Cupcakes and Wine

“Is Dr. Robby your friend?”

Brendon actually pauses mid-step to ensure you feel the full force of his glare. The effect is somewhat ruined by the arm he has wrapped around you and the fact that his jacket is draped over your shoulders, but you let him have it. 

The sun is setting over Pittsburgh, bathing the city in golden light that you would normally stop to appreciate. Right now though, the light feels like an ice pick drilling into your eyeballs. You’d been released from the ED with a minor concussion, no additional complications, but it doesn’t feel minor. Whatever adrenaline had kept you going through the accident and the ED has officially faded, and you feel absolutely terrible. Even the afterglow of Brendon kissing you isn’t enough to make you feel better.

You must look as bad as you feel, because he refrains from saying anything in addition to his glare. Instead, he straightens his jacket around your shoulders and keeps leading you toward the parking lot. You don’t argue when you see that he’s heading for his own car — even if it was medically advisable to drive right now, you don’t want to.

“We’ll get your car later,” he says while he unlocks the sleek black 4Runner. 

You hum something that passes as an affirmation, and he opens the passenger door for you and waits patiently while you get in. He even helps you buckle your seatbelt when you miss the clip on the first try.

“You’re being awfully nice,” you tell him.

“I can change that.”

“Mm, no. I like you being sweet.”

You blame the head trauma. There’s no way you would say that to his face under any other circumstances. But right now, he’s warm and safe and taking care of you, and you choose to ignore the affronted scowl he sends your way. 

“I’ll leave you in this parking lot to die,” he replies flatly.

Then he tucks your hair behind your ear and closes your door carefully.

Sweet, sweet man.

You close your eyes and snuggle further down into his coat while he puts both your bags in the back. The navy bomber is gigantic and smells like him, and you silently debate the odds of being able to steal it without him noticing. It’s pointless of course — he notices absolutely everything and is annoying while he does it — but that doesn’t dissuade you. Maybe you’ll just take it anyways. You deserve a consolation prize after today.

This was not what you had anticipated your Friday looking like when you woke up this morning. It was supposed to be an easy day, just some light tweaks to the model and working on your manuscript. Then that poor intern had knocked you over, and the railing had knocked you out, and here you are one trip to the ED later. But then Brendon opens the drivers door and gets in, and you think to yourself that even if the day had turned out kind of crappy, he had at least made it better. 

“We’re going to my place,” he says as he turns on the car.

You crack open one eye.

“That didn’t sound like a question.”

“It wasn’t. I live closer to the hospital in the event you decide to do something stupid and make your head worse.”

The way he can express concern and insult you at the same time is honestly a talent.

“I’m not arguing only because I feel poopy,” you tell him, closing your eyes again. “Not because I agree with your unilateral decision making.”

He huffs a laugh and puts the car in drive.  

A thrill runs through you despite your exhaustion. You had one serious boyfriend in high school — as serious as high school boyfriends can be — and hadn’t really dated much since. You certainly hadn’t gotten to the stage of a relationship where you were spending the night. Not that that’s what this was. Or was it? Was there a step in dating for someone-has-to-monitor-you-overnight-to-make-sure-you-don’t-die? If there wasn’t, there should be.

Not for the first time, you find yourself grateful for his complete self-assurance. You’re not second-guessing whether you should go or not, if this is a good decision or if it’s too soon. Brendon is sure enough for the both of you. There’s something freeing about that. 

Downtown Pittsburgh passes by in a rush of noise — people shouting, horns blaring — but the inside of the cab is quiet. He’s silent while he drives, and you’re more than happy to focus on melting into the seat. The part of your brain that’s still functioning tells you to at least try and keep track of where he’s taking you, but the rest of you is too tired to care. He’s not a serial killer. Probably.

Roughly twenty minutes go by, and then you feel the wheels go over a bump. When you open your eyes, you see that you’re pulling into a driveway on a quiet, tree-lined street. You only catch a glimpse of the house before the car enters the garage.

“You know,” you start while unbuckle your seatbelt. “You only live like two minutes closer to the hospital than I do.”

“All I heard was that I live closer.”

A smile curls your lips, especially when you glance over to see him already smirking at you.

You get out and wait next to the car while he grabs the bags from the backseat, then follow as he leads the way into the house through a door on the far side of the garage. It opens into a perfectly normal mudroom — closet, bench, hooks on the wall and a shoe rack — but you look at it all like you’ve never seen furniture before. Something about this being Brendon’s stuff makes it feel novel. He’s just so…him. Confident and exacting and larger-than-life at the hospital. You’re fascinated with what the space he chose for himself looks like.

Your snooping will have to wait for another day though; you’re too drained. You slip off your shoes but decide to keep the jacket and trail after him again. This time he leads you into a spacious living room. It has tall ceilings, heavy wooden bookshelves lining the dark walls, and is exceedingly, neurotically, tidy.

“Sit,” he orders, nudging you towards the large sectional. 

You obey without protest, sinking down onto the dark-grey cushions. They’re shockingly comfy. Even comfier is the throw blanket he tosses unceremoniously at you. The black fabric is plush and soft, and you immediately burrow beneath it, jacket and all.

You try to pay attention to what he’s doing while you sit on the couch, but your eyes eventually drift shut. Maybe you should be nervous about being in a man’s house for the first time — a man you’ve never even been on a real date with — but all you feel is safe. Safe enough that you doze off at some point. You have no idea how long you sleep, only that it’s dark outside when you wake up. Brendon is crouching down next to you, his hand on your knee.

“Come on, imp. Dinner, then you can sleep.”

You immediately protest and pull the blanket tighter around you. You’re so tired, and his couch is so comfy. But a quiet laugh follows your refusal, and he strokes his hand over the uninjured side of your face.

“You need calories for healing,” he pushes. 

“Mm, I ate lunch.”

“We both know that means half a granola bar and a pack of M&Ms.”

You scowl. He’s right, of course, but still. Rude. Heaving an exaggerated sigh, you push yourself into a sitting position and then regret it immediately. The room spins. Your head throbs painfully, and you nearly fall back over.

“Fucking-, take it easy you psycho.”

Brendon’s hands shoot out to catch you, and you actually exhale a ghost of a laugh at his affronted tone. 

“Are you sure someone bumped into you? I feel like you just knocked yourself out all on your own.”

You open your mouth, primed to tell him off, when he slips his arms underneath you and lifts you off the couch. Every word you’ve ever learned disappears from your head. He scoops you up like you weigh nothing, and you malfunction like someone dipped your circuitboards in acid.

You knew he was strong. He’s built like a Greek god and a rugby player had a baby, and he’s religious about working out. But knowing and experiencing are different things, and oh, what an experience it is. The biceps you spend way too much time staring at are curled around you, and his chest is a solid wall under your cheek. It’s like being held by a Renaissance sculpture.

Any protests about not wanting to eat dinner vanish, and you let him carry you to the kitchen without objection. Really, he could probably talk you into anything at the moment. You’re embarrassingly disappointed when he pulls out one of the high-backed bar stools with his foot and deposits you in it. 

“Don’t move,” he orders.

You’re still kind of dazed, but you manage a glare when he points an imperious finger at you.

“You’re being bossy.”

“It’s not my fault you seem to lack basic survival skills.”

“It wasn’t me! Someone really did bump into me, some radiology intern- Russell! See, I even remember his name.”

