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Nate is three when Hodgins vs. Johnstone 446 U.S. 732 (1980) officially allows male omegas to be in combat roles in the military.  A decade before, combat roles were officially opened for female alphas, because of the need for troops in Vietnam, while female omegas were allowed to finally serve in the military in support roles.  That was the first change since World War II, where female alphas and betas were finally allowed to serve in the first place, though — like male omegas — their roles were limited to support roles. At the time, Nate doesn’t understand the significance.  His parents try to explain why this news is a good thing, how it is a step forward in omega rights, but it’s clear that it isn’t personal.  Omegas deserve the same rights as any alpha or beta, of course; no sex or gender is inherently better than another.   But Nate’s parents and grandparents are betas, as are his (biological) aunts and uncles, with one alpha uncle by marriage, and though he is too young to present, the assumption is that Nate will present as a beta as well. Thirteen years later Nate wakes up to a bed drenched in something , and his first instinct is to yell at his younger sister because dumping a bucket of water over him would be right up her alley.  Unfortunately, he learns once his mother bursts into his room with Joanna at her heels, it’s not water.  Joanna also had nothing to do with it. He’s just presented as an omega.   He helps his mom change his sheets, after Joanna is banished from the room and he has changed into clean and dry sweats.  His mom tries to be supportive — is supportive to the best of her ability, but she’s not an omega, especially not a male one.  Male omegas have to deal with a certain stigma of being lesser, of not being true men, and his mom’s platitudes are just that: statements that have lost their true meaning because of overuse.  Yes, he knows he’s not lesser than an alpha; yes, he knows that sex itself — primary or secondary — doesn’t matter much, or at least shouldn’t; yes, he knows that he can do anything he wants to do if he puts his mind to it.  Eventually, he banishes her from his room, climbs back into his newly made bed and pretends, hopes , that it was just a…really explosive wet dream, or even that he wet the bed, as embarrassing as that would be, and not actually a sign of his first heat, of the upcoming changes as his body begins to actively rework itself. It’s nothing.  He can sleep for another hour until his alarm goes off and he has to get up to go to his volunteer work. Then the cramps start and the whole idea of being an omega becomes real. The first heat is always the worst, especially in a male omega, and he is no exception.  He switches between freezing and boiling, until his body finally decides on just boiling, many exhausting and extremely uncomfortable hours later.  He’s in horrible pain but at the same time is hornier than he has ever been.  Nothing he does can give him any relief: he just has to wait it out.  He tries jerking off, but it’s not enough , and honestly it kind of hurts too: even the first couple of touches on his dick — light, barely there, not even enough normally to wake any kind of interest — quickly become too sensitive for him.  He tries turning his attention to other erogenous zones, but anything above the waist does absolutely nothing for him, and his balls are just as sensitive as his dick. (He refuses to consider anything behind his balls: he has tried to finger himself before and it’s not a bad feeling at all and he thinks with practice it might become even better, at least from what he’s heard whispered in locker rooms, parties, even written on the last bathroom stall in the downstairs men’s room at school, but that area is not one he wants to think about now, not when he’s literally dripping from there.)   He ends up soaking through his clothes and his sheets several times.  Asking his mom for more sheets and blankets is embarrassing, and eventually she must notice because finally he hears a knock on his door and, once he cracks it open, he finds the entire contents of the linen closet now in a couple of laundry baskets in front of his door, bearing a note to just fill up the laundry baskets with the dirty ones and leave them outside, so she can wash them. There’s an alarm clock by his bed, and another clock by his desk, but he loses all sense of time.  Eventually, in the afternoon — it feels like both an age has gone by and no time at all, with the way he can’t seem to do anything but shiver, sweat, leak from an orifice he doesn’t want to think about, and toss and turn, trying to get comfortable when sometimes even the touch of his sheets is too much for his increasingly sensitive skin, sending him into spirals of both arousal and pain at the same time — his mom knocks on his door and delivers a heat kit: one specified for male omegas presenting for the first time.  It’s embarrassing, even more than the constant delivery of sheets, because his mom essentially just bought and brought him porn and sex toys, but also he has to admit it helps a couple hours later, when his sensitivity to just existing itself has calmed somewhat.  He manages to stammer out a “thank you” the next time she knocks on his door to announce a delivery of fruit, granola bars, bottles of water, and ice packs.The problem with this heat is that he’s not really sure what to expect: sure, sex education is offered in schools, and he’s had “The Talk,” but — he’s not supposed to be an omega, not expected to be an omega, and it’s not like anyone pays attention to those school sponsored presentations.  He knows the basics, but they weren’t enough to prepare him for what he is now going through: the constant switch between nothing being enough and everything being too much, the final change to just horrible cramps and aches all over.  His metabolism, like all omegas especially in their first heat, is currently too fast for OTC pain killers, and doctors won’t prescribe stronger pain killers for first heats because they can have unexpected effects on the body; that much he knows from those ridiculous and embarrassing school presentations.  Suppressants, both scent and heat suppressants, also can’t be started until after his first heat.  His insides are literally rearranging themselves, and it hurts, and he’s not sure what to do. Even a doctor is a risk — any unknown people coming in, especially anyone who has been in contact with an alpha, could have a negative effect on his first heat, when his hormones and pheromones are all over the place.  His family has also largely been banished: while his sisters are too young to have any influence on him,  any possible contact they’ve had with mature alphas — or anyone with an established, strong scent — could affect him, and his father is staying away for the same reason.  As a beta and Nate’s own parent, scenting him since birth, his father would probably be okay, but it’s still not worth the risk.  His mom even had to shower thoroughly and put on freshly laundered clothing once his heat began in earnest, and as a beta woman and his mother, he’s always going to instinctively be drawn to her, to trust her.  The only way to bring in someone outside the immediate family would be in a case of life or death, and he’s not dying (as much as he may want to) of pain or shame. At least first heats are quick, less focused on mating and more on preparing a body to mate.  It’s over by Monday morning, two days later, leaving him achy and exhausted but no longer stuck in that limbo of too much and too little all at once.  He’s finally able to feel hunger and actually sleep instead of tossing and turning, only napping when his exhaustion is so overwhelming that it can force his mind (and pain and arousal) to quiet for even a few minutes.  His mom writes him a general sick note to excuse the absence instead of explaining about his heat, and by Tuesday morning when he gets up for school, he feels just the same as he did the previous Friday, before the heat. . He does get used to being an omega: the changes in his biology, the scent suppressors he now relies on, even the resignation of being underestimated and discriminated against.  While centuries, millennia even, of alphas and omegas mixing in with betas and forming human civilization have passed, things still aren’t perfect. There is no “average omega,” just like there isn’t an average beta or average alpha, but stereotypes still exist: omegas are to be protected, which means they must be weaker, they aren’t overly physical, their main purpose is to bear children, and other nonsense that persists despite decades of research showing how wrong it is.  He’s lucky he was born when he was, that he comes from an upper middle class family who supports people of all genders, abilities, races, romantic and sexual orientations, and so on.  He’s also lucky that he’s shaping up to be tall, already reaching six feet at sixteen and putting on a couple more inches in the next few years.  He plays sports: football and lacrosse, and he runs and swims, though neither competitively.  He has a lean form, though muscular under clothing, and while he keeps the baby face, unfortunately, his general countenance is not something that people look at and immediately go “omega.”In college he dates betas and other omegas but has friends of all sexes.  He doesn’t exactly hide his secondary sex presentation, but he also doesn’t really advertise it or make it part of his identity, like some people do.  He’s just…who he is, and that he’s cross-sexed has the same importance as the fact he has blond hair or green eyes.  He studies, parties a bit, and switches majors.  The only time being an omega is ever relevant (outside of necessary heat absences) is during a lab class when he and everyone else who can get pregnant need to sign a form that they are, to the best of their knowledge, neither pregnant nor planning on becoming pregnant during the length of the course, thus freeing the university from any potential liability when they may be exposed to potentially harmful chemicals or radiation.  When he joins the Marines, he discloses his secondary sex on the application like any other biographical information asked for, but he doesn’t mention it otherwise, and no one else mentions it except in medical exams and during heats: by then, his heats have evened out to appear every six months like clockwork, and it’s easy to get the days signed off on by medical or receive heat suppressors if there’s a chance he’ll be in the field.Heat rooms in the Marines are basic, no-frills rooms that cater to both primary male and female omegas.  He can sign in with a partner, ask for a volunteer, or do his heat solo.  They’re discreet and professional.  He has two heats while at Quantico, one in TBS and one just before IOC started, and even spends his heats once finished and assigned to Pendleton in Marine heat rooms.  VJ is an alpha and has made a standing offer to go stay somewhere else for the duration of Nate’s heats, so that Nate can stay in his familiar environment, but just being in a place shared with an alpha — and thus saturated with alpha scent — is going to bother Nate. Or entice him.In any case, it won’t be comfortable, and he always demurs, going on base instead.In Afghanistan, he ends up receiving heat suppressants starting two weeks before his heat is due — not his first time, for that was at OCS, where he just could not take the time for a heat and finish in time for the start of his next and final year of undergrad — with a strict warning to be careful and observant in case something should go wrong and he needs to be moved back to the Duquesne, and December passes without a heat. He continues to take them until he’s back onboard the ship, where he can take the time for a heat if he has to, just in case the suppressants have changed the timing of his cycle. They have not, and he gets his heat as usual in June right after finishing BRC. His next heat comes in mid December like expected, just before he leaves to visit his family in Maryland for Christmas.  He doesn’t bother worrying about any heats during this deployment, at least not yet.  Should the deployment still be on in June, he’ll start suppressants closer to then, in late May perhaps, but it’s the beginning of April.  There’s no reason to spend his time and brain power on an issue that isn’t one yet.   There are other omegas in First Recon, of course, but there’s only one other in Bravo-Two (Stinetorf) and a couple others in the company, with a few more scattered about other companies.  Heat suppressors (and emergency heat kits) are only carried in small amounts by the battalion surgeon, but that’s fine. He continues to take his scent suppressants, of course, but all Marines take those, especially while deployed.  He’s not worried; there’s no reason to be.   scent suppressants are abundant enough to not have to worry about running out.Unless, of course, a supply truck gets a flat tire and is burned by Iraqis, and the remaining supply — while proven to be enough to cover the battalion — is apparently a brand that messes with Nate’s biology.This, of course, isn’t apparent until much later, when it’s far too late to do anything about it.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Nate’s heats always start with discomfort.  This is common to most omegas, and, in the US or even on a deployment like in Afghanistan, the rising discomfort is enough to clue him in.  There’s the pain in his lower abdomen, which progresses to a general malaise.  From there it’s problems sleeping, a low fever, screwy dreams, an increasing horniness, and a desire for closeness, to be near people he cares for.  He’s never been big on physical objects, unlike some omegas, who have to create elaborate nests or carry certain comfort items around with them.  He definitely views that lack as a positive for being an active duty Marine who might start a heat in a place away from familiar places and items.  Even aboard a ship or posted at an outpost like Camp Matilda, the ability to create a nest or find comfort objects (or people) is severely limited.  And while he

does

have that urge to be close to people he cares about, it’s more of a mild itch in the back of his mind, and it goes away once he is fully in heat.
 
