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All the Alphas provided by the Shaffer Clinic were in their fifties. This provided several advantages. One, they were past rut age, which meant they could fully take care of an Omega’s needs without being overtaken by their own urges. And two, they were biologically sterile. Altogether, they had a reputation for being calm and professional.
Andrew didn’t care much who he spent heat with, except he’d checked Bisexual on the box and the first time a woman the same age as his absentee mother had touched him he’d cried his way through the whole ordeal. He only requested men after that. Andrew would show up at the clinic once every few months, have an unremarkable and unmemorable middle-aged Alpha knot him, and then go about the rest of his life. Besides, his dutiful father paid for all his Heat Clinic visits, and regular customers were able to earn special benefits.
After a year, Andrew was now a recipient of one such perk. A house call, the chance to be coddled and fucked the way he likes, in his own nest.
Andrew bites his lip and stares at the structure before him, a fort of pillows from his bed and all his t-shirts. He’s never made a nest before, but even he can tell this effort is pitifully inadequate. If they weren’t being paid, any Alpha worth their salt would take one look at it and immediately head for the exits. Andrew’s instincts knew he needed more materials badly, but he couldn't bear the thought of leaving the house. He whines in frustration and reluctantly fishes out his cellphone, but his father picks up on the first ring which unfortunately doesn’t give him any time to prepare a speech.
“Uh, Dad, I-could you bring over some stuff for my-uh”
“Andrew, sorry, I’m in the hallway and I’m having some trouble understanding you over all the students. You have to speak up a little.”
“It’s my nest, it isn’t- actually, nevermind. No. It’s fine.” The last thing he needs or wants is his father’s own overbearing parental Beta smell all over the place.
“I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me out of taking PTO to be there to help you. Do you need me to come over there now?”
“No! Not now. Just come after. Like we planned.”
A sigh of worry on the other end. “It’ll be okay. These Alphas can take care of you the way you need. They know what they’re doing. You have to trust them.”
Andrew grits his teeth. That was the worst part of all of this wasn’t it? Vulnerable and having to be coddled by an Alpha just because his traitorous biology made him roll over for it. He’d had to read pamphlets about the Omega liberation movement in history class and his father was a big fan of reassuring him his classification didn’t make him any less of a person, but none of it worked in instilling any sense of pride in Andrew. He resented that there were only three paths for Omegas: overindulgent sluts, dutiful breeders, or hopped up on suppressants to make them Beta-esque. For most of Andrew’s post-pubescent life he’d used pills. The miracle of the twentieth century, as his history books said, an innovation, a human rights miracle! But one incident of forgetting to take his dose the day before his heat had been disastrous, leaving him bedridden and crying for three days straight. Since then Andrew had vowed off them forever. Much easier for the clinic to be able to track his cycle and send him a handy email reminder when to come in, get fucked, and receive the ability to maintain a clear head for the rest of the month and focus on more important things than his libido. After all, unlike other Omegas, Andrew had ambitions, Andrew had a dream, and he can’t take any chances that heats will derail his drumming career. He has nightmares sometimes of going into heat in the middle of a performance, crashing to the floor a heap of sweat and slick, his sticks rolling away and into the darkness forever out of reach. Faceless people snicker and laugh, poor little drummer boy, forever branded Omega in the public eye. At least with clinic visits only one Alpha would see him in the humiliating throes of heat. Andrew could control it this way.
“Whatever. Okay. See you in a few hours,” he tells his father and hangs up.
Andrew grumpily assesses his nest again for another five minutes, before deciding to crumple a few sheets of music paper and place them between the pillows. He spends an hour adding more paper balls of various sizes. Great, now it looks like a hamster cage. He lays down in the nest to test the feel of it- when there’s a knock at the door.
“It’s open,” Andrew calls.
“Insufficient security during heat, fucking stupid kids,” booms an older male voice as the visitor enters the apartment, rumbles down the hallway towards Andrew’s bedroom.
Andrew stands, but he feels dizzy for a second, stumbles and braces against the wall. The man who finally enters is pure Alpha, wide chested and broad shouldered, with muscles straining beneath the fabric of his shirt. His stentorian voice hits Andrew as if it too had such sturdy physical form.
The man in the now open doorway pulls a small recording device from his pocket and speaks into it.