A slow grin curls his lips, and you blanch. He’d demanded to know who was responsible for your fall when you’d been in the ED, but you’d refused to answer. He’d been radiating murder-vibes, and it really had been an accident. But now he has Russell’s name, and you’re suddenly very, very worried about the poor kid.

“Leave him alone,” you warn.

He hums noncommittally and rounds the island to grab a plate from the cabinet. 

“He already feels bad enough,” you try again.

“There’s always room to feel worse.”

He ignores your annoyed huff and busies himself arranging rice, broccoli, and chicken in aggressively neat piles on a plate before placing it in front of you. It’s kind of sweet, you guess, him wanting to protect you. But you’re also one hundred percent sure that he has the capacity for homicide somewhere in his over-muscled body, and you do not want that on your conscience.

“I’m serious, Bren.”

A glass of water and a fork appear next to your plate, and he points that annoying finger in your face again.

“Eat.”

“Brendon.”

He pauses. He stops reaching for another plate and turns to face you across the island. He braces both hands against the counter, leaning his weight into them, and his expression goes abruptly serious. Stormy eyes stare at you with piercing intensity.

“He hurt you,” he says quietly.  “I don’t like you hurt.”

Your breath catches.

Even though you haven’t known him that long, you’re well-aware that he’s allergic to saying anything nice. He’s more of a doer — buying you overpriced matcha lattes, driving you home when your car is in the shop — and his physical actions often contradict whatever leaves his mouth. These might be the softest words he’s ever given you. 

Which means he of course has to back track immediately. 

“Besides, I have a reputation to uphold. Russell has to die.”

You smile despite yourself.

Dinner passes easily after that. You poke around your plate at first, not truly hungry, but eventually start eating when he glares you into submission. Satisfied, he gets himself his own plate and settles onto the barstool next to you. The two of you eat in comfortable silence.

You manage to eat half of the plate before exhaustion hits you again, and you feel your eyelids start to droop. Half must be satisfactory, because he doesn’t do anything but laugh when you put your fork down and rest your head on the counter.

“Come on, imp, bed time.”

“Mm mm. Too tired to move. I’m going to sleep here.”

“Brat.”

But the word is fond, and his hands are careful when they scoop you up again. He carries you back into the living room and then up a set of stairs. There are multiple doors lining the upper landing, and he takes you through the first one on the right before depositing you on a dark wooden bed.

“Bathroom’s through there; I put a new toothbrush and some clean towels on the vanity for you. Try not to trip and die while I find you something to sleep in.”

He brushes a featherlight kiss against your hair and disappears back down the hallway.

You remain seated for a minute, working up the energy to move. You’re also silently bemoaning the fact that it’s your first time in his house, and you’re too concussed to enjoy it. Although, to be fair, it also means you’re too concussed to be a nervous, overthinking wreck. So. Balance.

Standing feels like a Herculean task, but you manage it. You make your way to the attached bath and notice blearily that it’s unreasonably large for a guest bathroom. You use the toilet and wash your hands and brush your teeth on autopilot, then consider taking a shower for approximately two seconds before deciding against it. Brendon cleaned most of the blood out of your hair in the ED, and you don’t trust yourself not to slip on wet tile right now.

The bedroom is empty when you step back in, but there’s a folded black shirt waiting for you on the bed. You take it back to the bathroom and strip out of your wrinkled sweater and jeans, hesitating before taking off your bra and folding it with the rest of your clothes. 

Brendon’s shirt is just as oversized on you as his jacket had been, hitting below mid-thigh when you slip it on. You glance in the mirror, and something goes soft in your chest. Sweet, grumpy, thoughtful man. That same feeling follows you out of the bathroom, and you pause when you see him waiting for you next to the bed.

“Hi,” you say softly.

He doesn’t answer, too busy looking you over from head to toe. His gaze lingers on your temple, and you feel your heart stumble over its next beat. You can see the agitation in his eyes, even if his expression doesn’t change. Then his gaze drops lower, and your pulse stutters for a completely different reason. Blue fire lights those icy eyes. 

“Come here.”

You don’t know what it says about you that your feet start moving before your ears have even finished processing the words. It’s only when you’re standing directly in front of him that your brain catches up.

He’s changed out of the clothes he wore to the hospital and has on some soft black pants and an old Georgetown University sweatshirt. He’s covered from wrist to ankle, but it’s somehow the most bare you’ve ever seen him. Relaxed, barefoot, his hair tousled. It feels intimate. Your breath catches and then disappears altogether when his hands reach up to cradle your face.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod mutely, and his thumb strokes over your cheek.

“Do you need anything?”

You blame your sleepiness. You blame the head trauma. You blame the alignment of the planets and your horoscope and anything else you can think of. Because he’s holding you like you’re precious and looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters, and you blurt out-

“Just you.”

You both freeze, and you decide then and there that you’re going to throw yourself off the nearest cliff as soon as you get the chance. 

“I mean-”

He kisses you again.

It’s a longer kiss than the one he gave you in the hospital, slower. You both know you’re in no state for this to go anywhere, but he kisses you like it’s an inevitability, and you melt into it. His mouth on yours is as sure as everything else he does. Firm, wrapped in iron control. When his tongue traces the seam of your lips, it’s a command more than a question, and you open for him without thought. He makes a low sound of approval, and it bypasses your ears, your concussed brain, and the rest of your body to land straight between your legs.

Your hands find his chest, gripping the worn fabric like it’s an anchor. One of his own hands is still resting on your cheek, but the other has moved down to hold your hip, and he uses it to drag you closer until there’s no space left between the two of you. You feel small, fragile with him wrapped around you like this. You feel safe. When he finally pulls back, the room is colder somehow.

“Reckless,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Saying things like that to me.”

Then he kisses you again, softer this time. Just a whisper of his lips against yours before he draws back.

“Go to bed, imp. You can make more reckless decisions tomorrow.”

His grip on you starts to loosen, and everything in you protests. You don’t want him to go. You don’t want to sleep alone in the guest room, knowing he’s just down the hall. You don’t even need anything to happen, you just want him close. Close enough to hold you and roll his eyes at you and probably lecture you on poor sleep hygiene. 

Screw it. Your dignity’s already long gone.

“Can you stay?”

His eyes go molten. Sharper and warmer than you’ve ever seen them. The hands that had just been releasing you tighten abruptly, and a muscle in his jaw tics. Then he stares at you. You can see some sort of internal debate going on behind his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he let you move so much as an inch out of his unyielding grip. When he finally speaks after what feels like an eternity, his voice is midnight over steel.

“I’m not sleeping on the guest bed.”

Then he’s letting go of all of you except his hand on your waist and steering you out the door. It feels like you’re walking through a dream as he guides you down the hall.

His room is the messiest you’ve seen so far. Which, since the rest of the house looks like it’s being staged for a showing, means there’s a couple wrinkles on the duvet, and the top of the dresser has a few odds and ends on it. It’s still freakishly neat, but it looks more lived in. Your heart does something soft. It’s endearing to think that his bedroom is the one place he’s a bit more relaxed.

Your eyes flit over cream walls, dark wood floors, and an old leather armchair before it fully hits you that you’re standing in his bedroom. Wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties. Which is exactly what you were wearing thirty second ago, but wearing them in his room feels like a whole different level of intimacy. All of a sudden you forget how feet work and what you’re supposed to do with your hands. 

