Strange, how just staring at the empty sleeve that once housed his pills could conjure such an image of anxiety. He had replaced them, hadn't he? He was sure he'd gotten the prescription refilled a couple weeks ago, when he'd seen it on his calendar. But then...that was the week he and Isabelle finalized her resignation and selected Tristan as her replacement. With alarming clarity, the moment where he had shut off an alarm in his office right before Tristan’s interview slammed into his head like a truck—he had been so distracted, he had forgotten to go back and see what that alarm was for. With fingers that seemed to not want to work all of a sudden, he pulled up his calendar, and sure enough on the date of the interview, there was an alarm that he had turned off that read, ‘refill your suppressants’ staring back at him mockingly.

“This can be fixed,” he said aloud to himself, voice scratchy and too harsh for his liking with the state he was in. He had to remind himself that he was still in control—that he was fine. Surely this sort of thing has happened with Omegas before, where the pharmacy could get him his suppressants quickly? He briefly entertained going out himself for it, but he knew better—he was likely already exuding pheromones that Alphas would be drawn to—or at least, he didn’t want to take the risk of it being so—which made venturing away from the house out of the question. It would need to be delivered.

Blessedly, he had the phone number for his pharmacist, so he dialed and waited, trying to remind himself to breathe normally—that everything was going to be fine. After a few automated prompt responses (because everything was at least half automated now, of course it was,) he heard the phone ring that signaled he’d finally been transferred.

“Johnson Pharmacy.” The other voice—a deep male voice—his brain noted (was it weird that he noted that? He hoped not) greeted him from the other end.

“Ah, yes,” he cursed mentally when his voice came out a hoarse stammer. “My name is Myrick Thomas, and I had a prescription filled that I forgot to pick up. I was hoping it could be delivered to my home? It’s, ah,” he felt himself beginning to feel restless and strangely warm. He’d only allowed himself to experience the full effects of a heat once, when he hadn’t been on any insurance and couldn’t afford the suppressants, and the recollection was hazy and overall unpleasant. “It’s incredibly important.”

“Ah, yes, Mister Thomas,” the pharmacist said conversationally, and Myrick could hear him rummaging around. “We have your medications still—sadly, we don’t do deliveries, but if you’d like to come in, we’re open until—”

“I can’t leave the house,” Myrick winced at the way his tone went up in pitch, his panic evidently hellbent on heightening everything today. “I, ah, I haven’t really started yet, I don’t think, not fully,” he spoke very fast, the words trying to rush out and tripping one after another because he started to panic in earnest. “But I think I’m experiencing a heat, and I don’t want it to happen, so what do I do?” He felt stupid for asking a question he already knew the answer to, but he asked it anyway in the vain hope that the pharmacist would know an option for him otherwise hidden, one he had no knowledge of. Something, anything that would make this bearable, that would make him feel all right in his own skin.

“Well, apart from simply riding out your heat, there isn’t much I can do for you.” To his credit, the pharmacist sounded sympathetic. “I can give you some advice on how to work through it—if you’re only experiencing early symptoms, you can still make yourself comfortable enough for the heat itself. Would you like that?”

Myrick sifted through his memories but couldn’t recall a single thing about how to make heat bearable—the last time he was in heat, the only time that he was in heat—he was left to writhe on his friend’s couch, desperately pawing at himself in the bathroom every three minutes, his throat feeling like it was on fire and his skin feeling like everything hurt to touch it. He could look up what to do, so he at least would know how to cope with what he was about to face. Though he would prefer not to have to, if it couldn’t be helped.

“No, no that’s all right.” He let out a shaky breath and scrubbed at the back of his neck. “I think I can make it. Thank you, though. I’ll be around to pick up my prescription...later.” When he could safely leave the house without fear of being assaulted, he added in his head.