“Terence Fletcher, Age 58, Alpha #10102014, as trained and certified by the Shaffer Clinic. Requesting permission to enter the nest of Andrew Neiman for the purposes of heat fulfillment.”
The man points the recorder at Andrew, who doesn’t respond. He is still taking in all of this man, the one who will spend the next few hours fucking him. The other Alphas had been traditionally handsome, unassuming, square and put-together. They had smiled at Andrew as they caressed him, tried to be kind and reassuring, and Andrew had scowled and closed his eyes so he did not have to see their faces. This man is different. For one he is bald, which makes him look older, and the beginning of real jowls are pulled over sunken cheeks. He looks a bit like a turtle, with his large torso and stalk of a head severely lacking chin. This curious character is exacerbated by the fact he is frowning in deep annoyance. Still, there is a handsomeness to him that warms Andrew’s chest, his Omega senses nonetheless intrigued by this incongruous specimen. The man clicks off the recorder, before addressing Andrew again.
“I don’t have all day, Helen Keller! Speak up,” he barks. “Or should I leave and just let you drown yourself in a puddle of slick?”
The man- Fletcher, elaborates with a flare of his scent glands and the room is flooded with aggressive Alpha pheromones. Andrew licks his lips. His clothes are beginning to feel overbearing, slightly too tight. The recorder clicks on again.
“Permission granted.”
Fletcher stows the device in his pocket satisfied.
“You’re shorter than I thought you’d be,” Andrew says, using all his energy reserves to maintain his composure. He holds his head high and clamps a hand over his scent gland which is itching to start emitting pheromones as well.
Fletcher ignores the provocation and instead rolls the gargantuan suitcase he’s brought with him into Andrew’s small abode.
“Height preference is irrelevant garbage.”
“You’re not even hot. I thought Alphas were supposed to be, like, hot. I should ask for a discount.”
“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize princess here could only take a knot from Javier fucking Bardem. Guess I’ll just leave then-” The Alpha swiftly turns and, even though Andrew knows it’s a transparent ploy, he can’t help dashing forward and seizing the Alpha’s wrist to jerk him back into the bedroom.
“That’s what I thought,” Fletcher says smugly and yanks his wrist out of Andrew’s grasp. But he doesn’t make to leave again, thankfully. Fletcher is now kneeling and beginning to unpack the large suitcase that lays on the floor. Andrew crouches down next to him, previous growl fades to curious purrs as he watches. The urge to press himself into Fletcher’s body flares up, but he resists (he probably has about an hour left until he won’t be able). Fletcher pulls out a mass of multi-colored fabrics and some poles and one butcher paper wrapped item. Andrew extends an exploring hand only to have it swatted away.
“Paws off. I know what I’m doing. Where’s your nest?”
“We’re standing in it.”
Fletcher looks around at the mess. He picks up one of Andrew’s paper balls and raises his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression of dismay.
“Dear god. Don’t tell me this is your first time.”
Andrew is indignant. “No, I’ve had lots of heats before. Just never here. Building a nest is a lot harder than you think. I don’t have the right stuff.”
“Clearly,” Fletcher drawls, unmoved.
Fletcher spends the next fifteen minutes rigging up a real nest, a sort of oblong hammock Andrew immediately piles his shoddy materials inside and these are augmented by a thick slick-proof blanket. It reeks of Fletcher and Andrew wonders whether it is straight off the man’s bed himself. The boy immediately rolls himself up in it so he resembles some sort of fat pill-bug. Andrew sighs happily.
Next, Fletcher starts to pull a series of items of clothing out of the suitcase. A few pants tucked in near Andrew’s legs, dress shirts dropped on top of Andrew’s swaddled chest. The last item is a sweat-stained white tank top. Fletcher goes to place it somewhere around Andrew’s neck, maybe wrap around his scent glands even, but he never gets that far. The second the scent of Alpha sweat hits Andrew’ nose, he jolts up and lunges like a snake, teeth snapping quick and feral in vicious excitement. He nearly takes Fletcher’s fingers off grabbing the item in his jaws. As he drops it from his mouth onto the nest so he can nuzzle his cheek into it, he notices through half-lidded eyes that to his delight there is a drop of red blood now adorning the ring finger of Fletcher’s hand. But the Alpha does not seem angry or frightened, potentially because the injury is so minimal, but most likely because Andrew is now laying with his neck bare and exposed and submissive after his act of violence.