“Go lay down,” he says before your malfunction becomes too obvious, pushing you towards the bed.

Having something to do feels like a lifeline, and you obey embarrassingly fast. You don’t even get on his case for laughing at you before he disappears into the en-suite. 

The bed is large, with a dark upholstered headboard and a solid wood base. Pristine white sheets are covered by a charcoal duvet, and pillows with hotel-levels of fluff sit at the head. It’s kind of absurd that you can barely tell which side he usually sleeps on, and you take your best guess and gingerly peel back the covers on the opposite side. You’re just lowering yourself to the mattress when he comes back into the room, and you actually drop the rest of the way down like someone cut your wires.

Brendon Park is shirtless. Brendon Park is pants-less. Brendon Park is shirtless and pants-less and wearing a pair of boxer-briefs that don’t leave nearly enough to the imagination. There’s no TBI in the world bad enough to make this less overwhelming. Not with those pecs and those abs and those. fucking. biceps. It’s not like you expected him to sleep fully clothed, but you weren’t ready for this.

“My eyes are up here, imp.”

You’re so flustered, you can’t even manage a good comeback. You just stare at his chest and arms like they’re the eighth wonder of the world. His voice when he speaks again is half teasing, half serious.

“Do you want me to put my shirt back on?”

You shake your head so quickly it makes you wince in pain. 

“Jesus fucki-, be careful.”

He crosses the room in three quick steps and lifts his hands to your face. He holds your head still while he looks you over, but once he’s certain you haven’t blown a pupil in your efforts to keep him shirtless, he gives you his most unimpressed glare.

“You’re a fucking menace, you know that?”

You hope that was rhetorical. Because if he was expecting an answer, he shouldn’t have put all those muscles directly in your face. He’s lucky you remember how to breathe right now. The amused look from earlier makes a slow return, and he shifts you further onto the bed and pulls the blanket over you.

“You need to sleep right now; we can revisit this another night.”

“I’ll chance the secondary concussion,” you mumble.

He laughs. A startled, unguarded sound that hits you harder than anything else has tonight. It’s not his normal huff of amusement, not the mocking scoff he gives particularly aggravating residents. It’s a bright, genuine laugh that steals your breath and makes you long for something you’re not ready to name.

You want to ride in his car and get overpriced coffee together. You want to snuggle with him on the couch and argue about what movies to watch. You want to eat dinner with him and sleep in his bed, and you want to hear that laugh for the rest of forever. You just want him.

Some of your thoughts must show on your face, because the laugh fades, and something more serious takes its place. His expression is still more open than you’ve ever seen it though, and his lips remain faintly curved while he strokes your hair back from your face. 

“We have time, imp. You’re mine now.”

You should protest. You should tell him he’s wrong. You should tell him he’s being possessive and caveman-ish and not at all the kind of developed higher-being you pride yourself on embodying. You do not. Instead you melt like a popsicle and nuzzle into his touch like an overly-affectionate cat. You wait patiently while he turns off the lights and climbs in on the other side of the bed. And you go willingly when he reaches for you and pulls you against his chest.

“Goodnight,” you whisper against his shoulder in the dark.

He tugs you even closer and presses a lingering kiss to your hairline.

You were in Trauma 2 when Dr. Nguyen came down, his dark hair lightly stylized and his white coat sharp. Jason hid his disappointment when Princess confirmed you were caught up with the multiple traumas, and he talked to the patient’s family, did the exam, and signed off on the transfer up to the ICU. As he was making the last notes in the chart on one of the rolling computers, he overheard Princess talking to the family as she added a medication to the IV line.

“Yes, she’s a fourth year resident, so she graduates this year,” she was saying. Jason couldn’t make out what the family member said, but the nurse went on. “Omega residents are uncommon in the ED, sure. We’ve had a few specializing in pediatrics.”

Omega residents? Jason paid more attention as the family said you’d been wonderfully kind and helpful, which didn’t surprise him. He knew you were a good doctor who made patients and their families comfortable, even in hectic, difficult circumstances, which was one small reason why he was happy to take your consults. The other reason was that he’d suspected exactly what the nurse was confirming. Maybe this was his sign to take a chance on you.

A few months ago he’d gotten a consult from you on a Friday and had very nearly asked you out. You’d looked stressed and exhausted and your hair had been mussed up and one of your scent patches peeling, and he thought he’d caught the hint of Omega from you as you retied the bun, the same niggling feeling he’d gotten the first time he’d met you. He’d casually asked your weekend plans, and you’d denied any.

“Nothing with friends or a partner?” he’d said, deliberately asking when he was looking at the central line you’d put in so he could pretend at being casual.

“My friends are mostly here, and if I’m off they’re on, and no partner. Just me and bad TV tomorrow. Thanks for your help, Dr. Nguyen.”

“Seriously, it’s Jason.”

“Jason.”

He’d thought for sure that had been the start of something, but then his research had picked up and one of the residents in the ICU went on maternity leave, and by the time he had free time again it had been months since that conversation. Now that his research was submitted and they were fully staffed, maybe he could pursue that space in your life where a partner could be.

“All good?” Princess asked as she left the room.

“Yeah, just call for a transporter. Any chance I can grab her to let her know?” He gestured over at Trauma 2.

Princess looked over at the chaos happening across the hub and shook her head. “Not sure she’s free right now. I’ll let her know though.”

“Thanks.” Princess didn’t miss the edge of disappointment in his glance, and her eyes flicked rapidly between Dr. Nguyen, a respected Alpha in the hospital, and yourself, before landing on Perlah with a knowing look. “I’ll let her know you missed her.”

“Thank you.”

As soon as he was gone Princess was beelining for Perlah, a spark in her eyes.

#

The first sign something was up was the sandwich platter in the break room the next day. The receipt was trapped under the tray though, so no one saw the message with your name on it. You nabbed half of an Italian in between patients and didn’t have time to even wonder which patient’s family had been generous enough to bring it.

More food appeared a few days later, a generous spread that had everyone in the ER grabbing some. It beat the pizza party admin had thrown for Doctor Appreciation Day, so no one was complaining.

The protein bar taped to your locker a few shifts later had been startling, and you’d meant to ask Brendon about it, but by the time you’d gotten off shift you’d forgotten.

“Hey, I put your salad in the fridge,” Dennis said, catching you coming out of a patient room two days later. “It’d been sitting on the table out there for a while.”

“Salad?”

“It had your name on it.” He shrugged at your bewildered look. You went to check it out the next time you could get into the break room, and indeed there was an apple walnut salad from a fancy salad place a few blocks from the hospital with your name on the order slip. You were looking at it, confused, because Brendon had made enough lemon chicken with roasted vegetables last night for both of your lunches today, so where did the salad come from?

“Love letter from your Alpha?” Trinity asked, making you jump when she appeared over your shoulder.

“What?”

“Bringing you food. Come on, I thought that was why we got that Thai food last week. I was in the waiting room when it came in, and the guy said it was under your name.”

Trinity’s brow went up at your surprised expression. That had definitely not been Brendon.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Your Alpha isn’t buying you food and delivering it here? I was about ready to change my bet to chef.”

“No, I have no idea where this is coming from.”

Trinity gave you a disbelieving look. “Come on, food giving is basic Alpha courtship 101.”