“Of course, Mister Thomas,” the pharmacist still sounded soothing—or maybe that was just the tone of his voice, rumbling and deep? “If you need anything else, feel free to call.” He sounded like he’d gotten this sort of call before, and had fallen into the role of a comforting and discreet adviser. Myrick ended the call frustrated, unsure of how bad he had it as of that point; all he knew was that it was going to get worse.

With what wits he still had available to him, he sent a message to Tristan and his secretary explaining that he wasn’t going to make it in to the office for the next couple of days due to a sudden illness; it may not have been a sickness that he was going through, but it was certainly something that required…containment. He didn’t wait for responses from either party before beginning to settle in for what he knew would be a long and exhausting process. While he hadn’t been able to settle in and make himself feel comfortable and safe the first time he went into heat, he later learned of ways to experience it with minimal discomfort, and he had the means with which to do so now, thankfully.

Was this why he always felt so reluctant to deal with his heat, or anyone getting close to him? Because his first heat was such a bad experience that had made him feel nothing but dizzying, nausea-inducing anxiety? Admittedly, while he couldn’t deny the possibility, he also didn’t want to dwell on it at the moment. He had more preparations to complete, and he was working on borrowed time as it was.

He began to set up his bed, fluffing his pillows and pulling every soft, warm throw blanket he had in the house and creating something of a nest on his bed, something that he remembered helped on a psychological level in making an Omega feel safe. The electric kettle had turned itself off when it hit the boiling temperature, and had been keeping warm, thankfully, so when he came to the kitchen he grabbed a mug, a box of his favorite tea bags, and took the kettle to the bedroom, setting it on the night stand beside the bed. It wouldn’t do to simply have hot tea to drink, though—he’d been warned by other Omega friends that cool water and some easy to grab snacks would help, too. He rummaged in the cupboards, finding some cheesy crackers, a few different fruits and some sliced meat in his fridge, and after a moment of debate, grabbed a packet of those sweet rolls he usually tried to save for a special occasion. He vaguely wondered if this was going to count as one, though he wasn’t sure he’d feel like he was enjoying himself.

Not unless he had a mate—

He cut off that particular thought before it could be fully finished; he didn’t need thoughts like that, especially not now that he was beginning to go into heat. It was a frustrating contradiction, the knowledge that he would like to have a mate to make things bearable, to help keep him warm and feel safe but never feeling safe enough to let anyone in long enough for it to be a possibility. That he acknowledged it was not enough. He knew that now was certainly not the time to wax psychological.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to get himself situated amongst his blankets, with his pitcher of cool water, his mug, his kettle, and all of the things that he might need. At the very least, he didn’t have to worry about hunting his ‘toy’ down; he always kept it in the drawer of his bedside table, well cleaned and ready for use. It was something he had purchased a while ago, when he had finally scrounged up enough money to buy something decent and custom. It was a strange thing to hold sentimental value over, though he’d had it so long that it was an odd comfort to hold it in his hand, its weight familiar.

He had no use for it yet, thankfully, though now it was a question of when things would really start to take effect. The thought that perhaps this would be either better or worse for his hormone supplements crossed his mind; possibly worse because he hadn’t gone into heat in so long that it could be more painful or last longer, but also possibly better because of the lingering suppressants that were still in his system softening what he was going to feel while in his heat. The doctor that had prescribed him his suppressants had spoken on the matter, he remembered faintly, though the specifics eluded him now, years later.

As he settled into his bed, surrounded by warmth and softness, he felt a strange sense of ease settle over him. He was still uncomfortable with what he was feeling, and he was beginning to sweat faintly, but he at least felt like he was in a place where he could ride this out in relative safety, an unusual feeling for him. The soft, fuzzy throw blankets that he’d spent far too much on suddenly felt heavenly on his skin, and he stroked the one he was seated on idly with one hand as he tried to focus his breathing.

It had grown so warm in the room, so stifling, that for an absent-minded moment he considered opening his window to let the crisp fall air in—it was so cool out there and surely it would feel so good on his skin—but that would mean letting his scent out, an open invitation for any Alpha that could pick up on the scent, heady and thick as it no doubt was, to barge in and defile his nest, his one safe place in the world. Defile him in the process. He could deal with a bit of extra warmth in exchange for his safety, he decided as he settled back into his nest on his bed more fully.