“You know you have quite the reputation at the clinic. Cries with the women, really rips into the men. Most of my peers get into this business because it’s a no nonsense, convenient way to get laid, but word on the street is that you’re not worth the trouble. Most people don’t like bedding Omegas that throw punches in the sack.”
“Man, you must really be desperate then.” Andrew smirks. “Are you one of those BDSM weirdos?”
“What I am, Neiman, is an educator. Advising our misguided youth on an Omega’s place in society.”
“My dad’s a teacher.”
Fletcher raises a finger, his voice is sharp. “Don’t ever mention your father again.”
“Why? You wanna be my Daddy instead? Just ‘cause it’s illegal for you to hang around playgrounds jerking off doesn’t mean I’m gonna be your consolation prize.”
Fletcher grabs at Andrew’s neck, a warning. His hands are large, hard and firm. Most Omegas would go limp, make themselves as submissive as possible to soothe an angry Alpha, but Andrew’s self preservation instinct runs irregular to his classification. He swings both his fists at Fletcher’s chest, hours of drumming providing strength for the momentum. His knuckles make contact with a dull thud, but the Alpha barely flinches. Fletcher only leans further down over Andrew and tightens his grip.
“I’m here for one thing only,” he hisses up against Andrew’s cheekbone, “and that’s to make sure heat-headed runts like you don’t end up fat with pups because you can’t keep your whore legs shut.”
“Let go of me you geriatric knothead!” Andrew gasps out.
He struggles violently, but Fletcher’s grip also triggers something in his base animal brain, sending a spark of arousal shooting through his nervous system and making his hole clench in preparation, flooding between his legs with the first tell-tale gush of slick. His heat is starting. When Fletcher uses the other hand to unravel Andrew from his fabric cocoon and remove his shorts there is a large damp stain of slick already spreading underneath his ass and Fletcher easily slips two fingers into Andrew’s soaked hole. Andrew whines. He pumps his fingers in and out, steady rubbing at Andrew’s feverish insides until Andrew is bucking up into the Alpha’s hand. When Fletcher removes his hand Andrew does not try to hit him again, only lifts his hips to demand more.
Fletcher raises himself up, just long enough to take off his neutral button up shirt to reveal a tight muscle-tee, well-defined and well-worked body. The pants fall away to reveal grey briefs. Andrew can see the shadow of his cock. It looks big.
“Rumors are true, a little feisty, but nothing I can’t handle.”
Fletcher leans forward and drags his fingers from Andrew’s chin up to his lips, catching the drool that drips out of the boy’s mouth, irrefutable evidence of Andrew’s indecent admiration of Fletcher’s body. To save his ego, Andrew goes to bite Fletcher’s fingers again, but Fletcher snatches them away in time.
“I’ve got something else for you first.”
Fletcher pulls out of the suitcase an ebony dark dildo, with a full knot at the bottom. Andrew can’t help but imagine it filling him up, the knot stretching his hole beyond capacity, and he squirms as more slick flows out. His remaining clothes are far too hot now, he’s starting to sweat. He tugs at the neckline of his shirt, letting some air in on the skin of his chest
“What the fuck is that? Are you serious? You’re supposed to knot me,” he complains.
“What if I don't want to? What if I’ve decided you don’t deserve it?”
Andrew splutters, he can’t help it, his scent glands flare in alarm. The man’s smile returns, and this time there’s a sharp cruelty to it. Then, of all things, he laughs. Fully throws back his head and laughs in Andrew’s face.
“I knew you were a mongrel, but they didn’t tell me you were dumb as a dog too! Look, do you want several orgasms or just one? Because I have one knot and you’ll get it at the end. You’re rushing.”
“What-” Andrew’s brain is all mixed up, anger at having his Omega desires played so easily, relief at the assurance of orgasm and knotting, and all of it mired up in lust, lust, ever heightening lust. “what’s your fucking problem?”
“Nothing, sweets. Nothing at all.” And then, Fletcher pulls down his briefs and steps out of them. His cock is, as expected, massive. The organ is thicker in the middle and at least as long as Andrew’s extended hand. A single bead of liquid winks at the tip, an erotic portend. Andrew springs up like a jack-in-the-box.
“But since I’m so generous,” Fletcher says, with a few priming pumps of his hand, “I’ll give you a taste first.”