“I know that,” you said, irritated. If this was Brendon why didn’t he say something? “But I’m mated, I don’t need to be courted. And he made me lunch.” You pulled out the actual lunch he’d made you.

Trinity’s eyes gleamed when she saw that. “So is he a chef? Like professional, owns-a-restaurant chef?”

You rolled your eyes. “No. But I’ll ask him if he knows what’s up with this.”

Except you didn’t have time, because Robby was knocking on the doorjamb. “Hey, got four people down, carbon monoxide. ETA 2 minutes. Saddle up.”

Later, when things had calmed a bit and the last patient was sitting in the hyperbaric clamber, you got a chat ping on your computer as you were charting:

It was good to know he was up there in case something did come in, but you only had a few hours left on your shift. Still, you added his number to your phone because hey, that would be useful. Then he kept going:

Your fingers paused on the keys. That was a little more than the typical, professional kinds of chat messages you might send to a colleague on another floor. Your texts with Brendon didn’t even look like that.

That reminded you…

The three dots came and went twice before he answered.

You thought about the Thai that had come in last week that Trinity had mentioned. Had that really been for you? Everyone in the ER knew you were mated, so who, other than your mate, would be buying you food? Maybe Trin had heard wrong?

You hesitated, considering telling Brendon, and then shook your head and put away your phone. This couldn’t actually be for you. Brendon’s bite was huge; you’d already had to endure Robby calling it a shark bite in front of several different people. You were 95% sure Abbot had understood the double-meaning immediately. No Alpha you knew would be aggressive enough—or stupid enough—to go after a mated Omega.

#

Yolanda Garcia was a busy woman. Completing her fellowship in trauma surgery at PTMC was a big deal. She had to do a lot, see a lot, and be a lot to get and keep this fellowship. The personalities she worked with sure as hell didn’t make it any easier, but this was gonna set her up for a good career so long as she did her job well and stayed professional.

Which was why, when PTMC’s top orthopedic surgeon went on an unexpected leave, she listened but did not gossip. What Dr. Brendon Park did in his own time was his business, and she’d rather cross his path only for the requisite number of orthopedic surgeries she needed to complete. He was a good teacher and probably one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the region, but he was an exacting and demanding one who would humiliate anyone who was trying to reach his high standards and fell short.

Thank god she wasn’t gunning for orthopedic trauma. Sokowski could keep that masochistic tendency for himself.

She didn’t wonder much about Dr. Park’s mating status after the first few weeks when the talk died down. No one has dared to ask him any details about the long leave, and the department only found out it was a mating leave because Godsfavour, the OR charge nurse who ran all the ortho surgeries, congratulated him directly. Maybe he seemed a bit more relaxed, but it hadn’t softened his bite one bit, and if he had a ring, he wasn’t wearing it where she could see. If anyone thought having an Omega would make him less of an asshole in the OR, they’d been wrong.

Yolanda hadn’t held out much hope on that front from the get-go, and she wasn’t holding much hope out for this patient either. She was, right now, trying to talk this terrified idiot into signing a release to repair his 6 centimeter aortic aneurysm before it ruptured and he died in front of her. If she had to do CPR on him after he refused to do surgery then she would curse him with every compression.

“You said I could die? In surgery? Can I talk to my mate a little more?”

“You will also die without surgery,” she reminded him. “But yes, I’ll come back in 5.”

She stepped out of the room to take a breather and check her phone. The R1s and R2s hadn’t messaged her, which was good. She glanced around the ED and the board in the security dispatch room caught her eye. She walked over, raising a brow at the guard who gave her a look as though to ask, “you want in?”

It was bets on a resident’s mate: all Alphas, all different jobs and medical specialities. She knew who the initials belonged to immediately. Interesting that an ED resident was suddenly mated around the same time as an Alpha orthopedic surgeon.

Yolanda filed that away and went back into the patient room, finally extracting that signature and putting in the request for the OR. Maybe she’d tell you in person that this one was coming up to her service.

She managed to catch you just before you went into a patient room, the mating bite on your throat glaringly obvious. It wasn’t a clean bite but multiple sets on top of each other, all the same teeth, like someone affirming their claim multiple times. Some Alphas were a one-and-done kind of biter, others had reputations that would suggest otherwise. Yolanda would bet good money there were more bites she couldn’t see.

“Hey, we’re sending up room 6 to the OR now. Shamsi’s gonna take it.”

“Excellent,” you said brightly. “Thanks for coming down quick.”

“Sure.” The edge of your scent patch on your neck was peeling, and Yolanda leaned forward a bit as you turned to enter the patient room, loose hairs from your bun fluttering. Because she was paying attention, she caught the whiff of cedar and metal, faint but there. She’d know that scent anywhere: Park’s office didn’t have descenters, and he reviewed cases there with all the doctors under him. It was the kind of no-nonsense, stand-up-and-shut-up scent her body recognized immediately.

“Hey, you’re ready to go home!” she heard you say, always cheerful for the patients, as Yolanda turned to head back to the hub, chewing on what she’d just learned. Trinity sidled up to her as she reached the center isle.

“Hey, we on for tonight?” the second year asked casually, staring up at the board.

“You got ramen?”

“Yup.” She popped the p.

“I’m down. I’ll text you after work.”

“By the way, you want in?” Trinity cocked her head with a big smile on her face.

“In on what?” Yolanda’s phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out, biting back at sigh at the most annoying resident messaging her in a panic.

“I saw you eyeballing the board and bump into our Omega resident. The pot is $825 now.”

Yolanda considered a thousand things in that moment: the new AirPods she wanted, a very nice night out with the girls, the cred she’d get with the ER and surgical teams for knowing Park’s mate before anyone else, and also the absolute fire that would rain if he found out she was the one to out them.

“No thanks. I’m not getting in the middle of that.”

Santos narrowed her eyes. “You know something?”

“I know I’m not stupid.”

Trinity was learning not to take barbs like that so seriously from Yolanda, so she put her hands up and backed off. The surgical fellow went back upstairs with a shake of her head.

#

Yolanda had only given you and Park’s relationship the minimum thought after that day. If there was a surgery consult and you were calling for it, she went down immediately. She hadn’t gotten the chance to see you and Park in the same room together, but she was only more sure, after a few more run-ins with you, that her guess was right.

It quickly became apparent, though, that she might be one of only a few people in the hospital that knew. She was in the ICU following up on a patient who had gotten out of surgery a few hours ago, putting in orders near the entrance to the patient’s room, when she heard the critical care fellow in the next room over talking to one of his residents.

“No change today. Update the family and let them know we need to meet with them soon.”

“If they can come in today would that be best?”

Dr. Nguyen shook his head as he walked out. “No need to scare them like that. Let’s do sometime this week.” He checked his watch, and it was the resident’s flirtatious, “Got plans?” That really caught Yolanda’s ear.

Nguyen was a good looking guy, not that Yolanda was into that, but she didn’t know the ICU residents were getting it on the way the internal medicine ones were. As least she was smart enough to keep it casual and outside her specialty.

“I’m actually courting an Omega. I sent her flowers. They should be down in the ED about now.”

Yolanda held her breath, staring with wide eyes at the wall as she listened to the resident congratulate him and ask who it was and him shyly demurring. The surgeon was very glad the patient she was checking on was asleep. This could not be a coincidence. How many Omegas were in the ED? Three that she knew of? How many were unmated? None. How many would have interacted with an ICU fellow? Just one.

