The Omega Awakened: A M/M Omegaverse Erotic Short Fiction (Omegan Tales Book 1) Read online

  Elijah Stierne

  The Omega Awakened

  A M/M Omegaverse Erotic Short Fiction

  Copyright © 2020 by Elijah Stierne

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

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  Contents

  Micah

  Jackson

  Micah

  Jackson

  Micah

  Also by Elijah Stierne

  1

  Micah

  They never got any easier, heats.

  Micah had presented late at twenty years old, and he still knew it better than anything. Heats were incapacitating. Pointless. Obnoxious. They were a heavy weight on his existence, pressing down constantly and molding him into a smaller version of the person he wanted to be. You know, the solitary, individual omega who didn’t need an alpha for anything.

  No, the heats never got any easier, because after years of fighting his way to the “alpha-only classes” on campus, and spending all semester making sure to not do anything that would play into the worthless and dumb stereotypes that were already taped to his back, they still managed to get to him. They still managed to undo all of the work he’d put in to make himself look like something other than a breeder. Honestly, Micah had spent his entire undergraduate career fighting for omega rights and so would have been much more forgiving of his biology on a different day.

  But this was the day of his final exam, and he was giving a very important presentation. Quaking in front of his alpha peers while trying to argue that omegas were strong, capable beings was so ironic that he could almost taste the rust on his tongue.

  Really, he should have just titled the presentation you know what, you guys are onto something. fuck being an omega.

  “Micah…” the teacher whispered.

  Her name was Dr. Jemma. A nice alpha whose hand was now on Micah’s forearm as he stood, shaking, against the podium at the front of the class.

  Micah looked down at her hand, where her lean fingers were gripping him tightly. He was almost ashamed of how ridiculous it all was. Why the fuck was he going into heat now? He’d tracked his cycle so closely this semester trying to avoid this exact situation.

  Apart from the obvious irritation of Micah’s skin feeling too tight over his bones, there was a scent tickling his nose like a feather. It was soft, gentle, almost intimate, as if he’d smelled it before but couldn’t place it. It was only a trickle of a scent, but enough that his brain sunk its claws in and latched onto it. It smelled like fall. Like cinnamon, or a bonfire, or even fallen leaves collecting on the grass at the end of a crisp autumn day. Like a mosquito or some other niggling critter that existed only to upset you, the scent burrowed down into his psyche and took up residence. Micah shook his head to try and clear his thoughts.

  “Sorry, I’m just -”

  “No. It’s fine, but I think you should get your things and leave,” Dr. Jemma warned. Her voice was sharp and her tone was even, leaving little room for argument.

  Micah glanced up from the podium. One look around the room was enough to confirm that her advice was sound. The eyes that had been on desks and on the clock and on the hidden phones in student’s laps were now on him, some piercing and some worried. There wasn’t a single alpha in the room who wasn’t watching him closely. If his heat hadn’t been lighting his cheeks up like a cherry, the attention certainly would’ve done the job. Micah bit his lip and immediately looked back down at the paper in front of him. All he wanted to do was get through this one presentation. Why was his body fighting him on this?

  “I can finish the page.”

  “Micah,” Dr. Jemma repeated. This time, her voice was authoritative, deep and rumbling. She wasn’t using her alpha tone. Not yet. But it was close, and it made Micah shiver. Surely, Dr. Jemma could smell him. Every alpha in the class was scenting his pheromones, some sniffing the air noisily now that a moment had passed, others covering their noses and choking back their responses. It wasn’t safe for him to stay too long, but his grades and his dignity depended on his standing still at the podium and finishing his presentation. He was close enough to the finish line that he could taste it. He couldn’t give in now.

  “Two minutes,” Micah begged, white-knuckling the podium and leaning back just a bit. The icing on the cake of this absolute disaster would’ve been to give in to his desires and bend over the podium, moaning and carrying on like a common whore. Micah forced himself to stay upright, staring at Dr. Jemma with wide eyes and pleading with her, in not so many words, to just let him finish. His body was going haywire, but his determination was not. Certainly he could be trusted for a moment longer. “I promise. I’ll read quickly, and then I’ll leave.”

  Dr. Jemma folded her arms over her chest. She seemed to consider it for an inappropriate amount of time, each second bearing more heavily down on Micah’s self-control. Omegas in heat were so difficult to say ‘no’ to, and the conflict showed on every crease of Dr. Jemma’s face. When she finally nodded, there was a glimmer to her skin that hadn’t been there before. Micah understood it well; small beads of sweat were collecting at the base of his own skull, though he was slightly more unfocused than his professor, if her control as she moved back towards her desk were any indication. He still had every intention of getting through his project.

  Dr. Jemma perched awkwardly on the edge of the desk as Micah began to speak again.

  Making eye contact with the class wasn’t an option anymore. Every time he looked up, another person seemed to growl at him, or otherwise lean forward in their seats and tilt their heads back, nose trying to catch the traces of pheromones and internalize them. Micah wasn’t sure what he smelled like to the people in the room. Nobody could ever really describe their own scents correctly. Micah had met so many people who had thought their scent was one thing, only for them to soon discover that it was another thing entirely. Once a couple was mated, scents mutated anyway. It only mattered so far as you were looking for someone to settle down with.