Then, Fletcher grips the sides of Andrew’s head, draws his head forward so Andrew’s ass is pushed back, his back arched, and face right against the Alpha’s groin. But he doesn’t shove himself into Andrew’s mouth, instead infuriatingly slowly he simply slides his cock up and down Andrew’s face. Heavy, hard weight throbbing against Andrew’s cheeks, his eyes, his lips dragged open and panting.
“Frankly, I’m disappointed. I was promised a challenge and here I find just another needy Omega bitch willing to crawl for a crumb of Alpha cock.”
Andrew growls deep in his chest, grips Fletcher’s hips. “Shut the fuck up. I don’t pay you to talk.”
“You’re right. Your spine of a paramecium Beta Daddy paid me to keep his failed abortion from running out on the street and impaling his pimpled ass on a fire hydrant. ”
“I said shut up!” Andrew lifts his head and with the speed of a man possessed, he sucks Fletcher’s dick into his mouth in one motion. He’s not a fucking charity case, this old windbag should be fucking happy he’s getting to stick his dick in a teenage Omega. He closes his lips around the man’s thick flesh as tight as he can and moans. His scent glands throb and in return Fletcher throbs in his mouth, blood pumping, blood wanting Andrew as much as he wants him. Fletcher can’t deny it. Andrew spreads his legs, for leverage, to open himself further. He is starting to feel empty, exposed and raw. But here, in his mouth, he is full of Alpha who wants him.
But Andrew barely gets through one bob on the man’s shaft before fingers twist in his hair, pain shooting across his skull as the older man holds him steady and bombards his mouth with hard, pointed thrusts. Andrew gags and chokes and slobbers and the pain is unbearable and yet it soothes and overwhelms and Andrew’s higher brain functions melt away as he is used so thoroughly. Except there’s that sensation again, like a cavern inside of him. And while Fletcher pistons his hips into the mess of Andrew’s mouth, the boy frantically reaches back to try to slip his own fingers inside himself, seeking some relief. He gets about two in, up to the first knuckle, before Fletcher notices, drags him off his dick and throws him onto his back.
In the end, Andrew is thankful for the dildo. Fletcher gets Andrew’s legs up over his shoulders so his hole is wide open and Fletcher’s biceps flex as he holds one of Andrew’s ankles with one hand and uses the other to ram the toy into the howling Omega beneath him. Andrew claws at Fletcher’s arms through it all, jaws snapping at air as he comes. Omega cum and slick stream down over the curves of Andrew’s lifted ass, the almost up-side down small of his back, and upon Fletcher’s sturdy wide thighs.
And then, once Andrew is heaving and whimpering from his third orgasm, Fletcher lays down next to him to rest as well. The older man’s breath, while not quite as ragged, is still irregular from exertion. Andrew turns to him with still glassy eyes, lips plump and parted.
“They didn’t warn me you had fucking Niagra Falls between your legs,” Fletcher grumbles.
“Hey.” Andrew’s voice is hoarse. “Would it kill you to be nice to me? What about customer service?”
Fletcher extends a hand and places it on Andrew’s stomach, drawing his fingers through the white ropes of semen that fan across Andrew’s skin like an obscene abstract painting. “Does the amount of cum currently on your body scream lack of customer service?”
Andrew attributes his lack of retort to the fact he came his brains out three times already. The boy throws his arms over his face and they lay like that for another half hour, waiting for their heartbeats to settle.
Then Fletcher says, quietly:
“You look good like this. Is that nice enough for you?”
It's surreal, the moment of calmness. Andrew wonders for a moment, if this is the end, if Andrew’s heat would break now, and if Fletcher had lied about knotting him and maybe the man really couldn’t knot at all. He drops his arms from his face and turns to face the older man, about to make a comment of disappointment, when he catches sight of the already large cock that still lays invitingly hard up against Fletcher’s stomach. Unbidden, he imagines it swelling impossibly further, and Andrew’s well-worked dick responds to this idea like a dutiful little soldier. He keens and reaches out towards the older man.
Fletcher wastes no time in hauling Andrew on top of him. No words are exchanged, just the swirling complimentary pheromones, their biology in unspoken agreement. Andrew’s soaked thighs and groin make an outrageously lewd sound as they slap against the older man’s tight musculature. And then, with no more prep or preemption, Fletcher shoves in and Andrew throws back his head with an uninhibited shout. The gaping, empty feeling inside of him is gone and he is finally, blessedly complete.