Did Park know? What were you doing? Was there someone else in the ED Nguyen could be referencing?

#

It all came to a head four weeks after you’d returned, freshly mated and outed as an Omega, and you thought things were finally getting back to normal. That is, until the flowers this afternoon had shown up. A full bouquet of red roses, which had the nurses ooing and ahhing over the romantic gesture from, presumably, your Alpha, and you baffled, staring at a card with unfamiliar handwriting signed “J”.

There was no way in hell you were misreading a B as a J.

That had started a new round of speculation from the staff, and you had shot a text up to Brendon.

He didn’t respond, and the second you got on to a computer you checked the surgical boards, seeing his name on a spinal surgery that had been going for several hours already. You sucked in a breath and set the matter of the mystery flowers aside. He’d text you when he got out, and until then you’d just keep going like usual.

#

Robby clocked the watchful eye of Yolanda Garcia on you as the three of you worked two delicate, simultaneous surgeries on a patient in Trauma 1. She was handling the femoral artery complication while you were focused on the throat, Robby handing you what you needed for the procedure. He’d taught you this one himself and was proud to see how confidently you did it. You met his eyes as the blood pressure started to come up, relief in them, and his own crinkled up. He was very excited to offer you an attending position here in a few short weeks, once HR had gotten all the paperwork done.

“Excellent. ICU for this one, yeah? Or does he still need the OR?” Robby turned to Garcia, who was staring at you for a second too long. All of you were in surgical gowns and masks, and he pulled his off as you helped Jesse clear the bloodied drapes off the patient so he could be prepped for transport.

“He’ll probably need a second round in the OR later, but ICU for now.”

Robby nodded. “Call the consult,” he said to you, “then we’ll see if we can clear a few more beds before night shift comes on.” He turned, surprised to see Dr. Nguyen, one of the ICU fellows, already standing outside the trauma bay. The critical care doctor pushed the doors open and walked in, white coat out of place in the busy ER, and Robby noticed immediately how his gaze was fixed on you.

“Hey, heard this might be a consult for me, and I was coming down here anyway,” he said, voice just a hair too warm. Robby’s eyes shot over to Garcia, whose gaze flicked up to his too then over to you. You were still in the surgical gown and mask, red streaked down the front of it, the bloodied drapes in your hand.

“Oh, that’s convenient,” you said, clearly surprised but taking it in stride. “Need the rundown or—“

“Your med student presented it. You want me to put in the orders for transfer to the ICU?”

You stiffened. “Uh, sure,” you agreed, sounding confused. Usually that was the duty of whoever had requested the consult.

“Happy to, for you.”

Robby sorely regretted taking off his mask because he couldn’t hide his incredulous expression that was morphing into a laugh. There were auto-descenters in the trauma bays, but all of you could just barely catch the flare in Nguyen’s scent, the way his shoulders raised a bit to posture just the slightest in front of the other two Alphas in the room. It was an instinctive “this one’s mine” gesture to other Alpha’s.

Your gaze flicked to Robby’s, silently asking is this happening?

Garcia was looking between the two of you too, wordless, and Robby realized he needed to be the attending and step in here.

He coughed, pulling off his surgical gloves. “Right. Well, as long as the orders get in.” He turned to you, pointedly looking at your neck where your mating mark was hidden by the PPE. “Need help with the gown?”

You got Robby’s point immediately and went to yank it off by the collar the way it was designed, only to struggle. “Ugh, my size ones always do this.”

By the time Garcia had helped you undo the knots from behind, Dr. Nguyen had left to put the orders in and Robby was laughing to himself as you stuffed the gown and gloves into the trash. Who said Gray’s Anatomy had to be the only hospital with drama?

“What the hell was that?” Garcia asked, and Robby started to laugh harder.

“Jesus, I thought the food deliveries were weird. And now those flowers—“

You threw your hands up in the air. “That’s who “J” is.”

“Does he know about him?” Garcia asked, gesturing subtly at Jason outside the bay. Robby shook his head. He had no idea what Park knew or didn’t know, but he did know that Dr. Nguyen was going to lose badly if he was trying to woo Park’s mate.

“Shit, I need to talk to him,” you said, still shell shocked.

“I hope you mean talk to your mate,” Garcia corrected. “And then you’ll let him talk to Dr. Nguyen.”

“ ‘Talk’,” Robby snorted, putting the word into air quotes.

“Wait, how do you know who my mate is?” you asked, turning on Garcia.

“I’m not an idiot. Everyone upstairs knows he just mated, so I put two-and-two together.” You opened your mouth and she cut you off. “Don’t worry, keep your secrets. I’m not getting on his bad side.”

You shut your mouth, and Robby rubbed his beard, still laughing a little. “Maybe keeping it a secret is a bad idea.”

“Not my fault Jason’s blind,” you muttered. Your mating mark was very visible. You could probably come up with something patient-related to tell him right now and be extra obvious about the mark, but then your phone started vibrating in your back pocket. You pulled it out and suddenly remembered what you’d texted Brendon two hours ago. “Speak of the devil.”

“No time like the present,” Robby announced. He waved you off and you nodded and put the phone to your ear.

“Hey, give me a second to step away.” You hustled out of Trauma 1 and around the corner to the lockers, which were deserted for the moment.

“Do I need to come down?” Your Alpha sounded patient, but there was an edge there.

“No, no, I can handle it. I figured it out.”

“Handle what?”

“A, uh, bouquet came in for me. A follow up to that salad.” And the Thai food. And probably some other food deliveries, but you left that part out.

A subvocal growl that was more instinct than words crackled through the phone, and you knew Brendon was pissed. You tried to ignore the inappropriate flutter in your stomach and involuntary clenching of your core with arousal. “Who the fuck sent that?”

“Bren—“

“Who, Omega?” That rough tone was not one to argue with, but you did not want Brendon storming down here to exert his dominance. You were finally getting over being the Omega resident; you didn’t want to be known as the Brendon Park’s mate too.

“He just hasn’t see the bite. He’s not often in the ER, and when I just saw him now I was in a surgical gown,” you tried to explain quickly, but the dark, rumbling undercurrent of subvocals was making your chest tight. The urge to nuzzle into the noise coming from your mate’s chest and harmonize your purr with his pitch to soothe him was powerful.

“Doesn’t matter. Who—“ There was the sound of running feet in the background and the warning vibration in his chest got suddenly louder. You slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the whine that escaped, realizing he’d pressed the phone to his chest to hear whatever was being said to him. “I gotta go. This isn’t over.” Then he hung up.

You steadied yourself with a few breaths until your knees weren’t shaking anymore and the urge to purr had subsided. Brendon wasn’t mad at you; he was mad at Jason, who was acting out of ignorance (you hoped). A secret admirer-style courtship might sound nice in the movies, but in real life it was much more problematic. Your instinct to reassure your mate would have to wait for the end of your shift.

With one more breath you put your phone in your back pocket and headed back to the ED, looking for Jason. You did two scans as you walked the whole ER, but it was quickly apparent he’d left already. You spotted Jesse and jogged over to him.

“Hey, is Mr. Patel still waiting on transport?”

“They just left with him.”