As he began to ponder grabbing a small hand towel to clean up when things got a little overbearing, his phone began to ring. It sounded loud to him, too loud, and he scrambled to grab it, needing it to be quiet. He checked the caller ID, and his heart stopped when he saw the name on the screen:

Tristan.

His hands were shaking, though they seemed to work against his anxiety, his finger swiping to accept the call, and his treacherous hand pressing the phone to his ear.

“Tristan?” Voice raspy from misuse and the strain of the beginnings of his heat, Myrick still managed to find it and force it to work out the Alpha’s name.

“Hey there, Mister Thomas.” His tone was deep, dulcet, and it was only making him feel hotter. Of its own volition, Myrick began to feel his manhood stir, a tent beginning to form in his pajama pants. He swallowed thickly and debated taking a drink of water but refrained, knowing he would need it far more later. “Just checked my phone and saw your text. I figured I’d call you on my lunch, see if you’re doing all right.” The longer he talked, the more difficult it was for Myrick to ignore what it was doing to him. “You didn’t look good when you left.”

Myrick spared a sidelong glance at the rubber cock that he had set on the bed amongst the nest of pillows he’d made for himself. His mind ran wild with thoughts of using it, and it was in his hand before he had the wherewithal to reconsider it.

A wetness he should have likely been prepared for spurted at his entrance, and suddenly he was throbbing, overcome with a need to be filled to the brim, but he managed to keep his voice at least somewhat steady as he forced his hand to his side as he cleared his throat; all he was doing was talking to someone he worked alongside, nothing more. Someone who was massive and rippling with muscle and probably had an enormous, throbbing—

“Yeah,” he stammered, mentally cursing the fact that though his voice was steady, he hadn’t kept it from cracking even from the first moment he spoke again. “I came down with a bad fever, and I didn’t want it to, uh.” The hand holding his toy began to tremble. “I didn’t want it to spread.” Not the way his legs were doing of their own accord, he realized with a twinge of panic as he leaned back into his pillows. His cock was now fully erect, and it was demanding that he do something about it. He winced, and knowing that his heat was starting to really kick in now, he shimmied out of his pajama pants, eager for a little less warmth on his skin. His erection sprang free, twitching in eagerness to be touched.

“Goodof you, thinking of the team that way.” Tristan was speaking again, he realized, squirming against the wetness that was only growing more pronounced as he listened to the rumbling of his voice. “Sorry to hear that you’re going through that. Anything I can do to help?” His tone was friendly and strangely…soothing in a way Myrick wasn’t prepared for, and he cursed, knowing it was only because of the heat. “If you need something brought to you—”

“That’s all right,” he squeaked out, his voice suddenly meek and pitchy. “I’ve, ah, got stuff here, so don’t worry about a thing!” The thought of him coming here, smelling him and his pheromones, busting down the door, and—

He bit down on his lip hard enough to bruise when his traitorous hand pressed the head of the rubber toy at his entrance without him realizing it, his body eager to feel release regardless of who was going to be aware of what was happening. He forced his hand into obeying the order of just waiting, but he couldn’t stop the keening whine that bubbled up from spilling out. There was a moment of silence, as Tristan was no doubt beginning to put the pieces together, and Myrick felt a wave of embarrassment crash down around him even as he felt his hand shake under the weight of want and need, the head of the toy quivering from the movement and only serving to inadvertently tease himself even more. He almost stopped breathing in an effort to keep himself from making any more noises, projecting any other signals that he was in heat.

“Sounds like a rough fever.” Tristan finally spoke after a moment that hung between them for a heartbeat too long. “I won’t keep you. Just make sure you’re resting plenty. And we wouldn’t want you to be thirsty, so uh,” he cleared his throat, “make sure you get…plenty of fluids in you.” Tristan gave a polite goodbye and ended the call, and it wasn’t a moment too soon, either; the suggestion in his tone spoke volumes to how much he was aware of Myrick’s situation, and it was all finally too much for him to hold back.

