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Steve's heats have always had a tendency to announce themselves at the most inconvenient times. On the night before an important exam, right in the middle of a big swim meet, during one of his mom's charity dinners on one occasion. And then the whole Upside Down shit happened and made things, impossibly, worse.
This month is no exception.
He's halfway through the late shift at the video store when he feels the familiar twangs in his belly. At first, he tries to ignore them - Robin is at home, nursing a flu, and their boss can't be bothered to work on a Friday afternoon as usual, so he’s alone at the place. He can't just up and leave just because his body has decided to be a little asshole again.
By the time his shift is almost over, the twangs have grown into full-blown cramps, and his underwear is wet with slick. He knows he'll be a crying, writhing mess screaming for an alpha's cock before the night is over at this rate, so he picks up the phone and calls the omega aid facility.
“Steve,” Chrissy greets him, kind and cheerful as always. “What can I do for you today?”
“Hey, Chrissy,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm, even though his fingers are shaking around the receiver. “I, um … I was wondering if I could come in some time today or tomorrow? It's starting.”
She's silent for a beat. Steve can hear paper rustling and knows she must be checking her records.
“Already?” she then says, and he doesn't need to see her face to know an unhappy frown has appeared between her brows. “I wasn’t expecting you back before the end of next week at the earliest.”
“I know,” he rakes a hand down his face. He's perfectly aware, in fact, because he's been keeping track. He knows that the intervals between his heats are getting shorter and shorter, and that he should probably see a doctor about it, but right now there's only one person in the world he wants to see. “Sorry for messing up your schedule, but- … You think Eddie could squeeze me in somehow? It wouldn't have to be for long, I'd be in and out before-”
“Oh, honey, I'm sorry,” she says. Steve’s stomach still sinks. “Eddie took the week off for a family thing. We thought it would be okay since we weren't expecting you back yet. I can try and see if we have someone else on call who-”
“No.”
It's out before he even knows it. Chrissy lapses into startled silence, and Steve winces. Shit, he sounds like an ungrateful asshole.
“I mean … please don’t go through the trouble. We both know there's nobody else who'd be willing to put up with me.”
Nobody else who’d wanna take care of a traumatized, broken omega with control issues. No other alpha willing to let themselves be tied down and used the way Steve has been using Eddie for these past few months.
Nobody else Steve wants, at this point.
“Steve,” Chrissy starts to say, but he cuts her off - softer, this time.
“It's alright, I'll manage on my own. Can you schedule a new appointment in four weeks? Hopefully I'll be more punctual then.”
If she hears the tense little chuckle in his voice, she doesn't react to it.
“Promise to take care of yourself,” she says. “And please go and see a doctor. The intensity and frequency at which your heats have been coming- … you should get it looked at, sweetheart.”
“I will,” he lies. “Listen, I better get myself to my nest. Thanks, Chrissy.”
*
It's a balmy night in late spring, not a single cloud in the darkening sky, but when he steps outside, he shivers. He grits his teeth and hunches his shoulders, mentally cursing himself for not taking his jacket. Then again, he has a feeling that all the extra layers of clothing in the world wouldn't help him now.
Damn, he thought he'd at least have time to get home before the fever set in, but his hormones seem to be intent on speed-running this. He closes his clammy fists around the trash bags and makes his way around the building to the dumpsters. He’s only lucky it's late and the streets are mostly empty. He's probably smelling like an entire fucking patisserie by now, and if any alpha was to-
“Hey there, sweet cakes.”
Shit.
The man is blocking the exit of the alley with his body, and Steve wastes a precious second wondering why he didn't hear him approach. He's better than this, usually. His head must be foggier than he realized. His hands drop the bags, instinctively grasping for a weapon - an axe, a bat, anything - but finding only the cold metal of the dumpster.
“What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here smelling like that?”
The man lurches closer. It's obvious from the stagger in his step and the slur in his voice that he's drunk. Steve has taken tougher opponents than him - not while shaking with fever and with his inner omega screaming to just roll over and spread his legs, but he'll be damned if he goes down without a fight. His fist closes around the ring of keys in his pocket.
“Fuck off, dude,” he says. His voice cracks a little. “I don't want any trouble.”
The man chuckles. He reeks of cheap booze and sweat and gasoline, and when he leans in, it's all Steve can do to not retch.
“Oh, I know exactly what you want. Why else would you be wandering the streets in the middle of your heat like a little slut? You're practically begging for it, aren't you? Well, don't you worry, I'm gonna give you exactly-”
His hand reaches for Steve's wrist. And Steve strikes.
The man's eyes go large with dumb surprise. Then, the pain registers and he starts howling, reeling backwards and cradling his bleeding hand to his chest.
“You little bitch,” he snarls, and comes flying at him, alcohol and cheap aftershave and rage slapping Steve in the face like something solid. “I'll fucking kill you.”
Steve stumbles backwards and twists around him, keys sticking out between his fingers like claws. He won't be able to take him down - he's not yet delirious enough to believe that - but if he can land one more hit, he might be able to get out of the alley and-
He feels the bottle under his foot before the vertigo sets in, but by that time, it's too late to do anything about it. He goes down with an undignified yelp, losing his grip on the makeshift weapon as the back of his head collides with the brick wall. The world descends into a firework of pain.
When the smoke lifts, he's on the ground, and the man is straddling his legs.
“Not so feisty now, huh?” he snarls. A fat glob of spit hits Steve's cheek. He gags and tries to recoil, but the man's hands are digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise, tearing at his shirt with greedy, uncoordinated fingers. “Now be good and hold still. If you take it like a good boy, it won’t hurt too much.”