Really, though, heats are the last thing on his mind at the moment.     
 
The Marines are all dirty and stinky and exhausted.  They’ve recently been resupplied with chow, so the hunger has lessened at least some, but it’s still MREs and the quickly dwindling granola bars Nate stuck in his pack before deploying. Sleep has become not something to look forward to but a necessity at best and at worst something to dread, wreaking havoc on his psyche.  It’s not even nightmares but just

unsettling

dreams, ones where he can’t tell forwards from backwards, right from left, up from down.  
 
Nate is bone tired and filthy. His feet squish in his boots; he has to sleep with his head out of his sleeping bag despite the sand and weather because he can’t stand his own stench — when he can try to sleep at all.  The feel of his insides cramping is probably just stress and hunger and the general conditions they’re under.  Of

course

he’s not feeling great.  It’s nothing.  He’s fine.  
 
Then the chills start, which alternate with periods where he feels like he’s boiling.  He is delirious when he lets Gunnery Sergeant Griego — fucking Casey Casem, he finds himself using his men’s word for the sycophant in his head, he’s so furious with the Marine — send a team out to recon a clearly abandoned and non-functional tank, but he’s had so little sleep over the last few weeks that it makes sense for him to be out of it, and Griego deliberately played on that, waking him from his first sleep in days, leading him to think it was just a dream, to the misfortune of his men.

He tries to sleep more, and Mike and the men seem to catch on that he’s not feeling his best.  He has some pains in his stomach, but ass-to-mouth disease is rampant: a lot of Bravo has it, or has

had

it, and they’re not alone.  The huge temperature changes are also an issue, along with the sand getting in membranes and causing irritations, and more deeply unpleasant issues that are pretty par for the course for a deployment like this.
 
No, Nate doesn’t feel good; yes, he’s in pain and needs to sleep more, but he can’t because when he does, his dreams are eerie enough that they fuck with his sleep but are also gone when he wakes up.  The actual content of his dreams remains elusive, only leaving him with an erection that, by the time he goes to take care of it, either has him coming hard in a couple of strokes or is too sensitive, and he has to do his best to will it away.  But needing a combat jack isn’t exactly uncommon, and if the dreams didn’t fuck with his sleep, he wouldn’t think anything of them.  
 
He’s fine, at least as fine as he can be with the conditions the way they are, and that’s that.  He can catch up on sleep, regain the weight, and feel human again once they’re back from the deployment.  There’s enough to deal with, including his inept company commander and his brother-platoon commander having a mental breakdown.  Nate’s condition is absolutely no worse than anyone else’s and is very likely

better

than a lot of the Marines in First Recon.
 
Until it isn’t, that is.
 
In retrospect, he supposes he’s lucky the battalion had battered down in a POG camp.  As it is happening, however, Nate is cursing fate.  The desire slowly pools in his belly as he sits on Two-One’s Humvee with Brad.  Nate should be taking the chance to rest, he knows, but he figures that talking with Brad is just as — if not more — soothing.  He’s long accepted that he’s attracted to Brad, that he wants him and

has

wanted him on a physical level since they first met and on an intellectual, emotional level as he has gotten to know him.  
 
Nate knows that Brad is an alpha, and he once mentioned being an omega in conversation, early on in their (working) relationship.  Brad did nothing with the revelation, simply continuing the discussion, and Nate’s respect was cemented.  Too many people, especially “cocky motherfuckers” like Godfather likes to call Recon Marines, are fine with the idea of having an omega in command until they actually find out their superior officer is an omega, as if they’re suddenly lesser because of that.  Nate didn’t think Brad was going to be like that, and he was pleased to find his instincts were right.
 
Even though Brad is an alpha and Nate is an omega, thus theoretically perfect complements to each other, it’s not the traditional hormonal and pheromonal pull between the two opposing secondary sexes that makes him want Brad.  They both have scent blockers, after all, so he is assured his mind is clear.  No, Nate fully admits that he’s falling not just in lust with Brad but in love too, not that he can do anything about it right now, of course, being Brad’s commanding officer.

Still, Nate takes the moments as he can, cherishing whatever time they have to talk, even possibly leaning on each other to get through this crazy invasion.  He and Brad keep an appropriate distance between them on the hood, even if Nate wants to reach out and touch him, reach over and hold his face in place while Nate devours his lips, his tongue, his mouth, as Nate wants to slowly peel open all the layers of clothing they’re wearing, slowly revealing pale skin, carefully taking Brad’s erect and leaking dick in his hands and into his mouth, making him moan, swallowing down his come as Brad shoots down his throat, rubbing off on him, Brad running his own hands and mouth over every single inch of Nate’s displayed body, reaching —
 
Nate has to stop.
 
It’s not that these thoughts are particularly new or surprising, but Nate’s shocked by the

intensity

of them, all of a sudden.  Nate would have been in trouble long ago if he couldn’t compartmentalize wanting Brad while being Brad’s commanding officer.  This entire deployment, and before too, Nate has kept his desires locked up deep in his mind and only lets them out when he needs a jack or is asleep.
 
Nate tries to change the direction of their conversation from anything too personal, anything too tempting, to the assault on Baghdad and it works… to a point.  He squashes down those troublesome feelings and listens to Brad complain about the war being over for them, tries to be reassuring for them both when he reminds Brad that they haven’t lost anyone, and in a moment of levity, brings up the slit-trench latrine he scoped out earlier.  
 
Brad takes the distraction and runs with it, and Nate is finally able to slink over to his own victor and the ranger grave that awaits him.
 
He can’t sleep, but he tries his best, and he thinks — he

hopes

— he got at least half an hour, though it’s probably only been a few minutes, when he suddenly wakes up, burning up in his MOPP suit, the world taking on the dream-like quality that it always does when he goes in heat, as if the world is slightly displaced from him and his desires, his needs.
 
He

wants

. 
 
He knows he shouldn’t.  He knows that this is the absolute

worst

time to wake up like this, so hot and needy, his body begging for something — someone — he can’t have, at least not now.  He knows the rational arguments about why he can’t make his interest known.  He knows that his commanding officer is already upset with him, and showing any interest, any action or statement that could

possibly

be interpreted as fraternization or even just conduct unbecoming could — and likely would, at this point — earn him a court martial.  
 
He knows he should be worried, no,

terrified

that this is happening

now

of all times.  And he is, but he can’t focus on the terror right now.  This sudden heat makes no sense — he isn’t supposed to have another heat for a couple of months.  Sure, he hasn’t been on a heat suppressant, and scent suppressors don’t help against heats, but to suddenly be in the middle of a heat?

Now

?  
 
He can only assume that being in an invasion and not eating properly, sleeping properly, and who knows what else has been enough to fuck up his heat cycle.  
 
Or something, because he’s not really thinking very rationally at the moment, as his heat starts to flare.

Fuck

.
 
He can feel the slick starting to seep out of him.  He needs to do something now, something

fast

.  Normally he has a few days of preheat to get his affairs in order, though since  his heats have been pretty much exactly twenty-six weeks apart since they settled into a rhythm, he can plan far ahead.  They last for a few days, without an alpha, and though the literature is confident that sharing his heat with an alpha would reduce the duration, he doesn’t care.  It’s not worth the risk, and three days of discomfort, of arousal and needs that cannot — that he

will not

let — be met are a trade-off he is willing to pay. 
 
The important thing is that he

always

has had time to prepare, barring his very first heat: the steady rise of arousal, the various pains and aches, and eventually the rise in his body temperature that hits fever level at least a full day before his heat actually starts, giving him another day to prepare.  
 
No, right now the important thing is that he most certainly does

not

have that desperately needed time to prepare.  
 
He tries to pull his thoughts together, falling back on his training, even if it’s not usually meant to help in a situation like

this

.  It’s common for his brain to get addled as his heat intensifies, but this is very much an occasion where it

can’t

.  He’s basically the one man between his platoon and Griego’s sabotage, Schwetje’s ineptitude, Dave’s growing mania, and Godfather’s bid for his full bird.  
 
He

can’t

be in heat.
 
He

can’t

lose his brain.
 
He

has

to push through this somehow.
 
Mike’s an alpha, but mated.  Doc is a beta.  He can call out to them, ask them for help.  He has to force himself

not

to call out for Brad instead.  Brad — who would come.  Brad would come because he

trusts

Nate, and then he’d get a whiff of Nate and — well, honestly, Nate doesn’t know what would happen.  Brad could go feral.  Honestly, the least problematic of all the options would be that Nate triggered a rut in Brad, and that would be a fucking

disaster

right now
, which says a lot about the other options.
 
Nate wants to get out of his grave, but he doesn’t dare.  He’s already feeling restless, the need to move, to take himself in hand and get off growing exponentially each moment that passes.  He needs to be

filled

.  He is so ready for it, he knows.  His boxer briefs have to be soaked through now, and while he has never had (nor wanted) the occasion to wonder what happens when an omega starts dripping slick in a MOPP suit, he is sure he is about to find out.  
 
A combat jack —  this wouldn’t be a combat jack.  The moment he touches himself, the moment he gives in to the heat, he’s

gone

.  
 
That can’t happen.
 
He won’t let it.
 
“Mike!”  Nate whispers harshly.  He really doesn’t want to bring attention to this.  “Mike!”  Now he knows at least why he felt the urge to dig his grave hidden away, behind the command truck but set apart more than usual.  Of course, that doesn’t help getting anyone’s attention.  He doesn’t want to sit up.  He knows the MOPP suits double as scent-reducers, but he’s not

completely

covered.  After all, his hands and head are free, and while the jacket does have a high neck, it’s not air tight.  They’re meant to keep chemicals from getting

in

, not to stop scents from getting out, especially when he’s not wearing the boots and gloves and hood and mask: all opportunities for his omega-in-heat pheromones to escape into the air, to attract unmated alphas.  
 
(Putting on full MOPP gear does not occur to him.)  
 
Still, despite producing a lot of slick, he’s still not quite in the full stage of heat yet.  He doesn’t have long, but it’s enough time, he thinks, to manage to get out of his grave.  
He pulls himself up and out, ending up on all fours.  “Mike!”  He tries again, the cramps starting.  Fuck — he hates this.  Sometimes he hates being an omega so damn much because of the heats.  He’s a goddamn Recon Marine, he’s been through SERE and BRC; pain is something he can overcome.  Yet, the severity of his cramps still manages to make him double over.  Now it’s even worse, thanks to the situation.   
 
Horrible cramps should be a pre-heat thing, not a “heat has not only started but full-on heat is imminent” thing.
 
Fuck.
 
“Doc!”  He tries, his voice catching at the top of the word.  Still, neither of them come.  “Mike!  Doc!”  He yells out again, swallowing a groan when a sudden stab of pain hits him.  He fights the urge to curl into himself: except for his first couple of heats, this is worse than he’s had before, especially with no warning.  Pulling on the reserves of strength he cultivated first as an omega and built upon as a Marine and then Recon Marine, he starts to crawl forwards towards the truck.  He’s been fucking trained for this.  Mike should be on watch, though on the other side of the victor, at the very least, even if Doc Bryan is not around.  Nate can do this.  
 