You bit your lip and nodded. “Right, okay, thanks.” Shit, you’d have to message Jason or find some other excuse to approach him today. If you waited too long though, Brendon would do it for you, and while it would be a relief to have the betting pool gone, you’d didn’t want to explode it like this.

#

The opportunity to talk to Jason never came. Part of you hoped the ICU fellow would come back down to the ED and it could happen as naturally as that, but he didn’t. As your shift neared the end you texted Brendon: meet you in the garage?

He didn’t text back immediately, likely caught in whatever emergency had pulled him off the phone. You were still carpooling to work since you were waiting for the new car to be delivered. Brendon had insisted on the highest level trim and extra safety features, which had made it a special order. You had so thoroughly lost the argument about getting a cheap Honda that you’d ended up even picking out the color, since it was going to be a 6 week wait either way.

You felt a little bad that you were relieved there was no text back from him as you said your goodbyes to the rest of day shift and hit the locker room to change out of your scrubs. At least if he was running late then he wasn’t coming down to the ED to hunt down your secret admirer.

You changed out of your scrubs for leggings, boots, a sweater, and your scarf and coat since it was still below freezing at night. As you stepped out of the sliding doors into the parking garage, you pulled the car keys out of your bag. If one of you were delayed at work the other would drive home in the BMW, and Brendon would either pick you up or he’d order a rideshare home.

“Hey! I was hoping to catch you.” Your shoulders tensed as you heard Jason call out behind you. “Sorry I had to head back upstairs before we could talk more. Are you heading home?”

“Yeah.” At least now you could clear the air without— Nope, you realized you were wearing a scarf and jacket as you turned to him, the mating mark hidden. This was still salvageable. You just needed to tell him you had an Alpha. “My Al—“

“Would you like to get dinner?”

You froze. He came to a stop from his light jog in front of you, his nice ski jacket half-zipped up and hair just starting to lose its gel. He was just a bit too close to be casual, a smile on his handsome face and his cheeks tinted pink, like he was nervous. “Sorry, didn’t mean to blurt that out. I just… when I found out you were an Omega I thought… And well, the flowers today were from me. And all the food this last month. If that wasn’t obvious.” He rubbed the back of his neck in a bashful gesture, eyes flashing down to the ground for a moment, a quintessential, non-threatening Alpha display.

A diesel engine came to a stop and idled next to the two of you before you could answer that. You glanced over, recognizing the BMW immediately. Biting your lip, you grabbed the strap of your bag in one hand, taking two big steps closer to Brendon’s car and out of reach from the other Alpha.

“Sorry Jason, I—“

“She’s taken.” Brendon had gotten out of the car and was rounding the front, his gaze pinning the ICU fellow in place. “You the one trying to court my Omega?”

“Brendon—“ He moved to stand between you and him, his big hand holding your arm like he was preparing to yank you out of harm’s way. Your fingers twitched to grab Brendon’s hand and an anxious whine was held tight behind your closed throat, freezing in place and instinct holding you back from making any noise. This was a test of dominance, and the two Alphas were staring at each other, refusing to break eye contact. You knew better than to interfere. Your heart raced and you took shallow breaths, the only noise in your ears was the low, warning vibration in your Alpha’s chest. Brendon had every right, technically, to get physical with Jason.

“I didn’t know,” Jason finally said, lowering his gaze.

“Ask, dipshit. Don’t court an Omega just because you want to.” Jason’s chin tucked down, deferential, and the tension broke as Brendon’s rumbling growl finally stopped. It was like all the sound came back on, the engine and the other cars and footsteps in the garage suddenly returning. You sucked in a ragged breath, eyes flashing between Jason’s low shoulders and Brendon’s hulking presence, his scent ridiculously potent right now. Brendon turned to you, giving Jason his back. It was dismissal, like the other Alpha wasn’t worth being called a rival. “Ready?”

Your pupils had gone wide, and you could see it the second your scent hit him. If Brendon had punched Jason or forced him to his knees to submit, that wouldn’t have turned you on nearly as much as your Alpha demanding basic respect for you.

Brendon used his body to practically walk you backwards to the car, keeping himself between you and Jason. He opened the passenger-side door and braced a hand on the roof.

“Get in the car,” he said in a rough, low bark, and you pulled yourself into the seat as he stepped back with visible effort, shutting the door. He didn’t look at Jason again.

Brendon’s hand stayed on your thigh the entire drive home as you finally shook from your daze enough to explain what you thought must have happened. He had a few choice words for Jason’s presumption and overstepping, but you could tell he was holding himself back.

The moment he was parked he was throwing open the driver’s side door. “Upstairs, Omega,” he growled, and you scrambled out of the car, almost forgetting your bag. Your panties were soaked and your skin was practically vibrating as he stuck close to you in the elevator, pressing his nose into your hair. You held his thick waist, a low purr impossible to hold back, feeling his hard cock against your hip. You rubbed against it a little and he growled, scent blooming even stronger.

The second the elevator doors opened he was crowding you out. You barely managed to unlock the apartment door and open it before the sound of your bags hitting the floor was eclipsed by the thunk of your back against the coat closet door.

Brendon’s hand in your hair protected your head as he kissed you hard, licking his way into your mouth, swallowing your moan. You could barely get more than a breath in as his mouth devoured you while his hands practically ripped your leggings down, one boot flying off. You didn’t even hear the clink of his belt before his cock was pressing against your core, and you cried out as he sunk in, no prep, no warning, just his rock hard length bullying into you. You panted into his throat as you tried desperately to accommodate, the burn of the stretch so good. Thank god you were soaking wet.

“Bren— Alpha—”

“Mine,” he growled, pulling back to the tip and then slamming in so hard the door rattled and you cried out again. “You’re mine, Omega, not some ICU idiot’s.”

“Yours!” you yelped, rocking into his thrusts, his cedar and metal scent so powerful you could smell nothing else, and his cock rubbing at all the right places inside you. You clawed at his shoulders, wanting to get to more skin but thwarted by the layers Brendon was still wearing. He hadn’t even taken his coat off, but he did get a hand under your scarf to rip that off, burying his face into your mating mark. Your nails dug into his scalp and you panted with each surge as he rutted into your cunt, continuing to growl curses and threats to the other Alpha and promises to you.

“Fuck. I’m going to mark you so much no fucking patch will cover it up. Understand me, Omega?” He punctuated that with a roll of his hips and a grunt as your heels dug into his back.

“Yes, uh, yes, Alpha, oh, more—” He shifted positions and the next thrust had your mouth hanging open and a long moan escaping you. Your legs were starting to shake already, and his knot was catching at the rim. “Brendon— please—”

“Cum for me. Cum on your Alpha’s cock, Omega,” he growled, and your eyes rolled back, pussy contracting around him as you climaxed hard. You didn’t even feel him bite down on the mating mark, whited out in pleasure. Your thighs shook when you finally came back to yourself, the steely length of him still firmly inside you, but not with his knot. A little whine escaped you as your hips jerked naturally, cunt soaking his knot and rubbing against the shape of it, trying to get him to lock inside you.

“Alpha,” you whimpered.

The subvocal rumble in his chest silenced you. He wasn’t done. He was far from done.

Using his hips he kept you pinned to the door as he kicked off his boots and pulled off your other shoe. His skin was almost feverishly hot as you helped him take off the jacket and shirt, mouth latching immediately on to his collarbone as the skin appeared. Then he was carrying you to the nest, cock still inside you, but the second he laid you down he pulled out.