“Fu-u-u-u-uck…..”
The expletive is drawn out, vowel punched out in gasps as Fletcher rapidly thrusts up. Andrew’s whole body bounces violently as he gets fucked harder than he ever has in his life. So overwhelmed is he, that he does not hear the neighbors banging on the door. But Fletcher does.
The change from being ruthlessly plowed to nothing at all is so sudden, Andrew feels his stomach flip in fear and disorientation, as if he is plummeting off a cliff. He lets out a pitiful, wrecked sob.
“Are you kidding me?!”
Protest is moot as he is dumped onto his back. Andrew tries to grab for Fletcher as the Alpha leaves the nest, the Omega tumbling out of the pool of fabric and crawling miserably on the floor, but Fletcher aims a sharp kick at his soft belly that has him winded and prostrate for enough time that Fletcher can pull on a pair of pants and speed away down the hallway to answer the door.
“Get back here, asshole, or I’ll tear your glands out!” Andrew screeches, furious and desolate.
He can hear Fletcher muttering something to someone in the hallway, but the words are lost to him. Andrew decides to climb back into the nest, where at least he can rub himself against Fletcher’s clothes. That makes the alarm bells in his head stop blaring, but he’s still frustratingly horny. Fletcher will be back soon, Fletcher will be back soon, he tells himself, but his ass clenches and his dick twitches and everything is too sensitive, it’s starting to hurt again. He tries to satiate himself with his fingers first, but that does nothing. His hand may as well be a limp tampon, nothing compared to Fletcher’s fingers or his cock. Finally Andrew gets the dildo back in hand, turns around so he’s on his hands and knees. The toy slips in ludicrously easy now, for how wet he is, and Andrew fucks himself as hard as he can with it, but he can’t quite get deep enough at this angle and the satisfaction is minimal without an Alpha touching or holding him. He is vaguely aware through the haze of heat, that there are tears of frustration streaming down his cheeks.
So lost and desperate he is that he doesn’t even notice the Alpha is back until Fletcher rips the object out of his hand.
“Oh, thank god.”
Fletcher’s cock (still hard) fits snugly into the top of Andrew’s ass, so close to where he needs it again. Andrew grinds back against him, whines.
“I had to show my ID to a twenty-two year old hall monitor just to prove I’m not molesting you.”
“Wow, that sucks.’ There is not a trace of sympathy in Andrew’s voice. “Put your dick back in me.”
Fletcher continues: “Bet you’d like that actually, you snivelling slick-factory. Once Daddy’s money runs out you’ll probably spend your heats bent over a public toilet begging to be bred.”
And then Fletcher grabs his ass and spreads him even further, digs his thumbs right into the puffy center where Andrew will be sore tomorrow and pries him wide so Andrew is streaming down his thighs. His shame inescapable, Andrew moans.
“Call me a pedophile all you want if it makes you feel better, but trust me, no one’s out here mistaking this cum-runway for kiddie hole.”
And with one broad palm Fletcher shoves Andrew's head down into the nest. Somehow the degradation heightens his heat, makes it come on more violently than ever. Flame for flame, sword for sword, his excessive libido and Fletcher’s vicious dominance. Andrew can barely turn far enough to breathe, but he lets out a muffled mantra as the older man enters him, pounding with a speed to match the urgency to mate that vibrates every cell of Andrew’s body. Fletcher plunges into him and Andrew can think of only one thing.
“knotmeknotmeknotmeknotme”
He knows it’s about to happen when Fletcher grabs his arm, bends it backwards so far he might dislocate the socket and pain explodes in his shoulder. His tiny dick spurts in unison. The older man drags Andrew up against him, harsh gravelly breath scouring Andrew’s scent glands. Andrew’s wet hair hangs in front of his face, swinging and spraying sweat across their bodies.
“None of that self-respecting Omega bull, just another- pathetic- worthless- puppymill-”
“Yeah, yeah, knot me, motherfucker-ah, fuck!”