Myrick plunged the toy inside of himself, and though his hands were shaky and slicked with his arousal he managed to begin pumping it, his free hand grasping at the base of his own cock. The accidental teasing, the feeling of not being so aroused in such a long time, was all too much, and within a few pitiful and graceless thrusts he was wailing, orgasm tearing through his body, and his seed coating his toned belly in hot spurts that steadily cooled on his feverish flesh.

He eased the toy out of himself, already over-sensitive despite his cock refusing to deflate, demanding that he continue to pleasure himself until he was knotted over and over again. Though his mind was a haze and his stomach muscles already vaguely hurt from the sudden clenching, he tried to recall the last time he went into heat, how long it had lasted. Time was funny when your head was as addled with arousal and need as it was in a heat, though he was fairly certain that it only lasted a day, give or take a few hours. Even as he tried to come to grips with the situation and plan around it, there was some low, instinctive need to be filled again, that he might be at least somewhat sated, if only for a little while.

As his hand began to slide the toy back in, the task made even easier from how drenched his core was at this point, he couldn’t stop his mind from conjuring Tristan’s voice; low, deep, and commanding. His imagination ran wild as he began to work himself back up again, imagining the Alpha using his own cock on him rather than the toy, speaking to him in a growling tone that some primal part of him conjured, demanding that Myrick tell him how good it was, how desperately he needed to be knotted.

“I, ah,” he panted, his hand stroking his cock in time with his hips rocking into the toy. “I need it, I need it!” Were he in a clearer state of mind, he would realize how ridiculous it was to beg and whine and obey a command that his own imagination was issuing him, but he was too far gone, too desperate for another release to even bother considering his own folly. He was still so tightly wound from his first orgasm that his muscles had began to cramp, and all he wanted was to just be done with everything; he was so hard it hurt, and he was at a loss as to how to even remotely take the edge off.

In so much as someone could even take the edge off of a heat.

Time lost meaning for the few minutes that it took to bring him to orgasm a second time, the hand on his cock becoming coated in his cum as it spurted out sluggishly. His stomach clenched painfully at every pulse, and he gritted his teeth, desperate for his muscles to just relax. He lay there, legs quivering and breath just as shaky when his phone buzzed with a text on the bedside table. He needed to clean himself, at least a little anyway, so took the time to check what it was; if it was work related, he couldn’t let his heat get in the way of it—wouldn’t let his heat get in the way of it. It was a text from Tristan. Myrick let out a groan and forced himself to open it, just in case it was business related.

“I’ve heard taking muscle relaxers or pain meds helps.”

Fuck what was he supposed to do with that information? Apart from force himself out of his nest to grab the medication that he had available; he recalled having a bottle of pain medication left over from a fairly recent hairline fracture he’d suffered from a clumsy tumble down the stairs. On uncertain footing he forced himself to stagger into the bathroom, nearly sobbing in relief that he managed to find the bottle he needed, and grabbed one of the pills. It was a powerful pain medication, he remembered; one of them had put him to sleep for almost a full twelve hours when he’d been prescribed them. If it lessened the pain while he rode this out, perfect. If knocked him out for even a part of this, well. More’s the better—less he would have to deal with.

Pouring himself a glass of water without splashing it everywhere proved to be difficult, but not impossible, in spite of the nagging in the back of his mind for him to get back to making himself silly with pleasure. He popped the pain pill in his mouth and gulped at the water greedily, suddenly painfully aware of how parched his throat was. He still had time before the medication kicked in, he knew, but at least he had…things to keep himself occupied with in the meantime.