“Alpha!”

He took his cock in his hand, flushed and angry, and collared your throat with the other, hand so big he could silence you with just the touch. His blue eyes were practically black the pupils were so dilated, and he was breathing hard as he jerked his cock in his fist, staring at his hand on your throat, two fingers on the bumpy scar of your bite, your breasts heaving as you watched him. He came with clenched jaw all over your chest and belly, deliberately working his cock until he was aimed as your reddened pussy, his seed spilling over your mound. There was so much and it was warm and sticky on your skin, a primal claiming that had your trembling beneath him.

Only when he was done did he let go of your throat to smooth your hair back, his other hand immediately rubbing his cum into your belly as he admired the absolute mess he’d made of you.

“Alpha, I’m yours, only yours,” you moaned, arching as his palm covered in his seed cupped your breast, massaging it into the skin. You felt almost delirious with pleasure as the powerful scent of him sunk into your pores and your nest. You were so wet you were dripping, and you desperately wanted his knot. He hadn’t softened since he hadn’t locked inside you, and you reached down to your folds and rubbed his cum into the soft skin and your clit, licking your lips at the way his head snapped down to watch. You felt deliriously powerful as you spread your lips and let rivulets of his spend run alongside your hole. “Brendon, please.”

That seemed to snap him out of a daze of just watching you. His bark was like a whip-crack: “Present.”

You flipped on to your belly and got on to your hands and knees in seconds. Then he was fisting your hair from behind, forcing your back into a bigger arch as he fit the swollen head of his cock to your leaking pussy. “You are not going to talk to him again, Omega. Not unless you’re dripping my fucking seed and I’m right there with you.”

“Yes, Alpha. Yesss—”

You’d have agreed to anything right then as he slid his cock into you, pushing out all the needy emptiness and replacing it with the incredible stretch and heat of him. “He couldn’t give it to you like this, baby, wouldn’t fuck every thought of that pretty head. You don’t just need roses, Omega, you need an Alpha who will take care of you. Fuck you right.”

“Only you, Brendon. Don’t want roses—just—just— oh my god—” He was starting to really thrust now, and each slam of his hips into you was lighting up sparks in your entire spine, the wet squelch of your pussy obscene. The heavy weight of his knot had you begging for it, babbling mindless praise. “Just want you Alpha, fuck me please, give me your knot. I want him to know, to know he had no chance, oh gods, not a single one—”

“Good girl, made for me,” he grunted, thrusts getting faster, pushing your head down into the nest to really angle inside you to hit the spot that made you cry out with each surge of his hips. You were so close you could taste it, the heady smell of his cum mixing with your sweat on your skin, rising up like a haze of pure arousal. He slowed to grind his knot against your hole and you keened, begging and scrambling at the bedding for it.

“Alpha please, please, give it to me. I need it, I— oh, oh my god Brendon yes, thank you—”

The knot locking inside you reduced you to wordless moaning, hips rolling constantly as you ground into it, eyes fluttering shut as his huge hand held the back of your neck down, forcing you to submit under him while one thick finger finally circled your clit. The orgasm barreled into you like a tsunami, stealing your breath and making your whole body shake and flutter around him as he spurted inside you. It stretched on and on as you mindless humped his fingers over your clit, the next orgasm tumbling out of the previous as he sucked hard on your mating mark, folding over you to grind in harder.

At some point he pulled out before his knot was fully soft and dragged his leaking, heavy cock all over your back, painting you in more cum. You rolled on to your back after he’d rubbed it in, shifting down until you could mouth at the head of his heavy, leaking dick as Brendon growled at the sight of his thick cum on the mating bite. “Fuck, Omega,” he panted, letting you drunkenly lave kisses all over his knot and shaft before the whine in your chest and the frantic movement of your fingers over your clit caught his eye and he yanked your hand away. He bodily shifted you on the mattress, replacing your fingers with the tip of his cock, tapping over the sensitive bud of your clit until you were whining with every too-light touch, and then he lightly spanked your pussy. You yelped, convulsing at the sharp shot of pleasure, slick pooling under you as you stared up, wide-eyed at your grinning Alpha. With sharp taps he spanked over your bright red, swollen clit until you were crying out with each gentle hit, finally peaking on a new high, wailing his name as your slick splattered everywhere. He rammed his hard cock back inside your fluttering cunt, locking you on to his knot again, and setting off another orgasm as he came.

You had no idea how long you two were at it, but at some point the overwhelming instincts subsided and you came back to yourself. You were laying in the nest with Brendon half on top of you, his cock against your leg, your aching pussy leaking a mixture of you and him, and your body covered in his cum, while his rough fingers mindlessly rubbed his spend into the skin of your chest.

“You okay?” you murmured, voice hoarse. You were pleasantly achy and very sticky, the overwhelming smell of both of you had saturated the nest.

His sharp gaze met yours, and he turned his cheek into your hand when you reached for him. His jaw had softened from the hard clench since he’d gotten out of the car to confront Jason, and his curls had come loose from the gel and your fingers.

“I’m fine, though I would not shower any time soon.”

You nodded, turning your head to nuzzle his shoulder. You’d read about this sort of thing happening. Alphas could be thrown into rut by an Omega’s heat or other situations, including a confrontation with another Alpha. They didn’t last days like a heat, but they left instincts riding high for some time. For Brendon, keeping his scent on you in the most base way possible would help to reset his instincts.

Your stomach rumbled, and he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth and sat up. You groaned a bit, losing the heat of him, but accepted the pillow his head had been on in his place. “I’ll make food. Don’t move.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

#

You called out sick at 4am the next day. You would have given Robby more warning, but you’d thought after that marathon of marking sex you’d had, your mating bite being rebitten again, being fed finger-foods by Brendon in the nest, and then sleeping with his cock inside of you, that his instincts would be settled.

Instead, when you got up to go to the bathroom at 3:30am, Brendon followed you.

You were just about to sit on the toilet when the door opened again and you startled. “Brendon?”

“Go ahead.” He adorably rubbed one eye, clearly not much more awake than you.

“There’s another bathroom,” you said, shifting your weight a bit. You really had to go. Cockwarming him all night had put pressure on your bladder. It didn’t help that he’d also made sure you were very hydrated after rutting you into the mattress.

He blinked slowly, then turned a much more alert gaze on you. Anyone who had been on call as often as he had over the years could snap to awareness very fast. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Omega.”

“You made dinner without me.”

He made a low, muttering noise in his throat. “You were in the nest then and I barricaded the door.”

“You barricaded the door?” You didn’t know he’d done that. Shit, Jason’s attention had really set something off. Now you were even more impressed he hadn’t punched the other doctor.

“I’ve barely had you a month, baby. I’m not letting some other Alpha push up on my girl.” Your heart melted, and then Brendon was stepping close to you, both of you still naked, his chest rumbling. He cupped the back of your neck in what you now knew was his favorite hold. “Now pee before you get a UTI.”