This isn’t

that

bad.  
 
Really.  
 
He pulls himself up to kneel on the ground instead of being on all fours.  He’s not ready to stand yet, not if he doesn’t absolutely have to.  Being surrounded by Marines means he’s probably the safest he can be in Iraq, in any other situation, but now, being in a combat zone during an active heat... This is a completely different situation  — and it’s not the combat zone one would assume.  No, going into heat while surrounded by a ton of Marine alphas is a combat zone in of itself, even if most alphas — and even most male betas — would rarely acknowledge that.  
 
Finding Doc or Mike is paramount. 
 
“Mike!  Doc!”  He calls out again, taking a few deep breaths to center himself.  A whiff of alpha — of

unmated

alpha — comes across his nose, and he has to fight to avoid recoiling.  Everyone is

supposed

to be on scent suppressors; that’s Combat 101.  The importance is not to just make sure that omegas aren’t just temptation for alphas, but that

no one

’s pheromones can give troop movements away.  The first scent suppressors were made for the earliest Recon and special operations troops, after all, even if they weren’t called that back then.  The ability to hide scents so they can move without alerting anyone — alpha or omega (or even beta, depending on the nose of the individual) — that someone is moving or where they shouldn’t be. 
 
Nate going into heat — that’s bad and not just because of his own personal safety or the possible effect on any alphas near him.  No, if this happened while oscar mike, he could be endangering everyone, and that’s terrifying.
 
Plus being able to smell an alpha strongly enough to tell they’re unmated?  When they’re presumably on suppressors?  That — that should

not

be happening.  
 
(The fact that smelling an unmated alpha doesn’t excite him but makes him sick is just icing on the damn cake.)
 
Coupled with being so far into his heat?  Bad situation all around.
 
He curls into himself, no longer trying to fight the urge.  He managed to catch

someone’s

attention, at least, even if he has no idea who it is.  The downside about using scent suppressants is that no one can identify scents unless they interact regularly with someone off duty or not on suppressants. 
 
“LT?  Are you okay?”  It’s Corporal Christopher; Nate can recognize his voice.  He manages to look up, taking in the man clearly walking back to his Humvee, clutching his entrenching tool and roll of toilet paper.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

This absolutely confirms that either Nate is now immune to scent suppressants, at least to the point he can smell the pheromones they’re supposedly neutralizing, or the suppressants are no longer working.  Smelling a random unmated alpha isn’t good by any means, but knowing that it’s someone in his platoon, someone who Nate

knows

is on the same suppressant regime and the majority of his men and thus can’t be considered an outlier?
 
Not to mention that, as Nate sensed, Christopher’s an alpha and unmated, which is a very bad combination, especially with suppressants doing nothing to prevent Nate from getting his scent.
 
At least it doesn’t seem to go both ways — at least not

yet

.. 
 
“Nathan, you need to stay back from me.”  As hard as it is, through the pain, through the

lust —

not that Nate has ever

once

considered Nathan Christopher as anything more than a corporal and one of his men, but his heat-addled brain does not care — Nate injects as much severity as he can into his voice.  This requires pulling up all the training he got at OCS to project himself, to create his officer voice.

(He highly doubts that trying to warn off an unmated alpha subordinate while in an active heat ever crossed the minds of any of the staff at OCS.)
 
 “You need to get Mike and the Doc and tell them it’s a —” He manages, until his voice catches as another wave of painful arousal goes through him, “ — it’s an Alpha Hotel.”  
 
Christopher drops the entrenching tool and just manages to juggle the toilet paper instead of letting it fall.  The sudden surprise, however, causes his scent to increase. “Damn.  I — okay, okay, I’m going away from you, just stay there.”   
 
“That’s the plan,” Nate says, grimacing.  No, he is not interested in Christopher in any way, and he doubts Christopher is interested in

him

.  He doesn’t

want

Christopher to be interested in him.  He sure as hell doesn’t want to be attracted to Christopher, no matter what his heat hormones might think.  Christopher is

not

a candidate for a potential mate.  
 
Christopher throws one last look back at him before hurrying away.  The poor corporal looks terrified, in a way Nate has never seen on him before, but Nate can’t blame him.  If Nate found out that one of the other omegas was having an active heat right now, he’d be terrified of the general situation too, and he’s not a young, unmated alpha.  It’s absolute horseshit that alphas can’t control themselves and

have

to prey upon any unmated omega in heat they come across, but that doesn’t mean the situation isn’t incredibly uncomfortable for everyone involved. 
 
(And it doesn’t help that some alphas actually

do

think that way.)
 
It feels like an eternity but it can only be a few minutes at most before Doc and Mike are kneeling in front of him. Nate blinks his eyes open.  Nate didn’t even realize he had closed his eyes in the first place.  Doc’s already digging through his bag, while Mike leans forwards and rests a cool hand on Nate’s own.  He makes eye contact with Nate, before nodding at Nate’s neck.  
 
“Do you mind?” He asks, his drawl a comfort.  Nate’s not sure if this is a heat thing or what, but Mike has taken on an essence of

safe

, of

kin

.  It’s nowhere near sexual — it’s like the way Nate’s cousin and his wife felt at Christmas: not close enough to be considered

family

, like his immediate family and grandmother do, but enough of a bond to incorporate him into Nate’s circle of family, be they related by blood or friendship.  It’s the one development that

isn’t

a disaster this evening, which gives him a modicum of hope that

somehow

things will work out.
 
(The likelihood of things working out is about the same likelihood of any of the “assurances” Nate has been given by command.)
 
“It’s fine,” he acquiesces, tilting his own head to the side and back so the juncture between his neck and shoulder is free, allowing Mike access to his scent gland.  He’s thankful that Mike has to ask: not only is Mike being respectful, but if Nate were in a full-blown heat, his scent would definitely be noticeable beyond the gland.  At least he’s not fully in heat yet.   
 
Mike takes a whiff and then reels backwards.  He’s mated, so it won’t be intoxicating, but it will still smell cloyingly strong, even in the first stirrings of heat.  “Yeah, that’s definitely a heat aroma.”  Nate’s thankful for Mike’s general laid-back tone despite the situation.  It’s grounding.  It’s a reminder that things are still salvageable, that Nate still has a chance.
 
(A chance for Brad to notice and claim him.

No.  He refuses to entertain that thought any further.) 
 
“How long have you been showing signs, LT?”  Doc takes Nate’s temperature, checks his pupils.  “And why the fuck are you having a heat now?  Your next heat isn’t due for two months.”  
 
“I

know

,” Nate moans, as someone, he isn’t sure who, brushes against him.  Beta or mated alpha, it doesn’t matter — any contact with a human now, even with both the pressure blunted and no actual skin contact, because of both MOPP suits, is enough to send a wave of arousal through him.  “I don’t know why the fuck I’m early.”  
 
“I’ve gotta get the battalion surgeon on the line; we’re going to need an active heat kit.”  Doc shoves the unused supplies in his bag.  “I don’t think it’s possible to stop at this point, but Aubin’ll have the only supply of heat suppressants and a heat tent if that’s needed.”  
 
“Fuck.”  A heat tent is basically a small tent — it fits two people if needed — that is specifically manufactured so that it completely contains the smell of an active heat.  However, it definitely isn’t soundproof, which is more embarrassing than anything else, and like a MOPP suit, it isn’t comfortable and tends to get hot even in the temperate Oceanside.  In Iraq, with daily highs in the hundreds… it’s going to be torture — or at least more torture than being in heat now already is.  
 
“You can have a partner, if you want,” Doc says.  Nate looks up from staring at the ground.  Mike has apparently left, likely to call for the surgeon.  
 
Nate hadn’t noticed.
 
His situational awareness is definitely shot.
 
 “Is there someone?”
 
Nate blinks away the stupor, or at least tries to.

Brad

.  But no — he can’t, he

won’t

do that to him.  However, even thinking of Brad at this moment is enough to send a surge of

want

through him, electricity shooting down his limbs.  He’s too hot.  He’s being suffocated.  He has to get out of the MOPP suit.  
 
“I’m not in a relationship,” he chokes out.  He had a girlfriend before he deployed, but they ended things when he shipped out.  It’s not that Nancy wasn’t nice, because she was, but they hadn’t been serious, and though they had a nice good-bye, they didn’t write or keep in contact.  Of course, even if they

had

been serious, it wouldn’t matter because there is no way to bring a civilian across the world to a deployment for a heat, especially an imminent one in a combat zone.
 
He brings up shaking hands to paw at his MOPP suit.  He feels like he’s wearing oven mitts, his dexterity completely shot.    
 
Brad — he

wants

Brad, and he thinks the feelings are mutual, but they’re Marines in a war zone, and it’s just not possible.  The eye contact, the careful touches — even those are tricky, and he could be reading too much into them.  
 
And inviting an alpha to join a heat means something if you're not strangers.  Heat hook-ups happen, but Nate can't just use Brad like that, even if he really desperately wants him.
 
Really desperately

needs

him.
 
Doc carefully stops Nate’s clumsy attempts to divest himself of the MOPP jacket.
 
“Okay, so that means either a solo, or a partner from here.”  Doc’s voice is even and tries to be comforting, but Nate and Doc just don’t have the connection, the exposure that Mike and Nate do.  Nate appreciates the attempt, though, even if a part of him feels like he’s being treated like a feral kitten.
 
Doc’s actual words finally permeate Nate’s mind.
 
Solo.  As much as his body desires a partner, he —
 
He doesn’t

have

to do it solo.  
 
They are staying in a POG camp, which means there are definitely enough options — in theory — to choose from.  An alpha is always best — omegas are made to be knotted, after all, and getting knotted aids conception.
 
No.

No, he does

not

want to get pregnant.  Getting pregnant would be bad, even though the fleeting thought makes him suddenly feel warm and tingly.  It’s a horrible idea, and if he weren’t teetering on the edge of full heat, he’d know that.  
 
But the whole point of a heat

is

to conceive, especially with male omegas who are only able to get pregnant during their heats.  It’s a fucking biological imperative that he has never been a fan of and now actively despises, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. And the partner, the

alpha

he wants, is not going to happen, even if he

wants

to believe that there’s something there between them, what with their communicating through looks and their short conversations and Brad openly declaring that he

trusts

him and —

No.  He can’t go there.  He can’t

let

himself go there.
 
“Solo,” he forces out.  He can’t give in to the heat, not yet.  His skin is hot, and his t-shirt chafes, and he feels like he’s sitting in a pile of his own slick — which he probably

is

.
 
He feels disgusting, and the only way to feel

better

, to be himself again, is to give into the heat.
 
Just…
 
Not…
 
Yet. 
 
“All right, sir.”  
 
Not until he’s secure in the heat tent.
 
At this point he knows that he’s too far gone for heat suppressants.  
 
He’s too far gone, period.
 
Nate feels like climbing into himself.  
 