As he all but collapsed back into his bed, the little nest of safety he’d carved out for himself in a world that was as uncaring of his plight as it was greedy of the benefits of his condition, of what he was. Fuck nature, he cursed in his mind as he ate some cheese and meat, knowing he needed something in his stomach to help with the pain medication so he wouldn’t get sick. Fuck the biological bullshit he was forced to endure for simply being what he was. Fuck being an Omega.

As he forced down the first bit of meat and cheese, he nearly sobbed at the pain in his lower stomach, the muscles that had been so viciously thrown into overtime from such an intense sensation that had no end in sight. He would give anything to not have to worry about this at all, though he knew it was a folly; there was no magical cure for heats, no quick fix, no easy out. Suppressants helped a great deal, though they did only that—suppress. When he would experience heats on his suppressants, he would feel warmer than usual, perhaps a mild discomfort, but it was manageable, and he was able to function as a normal human being, able to leave his house without fear of assault for simply walking down a street.

It was seen as a blessing to be an Omega—a rarity in the last couple of decades. Betas were the most common in the population—the perfectly average medium that could simply exist without the fear that he endured. Even as his erection throbbed again, he fought to ignore it for just a little longer so that he could get something in his stomach, and he mourned not being born a Beta—of being able to live in relative comfort. Being able to live and be treated human rather than as…as some commodity that needed sheltering and nurturing so that they could become baby factories.

After he’d eaten enough that his stomach didn’t feel empty, he once more succumbed to his primal urges begrudgingly, settling back into the sheets with a resigned whine as his hand reached for his faithful toy, and he shifted into the center of the bed once more. He brought his legs up, sliding his torso down to make it easier for him to position his toy at his entrance. Even as it filled him once more, he felt that little bit unfulfilled; the rubber cock was serviceable but lacked warmth in more than one sense, and that instinctive need to be filled with an Alpha’s seed would automatically mean that any orgasm that he had for the remainder of his heat would feel like an empty gesture, much as his body would demand more and more of them until it ended.

A wild, stupid thought entered his mind as he felt himself beginning to wind up for his next release—he could call Tristan. He was an Alpha, surely he would be more than willing to rut him silly, to knot inside of him and make him feel full and stretched to the point where he would see stars. Pounding him into the bed, his large frame dwarfing Myrick’s as he gave the needy, desperate little Omega everything his wretched body so deeply needed, so frantically craved.

Suddenly his imagination was running rampant, conjuring a situation all its own for him to lose himself in, and began to ponder as he rutted against the toy exactly how it would feel to be Tristan’s lover, his mate. Would Tristan be a greedy Alpha, edging him for his own pleasure and letting himself cum without giving Myrick release? Or would he be a benevolent and attentive lover, giving him orgasm after orgasm before allowing himself to find release? Myrick let out a sob as he began to force his thighs to support him and work against the burning of his abused muscles, bobbing up and down to ride the toy, letting his mind wander wherever and however it so chose.

The powerful, vivid image of the towering, brawny mass of a man that Tristan was looming over him, pounding into him, filling him in the way that his body was begging for was too much, and with a cry of alarm suddenly he was cumming, harder and more intensely than he had in recent memory. His vision crossed and his legs quivered, and even as he came down from his high and his body went completely limp, the image remained in his mind.

As his head lolled to the side, he caught sight of his phone, left on his nightstand beside all of his other necessary prep tools, and the thought turned wicked, and he had to clench the bed sheets to stop himself from reaching over and picking it up. It would have been so easy, to tempt the Alpha to come and help him with his predicament—they would both be getting something out of it, wouldn’t they? His thoughts were intrusive, and they made him feel ill from their insidiousness.

Getting his hands on the phone meant he was giving in and potentially taking advantage of someone—his second in command, and it didn’t matter how badly his hormones made him crave being knotted, or how badly he needed to be fucked, he would not put someone in the very same powerless position that he had been fighting all his life to stay out of. He would not abuse someone in that way, even if it would provide him even a modicum of relief. He would not.

And so he settled in, already knowing that it was going to be difficult. More difficult than it needed to be.