You almost fell on to the toilet, knees giving out at the order. He leaned down over you, kissing your mouth gently as you trembled. “I don’t think I can,” you whispered. This was too weird, and your pussy felt all tight and squirmy in a way that was bordering far too close to arousal mixed with a bad need to go. There were many ways to scent mark a partner: rubbing cheek glands or wrist glands on parts of the body, swapping clothes, sex, and cum-marking. And also, if you wanted to get real primitive, piss-marking. In combination with hormones, excess chemo-signaling proteins that made a person’s scent were excreted through urine. On a mate who already shared some of the circulating hormone, urine on their skin was a potent scent mark.

“Relax,” he murmured, kissing your cheek and then dragging his lips slowly to your ear, teeth tugging on the lobe as his big hand on the back of your neck kneaded your skull. Your head tilted back automatically, and the rumbling, approving subvocal made your mouth drop open at the same moment that something else relaxed.

The sound of you peeing in the toilet made you jump, but Brendon was holding you steady, and he kept kissing along your throat and jaw as your cheeks absolutely burned. You couldn’t have stopped if you tried, and your knees were bouncing as you peed and your Alpha was right there. It seemed to go on forever, your eyes shut tight as the smell of urine and Brendon’s powerful cedar and metal scent made you dizzy, until the stream finally stopped. Then Brendon was kissing you gently, his firm lips on yours as your legs continued to shake with embarrassment and arousal. The noise from his chest was all pleasure and pride, which was the only reason you could even stand to kiss him back.

You did not let him clean you up even though for a half a second it looked like he might try. Instead he backed off without a word, and you wiped yourself and stood up on shaky legs, washing your hands in the sink as he cupped your hip and nosed into your hair. “See? Not so bad, baby.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your cunt felt empty and swollen and tingling, and you could feel his hardness behind you. For a moment you wanted to ask if you could go back to the nest so he could do his business, but the quiet, curious part of you that was holding low-grade arousal in your core held your tongue. Once before he’d offered to let you hold his member as he went, and in the dark of night, instincts still simmering below the surface, not an ounce of shame in your Alpha, you licked your lips and tried to find the words.

He waited patiently as you dried your hands and then ran out of things to do with them, just holding the edge of the countertop. Brendon remained behind you, a hulking presence in the dark, only the faint city lights from the window giving you shadows to see by.

You closed your eyes and leaned back into him, and his hand on your hip slid to the front, holding you to him. His erection was heavy behind you but not throbbing, just present. At the right angle you could still see the glimmer of his cum on your breasts in the low light, the tacky spend stuck to you. His cock was probably still coated in your juices too, and you felt something contract inside you at the thought.

“Can I…” You hesitated, and Brendon remained still, just breathing softly behind you. “Can I hold it?”

He let out a heavy exhale, a small shiver running through him, and you could feel his smile as he kissed your shoulder. “Of course, Omega.”

Your cheeks were absolutely on fire as you walked together back to the toilet, Brendon flipping the seat up. You turned to him, fingers sliding over his hips to brush his half-hard dick. When you chanced a glance up at him he was staring down at you with an amused look. “If you’re looking at me then who’s aiming?”

You swallowed and let him reposition you next to him, your stomach to his hip, at an angle so you could hold his cock and see what was happening. You pressed your forehead to his side, all tangled up in mortification and arousal. This was not at all a kink you thought you had, but you’d learned a lot about yourself since being with Brendon, and it helped that he clearly had no shame about it.

“Will you be able to…”

“Easier for me than a Beta male,” he grunted, turning his nose into your hair and inhaling. You felt his dick soften a little, and you turned just in time to catch the beginning of the stream. A little ran over your fingers as you tried to adjust, the warmth ticklish, and the instinctive disgust you expected never came. Maybe that was because the scent of him and urine was a potent mix to your hindbrain. A husky little groan slipped past Brendon’s lips as the stream got stronger and you watched, mesmerized. You knew on an anatomical level how this worked: Alpha male vas deferens didn’t intersect with the urethra like they did in Beta and Omega males because evolutionarily being able to be erect and scent-mark with urine made sense. But your brain was stuck somewhere between the smell, the claiming act that was urinating on someone even if technically that wasn’t what was happening, the weight of his cock in your hand, the trust as you both explored this primitive kink, and the utter mortifying arousal that was making a whine rise in your throat as the stream eventually slowed.

Brendon’s grip on your back tightened as he finished, and you were lurching into a kiss with him without letting go of his dick without a second thought. He mumbled something but you didn’t catch it, moaning into his mouth and rubbing your wet pussy against his thigh as his erection firmed in your hand. Thoughts of handwashing and hygiene were gone as he lifted you on to the bathroom counter and stepped between your spread legs. He ran two fingers through your wetness and coated his dick with you helping to slick him up, and then you tossed your head back as he entered you, the heat of him welcome even after the marathon of sex you’d had the night before.

“Oh fuck, Alpha,” you moaned, and he grunted, bottoming out.

“Shit you’re perfect, baby,” he crooned, pulling your hips forward to the edge of the counter so he could find the angle that made you cry out and started a vigorous rhythm. “Never wanted to piss-mark someone before you. One day I’m going to fuck you in the shower after I’ve covered you in my scent in every goddamn way. No one in that ER will have any doubt who you belong to.”

Your pussy contracted, already so close to climax as he said the thing you’d been afraid to imagine. You were still marked up by his cum and your head cracked against the mirror as you moaned, brain stuttering on the image of you and him in the shower. “Oh my god, Alpha, yes!”

Brendon’s hand snapped up to protect the back of your head as his hips slammed into yours. His thumb circled your clit, and you surged up to kiss at his throat, licking and nipping, and Brendon hissed.

“One day I’m gonna make this pussy squirt and it’s not just gonna be slick, Omega,” he promised, grinding his dick hard into you. You shuddered, and he sucked hard on your mating bite, sending you careening over the edge as he strummed your clit. You cried out in bliss, and Brendon pumped you full of cum, rutting into your cunt until he finally slowed and his cock softened, both of you left panting. He eventually settled you more comfortably on the counter but didn’t fully pull out, thumb stroking your cheek tenderly.

For a little while you both sat in this vulnerable moment, playing over the new thing you’d discovered and his admission before that. This relationship was new, and even though Brendon seemed so confident in it, Jason’s misstep had revealed cracks. This rut was evidence his Alpha needed time and reassurance.

You gently kissed his lips, soft and loving, and he kissed you back for long minutes, tender and slow.

“Need to pee again?” he finally asked, and you snorted and kissed the crinkly smile off his face before resting your forehead on his shoulder. You were suddenly exhausted.

“I don’t know how I’m going to work tomorrow. Today. Whatever.”

“You’re not,” Brendon said easily, like it had already been decided. “You think letting my Alpha think I’ve marked you with piss is gonna calm this rut down, sweetheart?”

You had to laugh because of course it wouldn’t. You had a feeling even mentioning cleaning up in the shower might earn you a few spanks on the ass and another round, and you needed a few more hours of sleep before that.

“I’ll text Robby. He’ll know what’s up, but the rest of the ER might think those flowers got my Alpha somewhere.”

As soon as you said it you regretted it. Forget mentioning a shower, any mention of a competing Alpha set Brendon off way faster.

“The whole damn ER is gonna know you’re taken alright,” he growled, pulling out and picking you up, tossing you over his shoulder. “I don’t need flowers to make it clear what’s mine.” You squealed as he spanked your ass while it was in the air, yelping at the second blow as he carried you back to the nest. “You’re lucky I’m off tomorrow, Omega.”

“I’m sorry, Alpha!”

#