(He doesn’t realize it now, but he will later learn that Mike and a couple of sergeants have started to run interference.  His heat pheromones are strong enough now that others are starting to take notice, and not just in his platoon.  They set a barrier far enough out that hopefully no one, despite perhaps being

enticed

by his heat, is going to get any ideas about seeking him out.

More Marines come around, not just unmated alphas who are

interested

, but ones simply wanting to know what has captured the attention of so many others.  Rumors begin to spawn.  
 
Command starts to notice.)
 
He loses time again.  
 
There’s part of him that is hanging on to the real world, a piece not much more than a thread, but it’s enough…to…know….
 
Brad’s got two fingers up his cunt, and it feels so fucking good. He curls them, hitting the spot that makes Nate shudder.  He can’t help but whine when Brad starts to slowly withdraw his fingers, squirming enough that Brad uses his other hand to hold Nate’s hip down.  Nate watches with half-lidded eyes as Brad holds up the fingers he just had in Nate, glistening with Nate’s slick.  He makes a show of inspecting them before he sticks one in his mouth and sucks.  
 
“Brad…”  Nate groans, reaching for him, but Brad merely puts more pressure on his hip and grins wickedly as he licks slowly up the second finger.  He says something, but Nate can’t hear enough to understand what.  They sound underwater, even though Nate

knows

that they’re in a hotel room, no, they’re in Nate’s bedroom, no, they’re —
 
He’s in a POG camp outside of Baghdad.
 
Nate tries to sit up but hands are holding him down.
 
Like Brad just was.
 
“Whoa there, Nate.”  Mike.  
 
Nate blinks a few times, trying to dislodge the brain fog.   
 
“You back?”  Doc’s leaning over him, far away enough to give Nate at least the illusion of space, but close enough to be able to peer into his eyes with a pen light.
 
Nate swallows dryly and nods.  
 
He looks around, spying not only Mike and Doc but Lieutenant Aubin too.  The battalion surgeon looks at him with a completely neutral expression, which means whatever conclusion he’s come to, it can’t be a good one.
 
“His eyes are barely focusing, sir.  He can’t fight this much longer, and he shouldn’t.”  Doc is as matter-of-fact as ever.  “Are suppressants even an option at this point?”
 
“Nothing short of knocking him out completely, and that might just cause problems in the long run.”  Aubin’s neutrality drops, his tone now somber.  “It’s too late for a medevac too: he’s going to have to ride it out here.”
 
“I’ve already asked, and he wants to do it solo.”  Nate tunes out of the conversation, not willing — not able — to spend the brain power.  In another situation, Nate would be at least peeved that they’re talking about him as if he isn’t sitting right fucking there, but right now he has to accept it for the mercy it is.  
 
He can’t

think

right now.  He’s never had a heat do this before, come on so suddenly and come on so strong.  He’s never had to stave off a full heat before either, but he knows how dangerous it can be.  
 
“Heat-drunk” is the colloquial term for the general state of mind when a heat starts, because it tends to mimic being drunk.  It’s one of those things that people generally have a vague idea of, like being drunk, and only memorize the information enough to pass whatever exam you may need, like for driving, or annual health seminars.  Your inhibitions become lowered, your libido obviously increases, and while not technically illegal, you really shouldn’t be driving or doing anything you shouldn’t do with a BAC above the legal limit.  Being heat-drunk stays throughout the entire heat, but generally the effects lessen as the heat progresses .  However if, for some reason, you don’t — or can’t — give in to the heat, if you fight it, well…
 
The symptoms get worse, a

lot

worse.  
 
While a normal heat may spike to symptoms that correspond to a 0.08% BAC, usually it’s a bit lower.  It usually is for Nate — he’ll feel buzzed the closer he gets to a full heat but not actually impaired.  Once he gives in, once his heat is fully active, the symptoms relax to a comparable BAC of 0.05% or less, leaving him feeling more light-headed than buzzed. The way he’s feeling now, though…
 
“I give him an AHI score of eight, definitely, but I think he’s almost at a nine.” Doc.  
 
Doc’s a beta.  So is Aubin.  He doesn’t want them.  He wants —
 
He

needs

Brad.
 
“I agree.”  
 
He needs to touch himself.  His erection is throbbing.  He feels like he’s sitting in a puddle of slick.  Has he ever been this hard?  Has he ever been this wet?  Why isn’t he doing anything? He needs to do something.  He’s on the ground — why?  No matter, it makes it easier.  Why is he wearing this stupid thing?  Why won’t it come off?  No matter, he can just turn over and rub himself against the ground.  Not as good as — as having someone, as having

Brad

inside of him, but it’ll at least help.  He can just give in.
 
Why isn’t he giving in?
 
Was there —
 
“Whoa, LT, you need to wait just a bit more.”  Hands push his side so he’s fully on his back, again.  Hands help him sit up, while another pair of hands — oh, it’s Doc — hold his hands.  He blinks, his eyes suddenly hurting.  He feels something wet on his face.
 
Is it raining?
 
He blinks again, and more wet falls.
 
Tears.
 
He’s — he’s

crying

.   
 
That’s…
 
“

Nate

, you have to stay with me.”  Doc pinches him hard between his right thumb and forefinger, and Nate jolts.  
 
He looks at the corpsman.  Doc keeps on massaging that point on his hand, and Nate uses his touch, odd but not

bad

, to keep his head clear, at least as best as he can.
 
He cycles through his symptoms, his location, who’s with him, what he can vaguely remember hearing.  
 
AHI — active heat index — of eight, maybe nine.  Equal to being really drunk.  Severe sleep deprivation.  Delirium.  More.  He’s out of his mind, really.  He can’t hold on for much longer.  It’s getting

dangerous

to continue resisting the heat.  
 
“The tent’s set up.”  Nate squints at the newcomer: it’s Stinetorf, who is not only the other omega in the platoon but also Doc’s unofficial assistant.  “We looked at setting up in one of the buildings but they’re not safe, so it’s just…” He trails off, gesturing behind him.  Nate hadn’t even realized that not only were other Marines setting up the tent but that they had also been moving around victors so that the tent, Nate, Doc and Aubin were blocked mostly from view by the command truck but the perimeter is still intact.  
 
Fuck, his situational awareness is completely shot.
 
It’s not

surprising

, at least it shouldn’t be, but he’s been trained to resist, has received tens of thousands of dollars of training by the government

to

resist, to push past his physical and mental limits, so it’s…
 
Honestly, he’s

furious

.
 
Furious at his body.  Furious at himself for not being strong enough.  Furious at this ridiculous deployment.  
 
Fury doesn’t take away the intensity of his heat, but it does give him at least a

bit

of grounding, just like the way Doc massaging that pressure point does.  They’re things to concentrate on instead of the boiling desire cursing through his veins.      
 
“You hear that, LT?”  Doc looks over Nate’s shoulder, likely at Aubin, and Nate can feel himself being manhandled into a better position so he can stand easier.  “Let’s get you moving.”
 
Nate nods, fighting off a wave of nausea, pain arching through his limbs.  He wants to believe that he

mostly

stands on his own, but he knows that he likely wouldn’t be standing without the help of Doc and Aubin.  However, once he’s standing, Aubin and Doc slowly let go of him, and he’s proud to say that he’s standing on his own power.  A light bump would likely be enough to knock him down, but after…however much time has passed since he woke up in his grave and realized the heat started and he’s been without the ability to really stand, he’ll take it.
 
He just has to make it into the tent and he can let go.  First Recon’s not going to be involved with Baghdad.  He’s got the time.  He trusts his men to keep others away from the tent while he’s vulnerable.  
 
“What’s going on here, gentlemen?”  Nate feels better that he isn’t alone in reacting to Godfather’s sudden arrival.  
 
“Sir, Lieutenant Fick is currently alpha hotel, with an index score of 8.”  Aubin takes the lead.  “The heat is too advanced for suppressants, so we set up the heat tent.”  
 
“Is that so, Lieutenant Fick?”  Godfather turns his attention to Nate.  
 
It costs more than he’d like to keep his voice relatively steady.  “Yes, sir.”
 
“Who are you spending it with?”
 
“Solo, sir.”  While it would normally be none of his business, Nate supposes that with the, uh, limited availability of partners — in that he’s an officer and surrounded mostly by enlisted Marines — and the UCMJ, Godfather would probably want to make sure that both Nate and any partner would not cause trouble.
 
“No, Lieutenant.”  Nate blinks.  To the side Nate can see Doc tense.  “You need an unmated alpha partner.”
 
“Sir, Lieutenant Fick has already chosen to have a solo heat, as is his right.”  Aubin once again speaks up.  
 
“And Godfather understands, but Godfather also doesn’t have the time to wait, Lieutenant.” 
 
“Sir —”  Nate’s not even sure who says it.  Nate isn’t even sure who Godfather is

addressing

, Lieutenant Aubin or himself.  
 
“Godfather does not care who Lieutenant Fick spends his heat with.  Godfather does not even want to know.  Forget about conduct unbecoming, fraternization, or any other charges, gentlemen.  But this battalion

will

be oscar mike within the next two days, and leaving Lieutenant Fick here is not an option.  There is simply not enough time for an omega to have a solo heat.  A shared heat is the only way to ensure that the lieutenant is combat effective in such a short period of time.“  
 
Godfather nods in finality before turning and leaving.  
 
It takes a few seconds for Godfather’s words — his command — to sink in.
 
“He can’t be serious,” Doc finally mutters.  “You can’t — you can’t fucking

order

an omega to share a heat with someone not of their choosing.  That’s a fucking human rights violation.”
 
“Like ‘unsurrendering’ prisoners isn’t against the Geneva Convention?”  The words slip out of Nate. 
 
Godfather

had

to be joking, right?  He couldn’t

seriously

expect Nate to just choose someone.

This is your chance for Brad

, that traitorous part of his mind cuts in, but Nate ignores it.  So far, focusing on anger and staying upright is enough to let him continue fighting the heat, but he can feel his resolve slowly draining.    
 
He’s so fucking close to being able to give in and let the heat run its course but of course he fucking can’t, because Godfather — a

beta

— had to interfere.
 
Aubin comes back.  Nate hadn’t even noticed he had left, which isn’t surprising after the last…however long it’s been.  An hour? Less? More?  
 
Aubin looks upset, walking up to Nate and Doc.  His steps are full of trepidation, something Nate knows well.  It’s the gait and expression of an officer who

knows

that what he’s going to report is bullshit but can’t do anything about it.  Aubin, however, clearly doesn’t have as much experience with it as Nate does, because it’s extremely easy to read that he thinks this entire thing is his fault.  It’s not: if Nate has to put blame on someone, he’s more inclined to blame Godfather for being so fixated on getting his full bird.
 
“I really am sorry, Lieutenant, but your heat is so far advanced that heat blockers aren’t going to help anymore, and we don’t have enough time for you to do it solo.  You have to choose a partner, and they really need to be an alpha.”
 
The last remnants of Nate’s hope die.
 
Reality sets in.
 
