shoulder. They weren’t even pretending to play darts now, but the worst they got were some tolerantly rolled eyes. He wrapped his arms around Jory’s waist and enjoyed the quick, hot thrill of something like possessiveness, present and future tense. He liked it.
“It was about two years ago,” Darius started. “Almost three. Do you remember that couple who lived upstairs from me at the time? The potter and the painter.”
“I remember how your apartment smelled. Linseed oil and clay. I didn’t know they were pregnant. The smells from the one covered the other, then?”
Darius nodded. “I only knew because I saw them walking together, and I watched the potter -- the Omega -- grow.” He laid his hand a little more firmly on Jory’s waist, kneading lightly over the soft skin beneath his warm sweater. “I don’t know if you can track it day by day, but I only saw them every other week or so at first, and it almost knocked me off my feet every time how different they were. They were… ripe. Ripe as a pear bursting with juice.”