He chuckles - an ugly, wet bubble of a sound - and Steve hears fabric tear as the buttons of his uniform shirt give.
And then it stops.
One second, the guy is on top of him, suffocating him with his weight and his scent, and one moment later, he's gone. When Steve sits up, it turns out that this is because they're no longer alone in the alley.
His attacker snarls, baring yellowing canines and whirling on the figure that has appeared behind him, shaking off the hand that just pulled him away.
“The fuck do you want, pup? Thought the kindergarten was closed by now?”
The newcomer doesn't rise to the bait. Instead, he slowly looks the asshole up and down, circling him in one fluid motion that conveniently brings him between Steve and the thread.
“I think he’s made it clear that he’s not interested, dude,” he rumbles. “Leave him alone.”
Steve’s world grinds to a screeching halt.
He knows that voice.
Knows that scent, too, now that the man is close enough for him to get a whiff of it. Rich and heavy like fresh earth and well-aged wood. Mellow like honey.
Heady like expensive whiskey.
“Eddie?”
He whips around as if dragged on a string. Those dark eyes go wide.
“Big boy?” he breathes. “What in the-”
And that's as far as he gets before the other man barrels into him from behind.
If the guy was less drunk and better coordinated, Eddie would probably collide head-first with the wall. This way, he manages to twist in his attacker's grip and his shoulder hits the edge of the dumpster. His pained wince is lost in the other man's snarl, and then they're going down between the trash bags in a tangle of flying fists.
Steve scrambles towards them on hands and knees. His head is throbbing and dark fog is clinging to the edge of his vision. He needs to get away, he needs to help, he needs to curl into a ball and make himself small and let the alphas handle this, he needs to-
His hand finds the neck of the bottle, and he knows what he must do.
If this was a movie, the glass would probably shatter as it collides with the back of the man’s head. This way, the only thing he gets is a dull crack and a pained groan. The asshole sways in his spot, one hand flying up to cradle the spot. Blood seeps from his hair and into the collar of his jacket. This time, he doesn’t call him any names or threaten to kill him, but the bloodlust in his eyes as he whirls around speaks for itself. Steve raises the bottle again.
And Eddie takes the man by the shoulders, slamming his face against the dumpster. The fucker's nose gives a wet crack, and Steve can't help but wince. He knows how that feels.
“You little bastards,” the man whimpers, swaying to his feet and clutching his bleeding face. “You broke my nose! I'm gonna sue you! I'm gonna tell your boss, and then you'll-”
Eddie takes him by the collar and hauls him close.
“I don't think so, buddy. I think what you'll do is go the fuck home and patch yourself up and forget this ever happened. Oh, and try to keep it in your pants next time, yeah?”
The asshole draws a gurgling breath to reply. Eddie growls, a low, gravelly sound from deep in his chest, and his scent turns sharp like charred wood.
The man curses under his breath and stumbles backwards, towards the exit of the alley. His eyes flick from Eddie to Steve and back to Eddie, like he’s about to spit another insult, or attack again. Steve’s hand clenches around the bottleneck.
And then he's gone.
Eddie keeps staring at the spot where he disappeared for a few seconds longer, mouth twitching around a barely concealed snarl.
“Shit,” he then breathes. “Can you stand?”
Steve has taken the offered hand before he can think better of it. The bottle clatters to the ground as Eddie pulls him to his feet.
It’s funny.
They must’ve fucked about a dozen times, and yet this is the first time Eddie is actually touching him. The first time in years he’s feeling an alpha’s hand on him without being overcome by the immediate need to recoil.
It’s a nice hand. Strong, with slightly calloused fingertips, and adorned in chunky, silver rings. They’re hard where Eddie’s skin is soft. Steve never thought he’d have such soft hands. His inner omega perks up in interest, trying to burrow into that softness, that warmth, that scent. It has shifted again, the biting smoke from earlier mellowed out by fresh earth and honey, and something sweeter still, something almost too sweet for an alpha. Vanilla?
He has never smelled like vanilla before.
“Um … okay?” Eddie mutters, and that’s when Steve realizes that he’s about two inches away from nuzzling his nose into the crook of the guy’s neck. “That’s fine, I guess?”
Steve stumbles backwards.
“Sorry. That was- … I didn’t- … I mean- …”
He trails off, head throbbing and mind reeling, because what the hell is the appropriate thing to say in this kind of situation? Thanks for helping me out there and see you for next month’s fuck fest? The thought tears a hysterical laugh from his throat, and Eddie cocks his head in worry.
“Big boy …” he murmurs. Slowly, like a man piecing together the parts of a puzzle. “Are you in heat?”
Steve’s laughter dies in his throat. For a few moments, all he can do is stare in disbelief, because how the hell isn’t it obvious? The other guy smelled him from outside the alley and followed his scent all the way here, there should be no need for Eddie to even ask.
Eddie, meanwhile, digs a hand into his curls and pulls.
“Shit, of course,” he swears. “You shouldn’t be out here. Is there a safe place you can go?”
“I live just down the block,” Steve replies dumbly, before anything else even occurs to him. “It’s just a five minute walk or so, I’ll be-”
He was going to say fine, but that’s when another cramp hits and the words turn into a pained wheeze. He throws out a hand, trying to support himself on the wall, but Eddie is next to him in an instant, slotting their bodies together and draping Steve’s arm over his shoulder.
“How about I walk you there, huh? You look like you could need a little assistance.”
Steve thinks that what he needs is Eddie’s knot up his hole and Eddie’s bite on his neck and Eddie’s pups in his belly, but he doesn’t say that. He knows that’s not really himself speaking. Instead, he bites his lips and nods and allows Eddie to steer them out of the alley and towards the streetlights.