As much as he’s been fantasizing about Brad, as much as his hindbrain would

really

like to spend the heat with Brad, Nate cannot do that.
 
Being in such a vulnerable state with an unmated alpha?  
 
He —
 
“I don’t

do

heats with alphas, sir.”  Nate swallows the horror down.  “I — I can’t risk it.”
 
“You heard Godfather: we’re stepping off soon,” Aubin says with a sigh.  “Godfather hasn’t decided when yet, but he’s actively trying to find a mission for the battalion.  It might be another day or two, but that’s still too short for you to do a heat solo.  You

know

that heats without an alpha average three or so days.  In fact, it might be too short for you to have a heat

with

an alpha, depending on when Godfather comes up with a mission for the battalion.  Plus, it’s not like we can rely on your previous heats as a timeline, because you’re so off cycle.”
 
“And he can’t just stay behind and catch up?” Doc speaks up instead, before Nate can formulate a response.  Hell, Nate can’t even

think

right now what this means.  “Come on, sir, this is ridiculous.  We all know that omegas have to feel

safe

to get through a heat, and bringing in an unknown, unmated alpha into the heat tent when Lieutenant Fick’s already out of his documented heat cycle? That can’t be a good thing.”
 
“It’s not a good thing, Corpsman, I fully admit that, but Godfather wants the battalion ready to step off when he finds a mission, and he is also adamant that leaving Lieutenant Fick behind is  not a solution.”  Aubin’s voice is at least steady — something Nate doesn’t think he could manage at the moment.  “Fick can’t be casevaced or medevaced in this state.  The only thing we can do is get him through his heat as quickly and painlessly as possible, and the

only

reliable way to do that, especially with the time constraints Godfather has laid down, is to give him an unmated alpha as a heat partner.”
 
“Right, so

clearly

putting an omega, when he’s most vulnerable, into a situation where he has to share a heat with an unmated, unfamiliar alpha, when he’s admitted that he’s never done that before is the best option. While,” Doc adds on, absolutely scathing, “we are in a hostile country in a POG camp surrounded by random Marines.  That’s definitely first class omega care.”  
 
“Corpsman Bryan, I understand your frustrations, and I share them as well, believe me.  But what do you want me to do?  Fick’s at an AHI of 8.  He needs to have his heat, and he needs it done

fast

.  Godfather has given him carte blanche when it comes to a partner, as long as that partner is an unmated alpha. Everyone is aware of the dangers, both by holding off the heat

and

sharing the heat with an unmated alpha, and of course we’ll take all the precautions possible.”
 
“And —”
 
“Those precautions didn’t stop me from going into a heat in the first place.”  Nate cuts off Doc.

He

has leeway, with his AHI so high.  Doc, however, does not, and while Lieutenant Aubin seems like a generally good guy, especially with how he stepped up for those two shepherd boys, Nate doesn’t want Doc to get charged with insubordination.

“No, and I

am

sorry about that, but right now it’s all about mitigating the effects of your heat, including getting it through you as fast as possible, and the best, really the

only

way to be sure of that is for you to have a heat partner: an unmated alpha heat partner, to be precise.”  Aubin does look truly sympathetic, though Nate really doesn’t give a fuck about his feelings at the moment.
 
“So, what — is someone going to assign me an alpha?

You

?”  He feels another gush of slick seep out of him.  It’s such an uncomfortable feeling, or at least usually it would be, but now it’s just another thing he has to ignore, and at least slick doesn’t

smell

horribly like the rest of him.  
 
(One

teensy tiny

upside to going into heat right now is that he’s going to get a (luke) warm shower.  The pressure will suck: it’s a basic camping shower that consists of a tank, a heating element, and a wand-like piece that’s akin to a chemical sprayer, but at least it’s clean water and soap.)
 
“Look, LT,” Doc says in a long-suffering voice, apparently coming to the conclusion that this is just another one of those things Command has done that will end up screwing someone — Nate, in this case,  literally — over.   “I don’t like this either: you know that.  This situation is fucked up.”  Doc never does mince his words, and it’s nice that there’s at least

someone

on Nate’s side in this.  Though, Nate ceases to feel charitable about him when he continues his thoughts.  “But there’s got to be at least

some

unmated alpha around that you trust.  Maybe — maybe Brad?”

“Brad — Brad Colbert?  The Iceman?  He’d work.”  Aubin looks relieved.  “He’s your Team Leader, and he’s well-respected.  His reputation won’t take a hit if this gets out, and he also seems to respect

you

enough that it shouldn’t be a problem.  Of course, in any other situation,  it’d be a problem, but now I don’t think anyone is going to complain that he’s your direct subordinate, because it means you know him and trust him, right?  It’ll be safer than with an alpha you don’t know as well.”
 
Nate’s not sure whether to be elated or horrified.
 
Command is essentially commanding him to be fucked by his crush.
 
Doc and Aubin stand there for a few moments, just staring at Nate.  Finally, Doc breaks the silence.  “Sir, we need an answer.”
 
“To wha —

oh

, right.”  Nate’s brain kicks in at the last moment.  “I need to choose someone.”
 
“

Is

Brad an acceptable partner?  You can have anyone you choose, but like Lieutenant Aubin said, he’s in a good place to not have any repercussions, and you do know him.  Choosing some other alpha is going to be more challenging, at least in regards to whether they’re at least somewhat trustworthy.”  Doc tries to be soothing, but Nate’s thoughts are already flying.
 
Not choosing Brad would basically mean going outside of his platoon.  It would be easier in that there’s a large chance that Nate will never have to see the heat partner again after this, especially if he goes outside of Recon.  It would be harder, however, because Nate has no idea about the character of the alpha, like whether he can actually trust the alpha to
listen to him
and
not forcibly bond him
— as well as not knowing whether the alpha would respect his command

should

they run into each other at a later date.  
 
And even though — like in heat rooms — the idea is that rank, or anything else, only exists outside the “safe space” and that confidentiality is

extremely

important, it’s far too risky to do a heat with one of his own guys…Brad being

possibly

the only exception.  Besides Brad, after all, all of Nate’s TLs are mated, which also knocks out most of the sergeants, and he’s not going to even

consider

doing a heat with a corporal or lower, especially younger ones. 
 
Really, when it’s put like that, Brad is the only option.  If Mike weren’t mated, then he’d be the best option, especially since Nate doesn’t have

feelings

for Mike, but Mike

is

mated, and that’s that.  
 
“Okay,” Nate says, unwittingly so soft that it’s barely audible.    “I accept.”
 
Doc and Aubin share a look, before Aubin speaks.  “Okay, then that’s settled.  Have you ever used a heat tent before?”  On the surface, it’s a silly question because heat tents are only used for heats in the field, and heats are

supposed

to be avoided in the field at all costs.  In reality, however, a heat tent was also set up at Camp Mathilda (though no one used it) and is used in FOBs, when conditions may be deemed safe enough for a heat but no permanent structures that could serve as a heat room.
 
“No,” Nate answers, a bit louder this time.  “But I have —” He breaks off and squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can, his body feeling like he’s been electrocuted, and not in a pleasant way.  “I learned about them and had to set one up in TBS.”  Of course that training had been more a “as an officer, if you have one of your Marines go into heat, this is what you do” training than a “you’re in the field and going into heat” training, so Nate expects discrepancies.  Though — it’s not like heat tents are

complicated

, at least not to use.  There’s a box of rations (protein bars, granola bars, dried fruit, water, and some kind of electrolyte drink), there are ice packs that cool instantly once bent, there is a thick mat as a floor with sterile and disposable bedding and pads, a box of toys, and a med kit including wet wipes and prophylactics.  It’s basically a heat room made portable, and there’s a separate “room” with a camp toilet and the shower apparatus, so the omega (and any partner) can deal with basic hygiene.  
 
“So you know the contents.  We’ll set up the white noise machine outside, and it'll be switched on as soon as you give the ‘all clear.’  We’ll assign guards — mated alphas or betas, of course — and move everyone else away.”  Aubin nods in response to Nate’s murmured assent.  “You’ll be asked — that is, Sergeant Colbert will ask you, once he goes through the shower and has cleared the threshold of the tent, whether you are in your right mind and still consent, as protocol dictates.  At that moment you still have the ability to decline, and if he tries to move before you have explicitly answered positively, or continues into the tent if you answered in the negative, he will be charged with sexual assault.” Aubin cleared his throat.  “I must remind you, however, that should you refuse Colbert, you’re going to have to choose someone else, and you are running out of time to do so.”
 
“I understand.”  Nate steels himself.  “I don’t expect to have any problems with Sergeant Colbert.”  No, in this case,

Nate

is most likely to be the problem.  “May I?”  He looks towards the heat tent, slightly out of his view and luckily pretty well hidden from the rest of the platoon and camp.  
 
“Go and get your cammies for afterwards, as well as any nesting item or other things you might need.  I will prepare a heat suppressant shot just in case it helps the heat end quicker and standard birth control and neutralizer shots.”  
 
Nate doesn’t bother nodding back; instead he turns clumsily and ends up with Doc holding his elbow as he walks the few steps to the truck to retrieve his cammies.  He doesn’t have a nesting item, and any toiletries he may need are part of the basic contents of the heat tent.  He also takes off his PPE, leaving himself only in his MOPP jacket and pants and his boots at Doc’s instruction.  It’s best to leave the gear out of the heat tent so Doc, Aubin, and likely Stinetorff as Doc’s de facto helper, are able to spray his equipment with pheromone neutralizing spray.  It’s also why — once he’s showered and entered the true heat tent — his boots, MOPP suit, t-shirt, and boxer briefs will be washed down and treated as well.  While

theoretically

a day or two of simply being exposed to the air should be enough to free them of any leftover heat pheromones, protocol is to not even give a chance that any lingering pheromones might escape notice.
 
Lovell unzips the door to the shower portion of the tent for Nate. Nate is vaguely aware of other figures around them, but it’s an awareness like being in a public pool with random strangers and glimpsing them from underwater as you all do laps.  You know they’re there but you can’t pinpoint who or where exactly, and you don’t care.  You’re focused on your laps, after all.
 
Nate’s focused on his heat, after all.
 
The knowledge that he’s so close to being able to give in eases some of the pain that has been wracking his body since he first became aware of the heat.  He can’t give in fully until he’s sealed into the tent, but that moment is so close.  As it is, he can now remove his MOPP jacket and hold out his arm, letting Aubin clean the injection site on Nate’s upper arm before jabbing him with the three shots.  The neutralizer takes a few moments to work, removing any traces of scent suppressants, which leaves Nate waiting until Lovell has zipped up the door before he can start undressing, leaving his discarded clothing in the box marked for them. 
 
(He has to remove his dog tags and horseshoe charm too, which feels so weird after wearing them constantly.  He wants to keep on the charm, at least, because he could certainly use the luck, but jewelry is not allowed in heat rooms or heat tents in fear of injury.  He rolls his eyes at the thought — Brad’s not going to try to strangle him with anything, and the charm is too short to be caught on something and choke him accidentally, but he’s been a Marine long enough to know that there are a lot of things you just have to do even if they don’t make sense to you.)  
 