  Even without knowing his exact scent, the proof of what he was doing to everyone was in the pudding. His heat had only one purpose: to attract the best mate for breeding, and so being in a room full of alphas during preheat was a lot like letting a kid loose in a candy store. It wasn’t a good idea for anybody.

  There was one scent that was still sticking to his nose, crawling up into his brain and driving him absolutely insane. It was irresistible, mouth-watering. Micah kept his eyes at ground level as a last-ditch effort to preserve the peace. He looked between feet and glanced over the shoes of everyone in front of him.

  “A-and, so clearly nature and nurture are two sides of the same coin. We aren’t merely slaves to our biology, but instead a combination of - of two different…inputs. Even omega can control… large parts of their social and cognitive responses to things…”

  There were so many converse and sandals. Some were tapping impatiently against the legs of th
eir desks and others were flat against the floor. From purple to blue, even to red, like the color of his cheeks or the blush that traveled along every inch of his skin, there were so many colors to focus on. Micah’s lips were moving around practiced syllables on autopilot. When his eyes settled on a pair of old, unmoving Brogues, he paused. His brain stuttered to a halt.

  It seemed like such a trivial thing to fixate on, but as he fumbled for the words he’d spent so long memorizing, he realized quite quickly that he’d reached the end of his mental capacity. Right in the middle of his closing remarks, he’d finally short-circuited and was succumbing to the hideous reality of his heat.

  “No…” he whispered.

  Heats were usually more forgiving than this. The five minutes that it had taken for Micah to go from capable to inadequate was too little time. Micah was feeling the emotional whiplash of it, the grieving of his sanity as he descended into some basic and primitive version of himself. It was a direct argument for why omegas weren’t allowed in classes like these. Perhaps now, as much as it pained him to admit it, Micah could see the reasoning behind it. This heat would be a lot less intimidating with a room full of betas and omegas staring back at him.

  Slowly, Micah’s eyes ran a trail up the shoes to the ankles, the ankles to the ripped jeans and the muscular legs they were stretched around, to the chest with the arms folded over it, outfitted in a green Henley that showed off how wide the man was, to the face - the fucking face of what was quite obviously everything Micah had been waiting for. His future mate.

  The man looked sharp; his jaw could cut diamonds and his eyes were a soft brown, covered under the thick, black hair of his eyebrows. The lips, fuck, the guy’s lips were like two engorged petals and Micah wanted to suckle them, slip his tongue between them and taste every inch of the man’s mouth.

  “Oh, fuck,” Micah moaned, finally bending over the podium and smacking his head against the wood.

  Dignity, who? Micah only knew Shame and Humiliation.

  With his back bent inward, ass pressed out so that any slick that dripped from him could soak his boxers and make the scent stronger, his sweat dripped down his temples, dropping on the paper in a soft pattern that reminded him of rain on a windowsill. Drip, drip, drip. It was almost mocking. An unwelcome thought assaulted him then; the fact that Micah could be dripping a lot more if his mystery man were to come over and and yank his pants down. He wanted it so bad that he could feel it - the pressure of a big, alpha cock slipping into him and stretching him open, filling him up so good.

  Dr. Jemma was screaming, “Sit down! Jackson, sit down!”

  Micah couldn’t worry about her. He breathed deeply, sniffing the scent of all the potential suitors around him, smiling with his lips against his paper when he realized that, yeah, he was the only fucking omega in here and, yeah, if they really wanted to, all of them could run train on him and he’d fucking take it. Because that’s what he was good at. With his ass starting to drip and his legs wobbling like jelly, that’s what his body was begging for. To be filled to the point of breaking, and to have someone pumping him full of come.

  Dr. Jemma grabbed him by his arm, tugging him upright violently, and with a voice he’d only ever heard one other time (by a fireman who had been trying to push off the nosy bastards standing around the driveway, watching a house go up in flames), she yelled, “Jackson, sit. I mean it. Micah, you’re coming with me.”

  The thing about heats was that they sent you into a daze. Control wasn’t a part of the equation. There was a fever and it followed a pattern. Most omegas got a few hours to prepare. Few omegas were so imbalanced that a handful of minutes was the difference between a scholar and a man of absent-minded and dangerous behavior. Micah had never been one of the unlucky ones. His heats had always hit over the course of the day, and most times he had ample opportunity to remove himself from society, get himself to a heat room, and struggle through this without jeopardizing his innocence. This time, though, it seemed that Micah had skipped the grace period altogether, falling head-strong into the worst of it. He couldn’t see straight, but he had a vivid memory of the Brogues some feet away from him.

  That guy - Micah needed to get back to him.

  With all the strength he could gather, Micah yanked his arm free of Dr. Jemma’s grip and turned around, moving steadily towards his unsettled classmates, some of who were clearly trying to maintain their sanity by stumbling away from him and putting some space between them. Desks were overturned, students were gasping and falling over themselves to get away, and then there was him. His man. His mate.