When Fletcher finally starts to swell it is like cataclysm, like Andrew is being ripped open. He screams, but he pushes back to meet Fletcher and his body opens up to accommodate the Alpha. Fletcher’s knot locks in tight, cum pumps into him for so long Andrew grasps at his stomach with both hands, as if he might feel a bulge there for how full he is. He moans long and relieved. And then Fletcher’s hand is upon his Omega dick, he is coming, and his consciousness shatters in pleasure. They both collapse into the nest.
Some time later they lay side by side, locked together, sweat cooling on their bodies.
Fletcher’s face is buried in the crook of Andrew’s neck. Andrew’s brain still feels like absolute mush. Until a pricking sensation drags him into hyperawareness. Fletcher’s teeth skate lightly Andrew’s scent glands.
“Mmm?”
He can’t help but whimper and arch into it. His dick is soft now, the fever is broken, but as Fletcher continues to caress Andrew lightly with his teeth the contact starts to make Andrew pant, loud and heavy. Fletcher’s grip on him tightens. The next words are whispered right up against Andrew’s pulse.
“I know you want it, but I’m not going to Bond with you.”
“Then why are you doing it?” the boy mewls. Andrew tilts his neck to expose himself further and reaches back to hold Fletcher’s face close, index finger tracing an ear, thumb tucked into the lines of the old man’s face. There is no chance of ignoring who is holding him, who might Bond with him forever with just a slip of the teeth. Andrew smells a flare in Alpha pheromones at his touch.
And Fletcher doesn’t stop, although he never bites down he continues to mouth at Andrew’s neck, until miraculously, another small orgasm overtakes him. His fifth. With an undisguisable groan of unfulfillment Fletcher slips his mouth down to the safety of Andrew's shoulder and bites down there, savage and intense, ripping at Andrew’s flesh like he’s trying to eat him. Andrew trembles, his dick drips clear. With reluctance Fletcher raises his teeth off and pulls his now deflated knot out of the wholly debauched Omega. The man sits up, licks at his teeth, then pats Andrew on the knee.
“Next time, you can come to my place. It’s soundproofed.”
Andrew rolls over onto his back and gazes up at him. “For all the other Omegas you bring home,” he says petulantly.
"Jesus, are you this fucking possessive with every Alpha you go through heat with? It’s soundproofed because I’m a jazz teacher.” Fletcher rubs at the back of his head and looks at Andrew with unexpected wariness, despite all they’ve just been through. “Hey, where’s the bathroom in this fire-code violation?”
While Fletcher is washing up, Andrew sits with this new piece of information about the man whose knot has been deep inside him for over an hour now. He wonders if Fletcher has recognized the pages they’ve just fucked on are version of ‘Caravan.’
When he returns, Fletcher says: “I’m taking back my own clothes, but the rest of it you can bring to the clinic. You know it’s not my job to clean this shit up.”
“My Dad’s coming over later to help me with the laundry.”
“Picture book family activity,” Fletcher says patronizingly, as he lays out huge trash bags and starts to pack up the parts of the nest that belong to him.
“You’re gonna leave, just like that?” Even with the nest hammock and blanket left, Andrew can’t help feeling oddly bereft, despite his base biology receiving full gratification.
“Christ almighty, you’d think I had bonded with you the way you’re acting. I have a clock to punch out and a real life to get to, so yes, I am leaving.”
Andrew draws up his legs against his chest and pouts.
Fletcher refastens his watch. “Finished you off in record time, think I’ll still be able to make the 8:00pm show at David Geffen.”
In a final act of magnanimity he throws Andrew the old sweat soaked tank top. And by the time Andrew catches it, Fletcher is out of the bedroom, suitcase in tow.
He hears the slam of his front door and Andrew runs a thumb over the garment and then, with no one to witness such shamelessness, he presses it to his face with a guttural groan and falls back into the nest. He is asleep in an instant.
When Andrew wakes up, everything aches, but wonderfully so. His mind is crystal clear, as if he had slept for a dozen restorative days instead of mere hours. He rolls over and finds Fletcher’s shirt pooled against his face. He takes one more whiff of it before he holds the shirt up to inspect it against the ceiling light of his bedroom.
Right there, on the edge, is a tiny smear of red. A bloody souvenir. He grins to himself.
Andrew resolves then, that if Fletcher happens to have a drum kit in his home, Andrew will make Fletcher listen to him play. Maybe they could even play something together.
For the first time in his Omega life, Andrew Neiman is honestly, truly looking forward to his next heat.