He lets his control slowly fade with each piece of clothing he removes, remaining with only the slightest thread as he stands fully naked and waits for Lovell’s “All Clear” to let the last vestiges of his control dissipate.  The tent is now fully sealed and will remain that way until Nate gives his own “All Clear” after showering — the sign that he has entered the main chamber, thus indicating his partner can be shown the shower and their clothing can be collected.
 
The moment he lets himself

want

, fully, utterly, with no hesitation whatsoever is such a relief that it brings Nate to his knees. He doesn’t have to think of anything else besides fulfilling his heat urges.  His dick is hard — painfully so — and leaking pre-come.  Even though he has been able to feel the slick for a while now, he still reaches a hand down to confirm that he is patent.  This heat has been so unexpected and strange that he won’t take anything for granted at the moment.  For all he knows, his introitus could be closed but unfused, still allowing slick to seep out but unable to be penetrated.  
 
It’d just be his damn luck if his opening stays closed despite being in full heat.  .  
 
His fingers brush his balls as he traces his opening, and he hisses as a tremor runs through him.  
 
He’s never staved off a heat this long.
 
He’s definitely open.  He sticks two fingers up his canal, feeling around, reacquainting himself with the part of his body he can only access when he is going into heat, and groans in satisfaction.  He draws his fingers out, and they are practically dripping.  He’s always produced a lot of slick — more than most, even with being an omega.  Omegas — and AMAB omegas in particular — produce a lot more slick than people with regular vaginas who are not omegas do. The general consensus in the scientific community seems to be that it’s the body’s way of making up for not creating slick regularly, that the body wants to produce extra in case it ends up needed, to make sure that the knotting is as fortuitous as possible.
 
Nate has always hated the fact that he tends to produce more slick than most, that he needs those extra absorbent liners and pads and underwear for oncoming heats, because the normal absorption just isn’t enough.  The one attempt he made in high school of going with just a “regular” version was enough to make him never risk it again.  He was lucky enough to have a bottle of water handy, so he could “accidentally” dump the entire thing in his lap, but it had been a close call.
 
Now, though — now he appreciates the slick that shines in the low light of the lantern in the tent.  It’s a sign that he’s ready, ready for an alpha, ready for

Brad

.  A shiver runs through his body at the thought.  He had to hold off this heat for so long, and now he’s been allowed to let go, let it envelope him, let his wants and fantasies run free.
 
Hell, he doesn’t even need to fantasize about Brad; he’s about to get the actual man.
 
With the slick on his fingers, he’s tempted to taste himself, but he stops himself.  Another reason scientists say omegas produce so much slick is to continuously flush out the vaginal canal, particularly when it comes to male omegas who only are fully open during their heats and patent closed in pre-heat and for a day or so after their heats.  He wouldn’t have to worry about germs, dirt or bacteria, necessarily, because of that, but he is still mindful that more than a quick feel like now would not be the best idea, and putting his dirty fingers in his mouth would not be wise.  After all, there’s a reason for having a shower section attached to the heat tent: heat tents are rarely used in situations where there is ample clean water and sanitary conditions.  
 
This reminds Nate, with his heat-addled brain, that he hasn’t showered yet.  The thought makes him grimace and climb to his feet.  He quickly pulls the seal off of a three-in-one body wash (pH-neutral, of course, for intimate areas) and sprays himself down with the water, doing his best not to wince at the dark color of the water collecting in the shower pan.   He soaps himself up and washes thoroughly with the small washcloth provided.  This is the first shower he’s had — the first real

wash

he’s had, since wet wipes and dumping a cup of water on your head don’t count — since Matilda, and it feels amazing. 
 
Or

should

, because the entire time his focus is not on getting clean but on the reason he’s getting a shower, on his heat, on

Brad.

Any hesitation he might have once had about the situation, any spare thought about his men, any ache or need of the outside world is growing fainter each minute he showers.  If it weren’t so important that he be clean everywhere, he’d be tempted to just do a basic wash-down.  As it is, he sets himself to taking the amount of time absolutely needed to and no more.
 
Once he’s clean to his satisfaction, and the water in the shower pan is clouded only by the remnants of the shower gel, he rips open a sealed towel and dries himself off the best he can before entering the main chamber.  With one hand gripping his towel around his waist, he zips up the dividing flap and gives his own “All clear.”
 
The mat making up the floor of the main compartment is squishy on top with a firm bottom portion.  A normal heat room for a partnered heat would have a large bed with bars at the head and fabric cuffs on soft ropes attached under the mattress for purely consensual restraint.  There would be a multitude of pillows of different materials, thicknesses, shapes, and sizes, and various blankets and sheets of different thicknesses and materials, though their shapes and sizes tend to be uniform.  There would be both disposable and reusable pads to protect the mattress and bedding from slick or other bodily fluids.  
 
This tent only offers a box containing five individually wrapped sheets, a box of disposable super-absorbent pads, four vacuum-wrapped pillows akin to what is found in a budget motel, and four blankets also vacuum-wrapped and reminiscent of a motel.  
 
Nate does not care.
 
He lays a layer of pads on the floor before ripping open a sheet and spreading it on the ground.  He lays extra pads on top of that.  Those are plentiful and easy to switch out, instead of having to rearrange everything to change a sheet.  He rips open the pillows and blankets and dumps them near the make-shift bed.  He drags the box of food and drinks over so it’s easily reachable from the bed, though he ignores the box of toys.  Normally that would be his first stop: searching through the box of individually wrapped and sanitized toys to find something to get him through the heat, but now he doesn’t need to.
 
He has Brad.

Technically

Brad has the ability to refuse to share Nate’s heat.  Consent goes both ways, after all.  But Nate refuses to consider that option, knowing deep inside of him that Brad will not refuse.  Not only would Brad likely say yes to anyone asking for an available heat partner because he’s known for being equal opportunity and specifically for avoiding any kind of attachments, but helping Nate though his heat also means he’s aiding the platoon and battalion to retain combat readiness.  
 
Nate’s also at least seventy percent certain that Brad feels at least

something

for Nate beyond being team leader and platoon commander, and even if it’s just

friendship

(and Nate prays to a god he’s not sure he believes in anymore that it’s not), sharing a heat with a friend, regardless of secondary gender, is an accepted practice.  There is little reason for Brad to refuse, and if Nate — for the very first time — is going to have not just an alpha heat partner, but

Brad

as his heat partner, there is no way Nate’s going to need the toys.
 
He feels more slick gliding down his thigh just thinking of Brad’s imminent arrival. 
 
Nate takes it as a cue and drops his towel.  He leaves it there and lowers himself slowly, lazily, onto the constructed bed. He reaches for a pillow and lays it to the side in case he needs to support his hips at some point.  He grabs another and puts it under his head. He keeps his hands off of himself, instead making fists and holding them out from his body as he settles himself into the makeshift nest.  He feels the heat swell within him, causing him to begin sweating, and his arousal grows even greater as it demands him to touch himself.  Fighting that particular urge isn’t the same as fighting off the heat: his mind is clear, at least as clear as it can be when he’s so aroused it hurts, and he fully allows himself to think about what is about to occur, the way Brad is going to fuck him so hard and thoroughly until he knots Nate, that Nate’s going to be full for the first time

ever

.  
 
He can’t help but squirm and kick slightly in anticipation, imagining Brad jerking him off, swallowing his come down, licking at his opening and drinking his slick, easing a finger into his ass and fondling his prostate.  Nate’s not sure it’s even

possible

, but he’d swear that his dick just got even harder, even redder, even bigger at the scenarios.  He’s so close to giving in and grabbing himself, knowing that his refractory period in a heat is almost nothing, but he wants

Brad

to be the first to touch his dick, to fully explore his cunt beyond the quick check he gave.
 
He —
 
“All clear.”   
 
Nate can’t help the moan that escapes him after hearing Brad’s voice.  Unlike Nate, who entered the chamber clad in only a towel, Brad is required to change into a non-contaminated, neutrally treated uniform, carrying in nothing from the outside that could contaminate the heat, thus only bringing in his own unique scent, before breaching the chamber.  Nate props himself up on his elbows so he can see better.
 
“Enter.”  Nate confirms, biting his tongue against another moan of anticipation.  
 
He’s so close.

Brad

is so close.
 
Nate’s not a blushing virgin, not at all, but this is the first time he’s fully faced an unmated alpha being free with their pheromones while Nate is in heat, and it’s fucking

amazing

.
 
A small part of Nate points out that as an unmated omega in heat, he is biologically inclined to find

any

unmated alpha giving off pheromones attractive, but Nate just

knows

that it’s not that, at least not completely.  Christopher, after all, smelled awful to Nate.  No, it’s

Brad

that is so enticing, not just any old unmated alpha.
 
Brad slowly enters, his hands raised in front of him, movements calculated and telegraphed.  Nate wants to shout that he’s not a wild animal, but in a way he is: heats, ruts and the whole development of secondary sexes are an evolutionary trait that essentially reduces humanity to primal thinking and urges.  Modern society trains for it — and against it, setting up laws and regulations and social and moral standards, but in the heat of the, well, heat, most upper level thinking goes straight out the window.

Nate wants Brad.

Period.
 
“You okay there, Nate?”  Brad’s voice is quiet and calm, but just hearing Brad causes Nate to moan in want, and Brad using his given name — his nickname — instead of a proper “sir” or “LT” or even the rare “Lieutenant” causes Nate’s insides to clench.
 
Yeah, he has it bad.
 
“I’m fine,” he forces his voice to stay level.  “But I’ll be even better if you come over here.”
 
Brad pauses.  Nate is aware of the protocol for sharing a heat with a non-mated alpha, and he is usually very for having the protocol enforced, but now he wants —

needs

— Brad to just rip off his own uniform and fuck him.
 
“You are sure of this.  You consent fully to me sharing your heat with you.”  Brad’s words, despite likely being coached just before he had the chance to shower, come out more of a statement than a question, which Nate appreciates.
 
He doesn’t need to second-guess this.  He’s not sure he even

could

second-guess this.  He knows he wants Brad, that he is falling in love with Brad. He knows that he can’t possibly hold back his heat anymore, that once he had given in, his full heat had kicked in, and he won’t be able to do anything but seek pleasure until it’s passed.  He knows that in any other possible situation, he’d be doing this heat solo.  He knows that if it were any other situation that didn’t involve Godfather

ordering

him to have a partner, he wouldn’t dare choose Brad until they were back in the states, until they had dated long enough to consider the possibility — the

risk

— of something more. 
 
But Nate’s in heat in a POG camp in Iraq.  
 
But Nate’s been ordered to have a partner, and of the thousands of Marines in the camp, Brad is the

only

option Nate can live with after his heat. 
 
Right now, the heat means his inhibitions aren’t just lowered: they’re

gone

.  He’d do nearly
anything

,

say nearly anything, to have Brad right now, but that’s

Brad

.  Even as gone as he is, even with an AHI of eight,

nearly nine

, he had just enough wherewithal to realize Brad was the only option available.  He knows himself, has enough control not to just offer himself to just

anyone

, to any alpha walking by.  Brad may be required to ask, but he has to know Nate well enough at this point to be sure that

Nate

wants this, wants

Brad

and knows the risks and everything entailed when he acquiesced to Brad as a partner, and Brad — Brad

accepted

by coming in the tent.
 