  “No! Micah - come on.”

  “Please, fuck, I need you,” Micah begged, well aware that his breath was a pitch too high, his throat closing up around his words. The man looked back at him and his eyes were wide like saucers. He pushed his seat back so that he could stand up and move around it.

  Micah had never been so absolutely disgusted with himself. At the same time, he’d never been so pleased with himself, either. It had been a total of seven minutes (perhaps even less) since he’d felt the tingling at the base of his spine warning him of his incoming heat, and now he was a step from being mated. Bonded. Claimed. Like a slow wave of lava over every limb of his body, the heat continued to crawl along his insides until all he could feel were flames licking at every corner of his soul. He was overheated, overstimulated, and overemotional. Honestly, what did that look like? An omega who had fought for the opportunity to join an all-alpha class and was now bending over backwards to get a set of teeth in his neck. He was ashamed. He was also irreparably horny.

  Dr. Jemma grabbed him again, this time hard enough to bruise. Micah moaned and leaned against her, head tilted back onto her shoulder as he rubbed his ass on her crotch. There was nothing there. No bulge, no stiff line. It was a bit of a shock, and Micah frowned, breathing out in confusion and slight anxiety as he realized that she wasn’t who he needed. In front of him, someone growled low in their throats. It was a warning. It sounded so pretty, so protective. A guy that could make a sound like that would make a good father someday, and Micah would do whatever he could to get his hands on an alpha like that.

  “Jackson, my god! He’s in heat, for fucks’ sake!”

  “I know,” The guy - Jackson - said. “Sorry, I just… I can’t…”

  Dr. Jemma lost her patience. She barked - her pheromones spiking dangerously in warning - and every alpha in the class settled immediately, then she yanked on Micah as if he were nothing more than a rag doll, guiding the man toward the door. Her strength was brute. Micah couldn’t help but keen at the power in her grasp, and there was no way he’d imagined the snarling that was coming from the seat behind him, a reminder that Micah’s alpha was near. The thought of leaving to go and manage his heat without the man was like a wound to the omega’s chest. He whined and pleaded to be released until he was at the door and Dr. Jemma was tugging him roughly over the threshold. It was only when she slammed the door closed, the bang of it echoed loudly through the hallway, that Micah finally went limp in her arms.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Micah understood what was happening, but the events were covered by a thin film. Like a movie or an old television show, they were doused in a static that made them hard to confront.

  How unfortunate it was that he’d ruined every ounce of trust his adviser had fought to give him. Even more, how sad it was that his breakdown had come to nothing. He left with nobody. All he had to show for his efforts was his pissed off instructor who was currently bruising his arm and dragging him along to somewhere more isolated. Shameful didn’t even begin to cover it.

  Being an omega wasn’t easy. Heats were never easy. And as much as Micah wanted for things to be different, they weren’t. Omega were needy, No amount of presenting information was going to change that.

  For the first time since he’d arrived at the university, Micah wanted to leave. The realization was a bit like a train spiraling out of control down a set of tracks, no breaks
, no safety levers. There was a bit of fear and a bit of anxiety around the thought - Micah had put so much of himself into his courses. He’d wanted for things to go so much more differently than this. But what was the phrase his mother had told him at the kitchen table last summer, when he’d had his forehead down on the wood, surrounded by a pile of rejection letters with his status stamped high at the top?

  Oh, yeah.

  You can’t always get what you want.

  * * *

  The symptoms came in waves.

  The begging, the pleading, the crying, it wasn’t permanent. It would come and go in strong doses. There were peaks that tested his emotional and physical patience, and then there was the calm and the quiet. He cycled through both periods in a practiced fashion. Micah had heard once that a mated omega was hyper-sensitive to their ebbs and their peaks. When their alpha was absent, they would fall into a manic depression that could span weeks, but when their alpha was present, sating them and stuffing them full of cock, the peaks were so much sweeter. The highs were incomparable.

  In a way, Micah wished he had that. Right now, there was no light at the end of the tunnel, no alpha’s arms wrapped around him protectively, nothing to focus on while he tread through the depths of hell. Mating just to buffer the effects of the heat felt like a slap to the face, but it was so tempting. If Micah did that, it would be a slap in the face of all he’d fought for the entire semester. The omega as the strong, independent, contributing member of society. Not the burden. Not the emotional wreck.

  A few hours into his heat, and Micah was laying on his back, his dick aching from being rubbed too hard and too much. The ceiling wasn’t particularly interesting, but he couldn’t pull his eyes from it long enough to look at something better. He was tired and it was the sort of exhaust one might experience after being awake for a days, when the limbs are heavy and the eyes are burning and nothing quite makes sense anymore. His nose was running. his mouth felt like it’d been stuffed full of cotton balls. He could still feel the thrumming of the heat under his skin, and it felt like an engine in his veins just waiting to rev up again. It was warm. He was warm. Everything sucked.