“I’m sure of this,” Nate confirms, following the script like a good little omega.  “I consent.”  
 
Even if your average good little omega is too far gone in heat to fully,

consciously

consent.

At least the box is checked for command.
 
At least command doesn’t have to worry about how they fucked up enough to have one of their officers caught up in a heat — and end up calling rape besides.
 
“All right.”  Brad keeps eye contact with Nate as he slowly and methodically removes his own clothing. This is also part of the ritual: one further step for an unwilling or just uncertain omega to get out, pull the plug.
 
There’s no chance of Nate doing that, not now.  He may currently

have

a pussy, but he’s not actually a pussy.

(He also does not have much of a choice.)
 
By the time Brad finishes disrobing, leaving only a pair of black briefs on, Nate’s soaked completely through the absorbent pad underneath him with a mixture of sweat and slick.  The light in the tent isn’t great, but it’s not Nate’s

vision

that is the important sense right now.  He can sort of make out the tent in Brad’s briefs, but that’s not what makes Nate bite back another moan, his canal clenching.  
 
Nate can

smell

Brad’s arousal, smelling like the ocean — despite being nowhere near one currently — and anise and nothing else: pure, unadulterated Brad.  
 
“

Brad

,” he finally gives in, moaning, as the aroma intensifies when Brad begins to approach.  He fights his instinct to jump up and race to Brad, to shove Brad down and impale himself on Brad.  There’s nothing preventing it, not really.  Were it any other time, were it possibly later in his heat when he’s been — not quite satisfied, but closer that he gains most of his mind back — he would take the initiative, take what he wants from his alpha.  Omegas aren’t beholden to be submissive, just like alphas aren’t always dominant.  In fact, Nate doesn’t want a submissive or dominant partner: he wants an equal partner, where there’s give and take (both figuratively and literally) on both sides, where he doesn’t have to fit into a particular role or stereotype, someone who sees him as who he is, not what he should be.
 
However, stereotypes don’t just manifest randomly.  During a heat, omegas are predisposed to follow the lead of their alphas.  It’s not absolute; Nate

can

say no if he has to, but he’d be fighting his instincts.  Nate could take the lead, if he had to, but he doesn’t

want

to.  In past heats he’s usually more malleable, when he has shared them with partners, but any commands or orders — they all felt more like light suggestions, and he could easily take initiative or refuse them if he had a bit more than the slightest wish to.  But now…
 
He wants — he

needs

— Brad to take care of him.  He needs Brad to take charge and worry about Nate’s basic needs and pleasure.  He trusts Brad; he knows, deep down inside, that Brad resonates

safety

and

compassion

, and possibly even love.  At this moment he can’t comprehend why he never wanted to have an alpha, but another part of him realizes that if he

hadn’t

waited, Brad would not be an option.  
 
If alphas and omegas are made for each other, then maybe he and Brad were made for each other.  
 
“I’m here, Nate.”  Brad’s smile is small but genuine, with just a tick of nervousness that only those who know him the best can pick up on.  Nate cherishes being one of those few souls.  He uses that feeling to keep still and watch with bated breath as Brad walks slowly over — not dawdling but also not rushing, as if it’s a leisurely stroll and not an unmated omega fully in heat at the end of his journey, even if it only is a few steps.  
 
Brad reaches him and looks down at him.  In any other situation, Nate would be absolutely mortified, lying utterly bare and leaking from his dick and cunt in front of one of his men, but the idea of Brad,

his

Brad, standing over him in nothing but a pair of briefs that leave absolutely

nothing

to the imagination is so consuming that he doesn’t care a bit.  It’s

Brad

.  Brad’s not going to hurt him.  Brad’s not going to do anything Nate doesn’t want.  
 
No, Brad is going to do

everything

that Nate wants right now, everything he

needs

.
 
Nate looks up at him, still propped up on his elbows.  “Touch me, Brad,” he whispers, unable to be any louder.  “Take me.”
 
“Don’t worry, Nate.”  Brad slowly crouches down at Nate’s feet, before leaning forwards and crawling up Nate’s body.  He holds his weight up with his arms in a plank, so no part of him actually touches Nate, and Nate groans in frustration.  Instead of feeling boxed in, like he likely would with any other alpha giving off such strong pheromones, instead of feeling trapped and unable to move, instead of feeling like a piece of prey in front of a predator, Nate feels exhilarated.  He tries to thrust up, wanting Brad’s body to make contact with his own so badly, but Brad merely shifts his weight to one hand and uses the other to press Nate’s hip down.  
 
Nate

feels

his will recede.  The fact that Brad merely had to push against his hip to get Nate to fall in line should be terrifying.
 
It’s not.  
 
Instead, it makes his heat-addled body shudder in want.  Brad’s his alpha.  Brad’s just inches above Nate, and Nate has no desire whatsoever to do

anything

but what Brad wants at this moment.  Brad wants him to keep his hips on the ground — Nate absolutely will.  He needs Brad, needs him so badly, and he can’t help — doesn’t want to help — whimpering.
 
Brad’s face is inches above his own.  Brad’s face flushes and his pupils dilate even wider as his heat-induced rut kicks in.  His scent increases exponentially, practically bathing Nate in it.  
 
Nate needs Brad to touch him

right now

.
 
“Brad…”  He doesn’t dare move, not with Brad’s hand still holding down his hip, Brad’s tacit order to stay still.  
 
“I said don’t worry,” Brad breathes out, close enough that Nate can feel the release of air against his face.  “You want me to touch you, Nate?  You want me to take you?”  There’s a glint of something in his eyes that makes Nate gulp in anticipation.  
 
Nate can only nod in answer.
 
“Believe me, Nate.”  Brad slowly lowers his head until there’s barely a millimeter between his lips and Nate’s.  “I will.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“I will.”  
 The words have barely left Brad’s mouth before he’s leaning down and presses his lips to Nate’s.   Brad’s lips are cracked and dry, though he has applied some neutral smelling — and tasting — balm at some point in the near past.  He has no stubble: he must have shaved in the shower.  Nate appreciates the smoothness at the moment: stubble can be quite fun, but right now the idea of something rough against his skin is not a pleasant one.  For a split second, Nate allows himself to wonder if Brad had just shaved his face or if he had shaved other areas too. Then Brad starts tracing Nate’s lips with his tongue, and Nate loses his thought.  He lets out a contented sigh, opening up his mouth to Brad. Nate’s been kissed many times before.  Nate’s been kissed during heats, by people he’d been dating and some he didn't, and by people he was dating during heats, including the girlfriend that, to this day, is his longest relationship at nearly two years.  Nate would say that he likes kissing, that he likes it quite a lot.   This is different.   This is nothing like he’s been kissed before. This kiss feels like Brad is sucking his soul out through his mouth. He’s being consumed in such a wonderful way. Brad caresses Nate’s mouth with his tongue, running over every inch, as if he’s imprinting it in his mind, into his very being.  Nate’s burning up at the kiss, the hand Brad still has on his hip, the inevitable conclusion.  His senses are overpowered with the feel, the smell, the taste of Brad.  It’s everything he’s been dreaming about for months, and now he finally has it.  The world has just shrunken down to only the heat tent, to Brad and Nate. Nate’s awareness shrinks even further when Brad — finally — deigns to cover Nate’s body with his own.  Brad is tall, lean and muscular, even when they were on one meal a day, even with the exhaustion and sickness going around, even with the constant alertness and inability to relax, but Brad is a comforting weight, pressing him into the bedding. It seems like this is the first time in his life that Nate feels completely and utterly safe, enveloped in Brad. They’re close enough to the same height that, lying like this, their groins align.   The pressure of Brad’s covered erection against his bare one is delicious, but it’s also the way Brad is touching all of him.  Nate relaxes, every bit of tension leaving him: just Brad and Nate, alone in the world, with only Brad’s briefs between them. Brad tries to stay still: his only movement is his breathing, his nose pressed into the crook of Nate’s neck, just above his scent gland.  Every single nerve in Nate’s body lights up with Brad pressed against him, begging for release. He thrusts his hips, or at least tries to, but Brad uses his own hips to press Nate further into the bedding.  Nate’s lucid, at least more than he was before, but he still has a buzz, and Brad’s scene gland being so close to Nate’s nose is not helping.   Nate didn’t know it was possible to want a knotting, to want Brad’s knot, even more than he has since his heat started, but his need has grown.  Everything is hazy; he feels so hot and yet so desperate for warmth at the same time, Brad’s breath ghosting over his own gland, the cloying anise and salty sea scent wafting so strongly off of Brad’s scent gland, just right there … Nate can’t help himself.  He shifts his head just enough to lick at the gland.   Brad groans, pressing into Nate.  His hips buck against Nate and — Nate comes. “Fuck…Brad…”  Nate shudders through his orgasm, his dick jerking repeatedly against Brad’s briefs and soaking them with his come.  Nate feels so good at the moment, and he hasn’t even been knotted yet.  Brad manages to squeeze a hand in between them and starts stroking Nate’s spent dick, wringing every last bit of semen he can out of Nate.  “Brad…” Nate squiggles under him, trying to move away from Brad’s touch on his overstimulated dick, but Brad just bears down on Nate.   “Shh, I’ve got you, Nate,” Brad turns his lips to whisper into Nate’s ear, his breath hot against it.  “Just let me take care of you.” “Ye — yes, Brad,” Nate pants out, as Brad places a kiss on his ear.  Brad moves downwards, nipping at his ear lobe, nibbling down his neck, continuing to stroke Nate’s dick — already half-hard again — all the while.  “Ah — alpha…”  The term slips out of him, and in any other situation he’d be mortified at the use, but here it just feels right .   No, with Brad it feels right. “Alpha, please …”He draws out, his voice rising in pitch as Brad gives his dick a firm squeeze.  He stops his path of kisses, of bites, behind the crook of Nate’s neck, millimeters away from Nate’s scent gland.  Nate tenses, but Brad is as courteous as ever.  “May I?” Brad asks softly, and Nate can only nod because his voice has disappeared at this very moment. Letting anyone near your scent gland is… Scenting someone is not always an intimate gesture: Mike did it before to ascertain if Nate were actually in heat and giving off heat pheromones, and medical professionals will also use scenting to ascertain the condition of their patients.  It’s common for parents and children to scent each other, too, at least until the children grow old and think they don’t want it, but in times of high stress or even just high emotions, it can still help calm a (grown) child greatly.  Close friends, kin , really, will occasionally scent each other as well, but that’s usually between people of the same secondary sex, particularly omegas and some betas.   It implies at least a measure of trust, a measure of closeness, a measure of respect. Even an omega scenting themselves on someone, like what Nate did, well… It’s common knowledge that unless the omega is bitten first, an omega bite doesn’t last more than an hour, if that, and that’s an actual mating bite .  While technically Nate should have asked Brad first, by modern standards, omegas are given a free pass even when biting someone, especially in heat.  Just licking at Brad’s gland?  A quick scenting with his heat partner?   Yes, it would have been polite if Nate asked Brad, but the fact that Brad allowed his gland to be so close to Nate, that Brad was centimeters away from Nate’s own gland?   It’s not a faux pas at all. (Nate is also very, very heat drunk. They’re both very, very heat drunk.) However.    Getting asked by anyone else? Getting asked while you’re in heat? Getting asked by an alpha who is about to fuck and knot you? It’s incredibly intimate.   Nate doesn’t let his heat partners do that.  He’s only allowed the couple of long-term partners he’s had to scent him and never during a heat.  The last time he was scented was at Christmas when his mother and grandmother asked to, because they wanted one last imprint of him before a potential war.   Letting someone scent you while having sex is the first step to biting you, to mating .Nate has absolutely no desire to be forcibly or even accidentally mated to someone. Except… He can’t help the thoughts that suddenly spring to mind, of being mated with Brad.  He’s wanted Brad for months now.  At this point, Nate is willing to risk everything for Brad.  He needs the man himself, just like he needs Brad’s knot.  Maybe he and Brad aren’t exactly in a “committed relationship,” but at this moment, Nate cannot see any future that does not involve Brad in his life.  He trusts Brad.   He loves Brad. “Yes…please,” Nate answers breathily.   He’s not going to get mushy and say he can’t live without Brad, but he sincerely believes, deep in his heart and soul, that he will be less if Brad doesn’t stay in his life. Somehow.  Some way.   He doesn’t mind risking it.   Brad’s nose brushes against Nate’s scent gland. His lips are so close, a bite would be so easy , but Brad behaves, merely rubbing his nose and then cheek against it. Nate doesn’t feel sated — he can’t during a heat, especially with an alpha who hasn’t knotted him yet — but with Brad’s own pheromones wafting in the air, with the pressure Brad puts on Nate’s gland, the skin much thinner than usual because of Nate’s recent orgasm and his still-very-present heat… Nate finds himself relaxing, sinking deep into his body, his mind retreating to a place where he only has to think about his pleasure and the alpha above him. “Brad…,” he whispers, “alpha….”  Brad’s nose rubbing is both soothing and torturous, an itch that he needs to scratch, an itch that can only be scratched by knotting.  Brad licks the gland, and Nate bucks up — or would if Brad wasn’t restraining him, his grip just this side of too tight on Nate’s erection.  “ Brad .”  Brad continues to caress his gland with his tongue, practically petting it.   Nate falls even further into his core, unable to even muster the strength now to bring up his arms to caress Brad or turn his ministrations on Brad’s own gland, once again.  Nate barely notices the rise of his orgasm, the way Brad has begun to thrust against Nate, having shoved his soiled briefs down enough to pull out his own dick.  He takes both his and Nate’s dick in the same hand, so each thrust of Brad’s hips creates a delightful friction between them.  Brad’s palms and fingers are calloused but soft; he must have put on lotion. Nate enjoys the feel, taking deep pleasure in Brad’s hand around his dick, Brad’s dick rubbing against his own.  Even then, it’s not until Brad sucks hard on Nate’s gland, the suction almost as intense as Nate can only imagine a bite might be, Brad’s dick catching on the head of his own as Brad thrusts harder against him, the way Brad’s pheromones increase even more as Brad gets closer and closer to coming himself… The orgasm washes over Nate, Brad following immediately after. Nate falls. His world goes black.   Nate slowly comes back to himself, awareness spreading from his core out to his limbs.  Brad is crouched by his side.  He has pulled out a package of wet wipes and carefully wipes their semen off of Nate’s stomach, gently caressing the flesh as he does so.  Nate closes his eyes once more, wafting contentedly in the haze of his heat while Brad, his alpha, is beside him, protecting him, tending to him.  The heat is far from over, but it’s no longer a raging inferno, especially with the way Brad is caring for him.  Slowly, tenderly, Brad cups Nate’s jaw, and Nate’s eyes flutter open at the touch.  “Lift up your head, Nate.”  Nate does, just enough that he won’t choke on the water that Brad slowly pours into his mouth. Brad removes the bottle from Nate’s lips, and Nate would try to chase after it, because the water does feel so pleasant going down his throat, if he didn’t feel so loose limbed and sated.  He watches Brad with half-lidded eyes as the man recaps the bottle and sets it beside them.  “You need to eat some too,” Brad murmurs, holding up a protein bar he had set next to the bottle.  “Think you can manage this?” “Uh-hum,” Nate murmurs his agreement, opening his mouth again to Brad and letting his alpha feed him.  They repeat the process a few more times, until Nate has eaten another protein bar and some dried fruit and has the bottle of water and a bottle of generic Pedialyte.  Brad drains his own bottle of water and eats a protein bar of his own in between bouts of feeding Nate, and in the lulls, Nate slowly begins to become more aware, the heat rising once again. By the time Brad has tossed their trash into the box that had once contained the bedding and has managed to switch out the used pads from underneath Nate to dry ones, Nate feels alive again, still extremely horny, still needing Brad’s knot, but relatively clear-headed — or at least as clear-headed as he can be without having been knotted.   Nate finally turns his attention back to Brad, eyeing the man’s body as he kneels at Nate’s side.  Brad still has his briefs on, Brad’s dick — already back to full hardness — sticking out, though his balls (and ass) are still covered.  Nate frowns. This is not okay. “Off,” he says, reaching for Brad’s waist, slipping his fingers underneath the elastic.  “I want to touch all of you.” Brad leans down and kisses him hard but shortly.  He breaks the kiss but stays hovering over Nate.  The last remnants of Nate’s non-heat-addled mind remind him that an alpha in a rut — a heat rut — looming over his naked, heat-wreaked body should be incredibly intimidating, but it’s anything but. Instead, Nate absolutely relishes the chance to be so close to Brad, to have Brad in his grasp instead of the other way around.   He uses Brad’s shift in position to slip his hand further into Brad’s briefs, kneading and squeezing the bit of Brad’s ass he can reach.  Brad changes position, moving out of Nate’s reach, but before Nate can complain, Brad comes to kneel in between Nate’s splayed legs.  He leans forwards to trail his fingers down Nate’s body, from his sternum to his navel and lower, leaving a trail of fire in Nate’s veins.  Brad stops just above the patch of neatly trimmed pubic hair and, instead of taking Nate’s dick into his hand again, or turning his attention to his balls or cunt, traces his finger around Nate’s genitals, outlining Nate’s groin without actually touching anything Nate needs him to.   He’s being tortured in a way no one else has ever managed before.  Brad’s light touch in such an intimate area leaves Nate feeling naked and exposed but also absolutely desperate for more.  In fact, the only good thing about the torture is that Brad’s ass is once again in Nate’s reach.  He uses the chance to reach out and grab Brad, slipping his hands into Brad’s briefs once again.  Brad’s only tell is the way his glutes tense once when Nate slides a finger down the crease to his anus.  Brad removes his hand from Nate, but before Nate can protest, he leans down to nip at Nate’s mouth, catching his bottom lip and pulling just a bit.   “Brad….”  Nate whines against Brad’s mouth.  Yes, he whines, and no he doesn’t care that at twenty-five and a Marine Recon officer he should be above that.  He tilts his face away from Brad’s lips and tongue.  “Don’t tease,” he draws out his whine, as Brad’s fingers return to their mission, inching closer and closer to Nate’s cunt, to Nate’s balls, to Nate’s anus, to Nate’s dick, before moving away just before he actually makes contact.   He — he can’t anymore.  As much as he wants to make Brad tense again, make him shudder, make him lose control, Nate lets his own arm fall down, out of Brad’s briefs, to flop onto the bedding.  “Brad, Brad, alpha please, Brad, alpha,” he pants between heaving breaths as the electricity of his orgasm rises again.   “I have you, Nate.”  Brad breathes the words more than speaks them before he mouths his way down Nate’s chin and neck, nipping and soothing the bites with his tongue, his hand still tracing Nate’s groin.  Nate tenses when Brad stops right above his pecs.  Before Nate can do or say anything, a flash of pain erupts in his chest as Brad bites hard on his nipple, and Nate cries out — only to turn the cry into a moan as Brad swirls his tongue around the aching nipple, soothing it.   Nate can only lie there, panting, as Brad turns his assault onto Nate’s other nipple.  Nate bows his back, almost sitting up, a long and loud moan escaping him, as Brad continues his abuse on Nate’s nipples. Nate’s never been averse to nipple play — it does feel nice — but it’s never been spectacular, nothing that shoots electricity down his body or will push him over into coming — until now. Now it is so much more.  Everything with Brad is so much more.   Brad doesn’t stop his torture, continuing to nip, twist and flick and pull at Nate’s nipples with his tongue.  He switches between them, the nubs hard and red and achy — but in a very good way.  Finally Brad stops his torture of Nate’s groin and fully closes his fingers over Nate’s balls, tugging suddenly as he sucks hard on a nipple.  Nate roars, bucking up, but before he can do anything else, Brad does the same to his other nipple and shoves two fingers into his aching canal, scissoring once. Nate can feel his spine stretch at the strength of his orgasm.  Having someone else’s fingers up his cunt is amazing, or maybe it’s just Brad.  Nate can’t even remember the last time that someone else had fingered him right now, and while he’s definitely had his own hand inside of him, it’s never done this to him.  The pad isn’t even soaking up the slick now; Nate has produced so much.  It should be uncomfortable or at least feel icky, but Nate does not care as his orgasm tears through his body.    Brad stops torturing Nate’s nipples, sitting up instead.  He still continues to finger Nate through his orgasm, Nate’s cunt clenching around his fingers and dousing them in slick.  Nate doesn’t black out this time, but he does lie there panting hard, aftershocks causing his limbs to tremble, sapping his strength, as Brad finally pulls his fingers out of Nate.   “What a good little omega,” Brad says, bringing up his fingers, practically dripping with Nate’s slick, to his mouth.  Nate can’t do anything more than groan as he watches Brad’s pink tongue dart out and lick a finger.  It’s reminiscent of Nate’s hallucination earlier, his fantasy.  “Hmm,” he says coyly, before sticking both fingers fully into his mouth and sucking. “You taste so delectable,” he says around his fingers. Brad uses his other hand to swipe up some of Nate’s semen from his stomach, rubbing it between his fingers before he switches hands in his mouth.  The view of Brad — kneeling over Nate, licking Nate’s come from his fingers, coating his other hand with the excess slick that has spilled out of Nate before beginning to jerk himself off — is nearly enough to cause Nate to come again.  He won’t be able to get an erection that fast (probably, at least: his dick isn’t really necessary for a heat, even if his general libido is greatly enhanced and his refractory period is less than normal), but he can still orgasm multiple times with his cunt, even if his dick is dried out. It’s the way Brad rises to his knees as he continues to pull on his own dick, the way his knot begins to swell near the base of his dick, the way he twists the head of his dick every so often between strokes, the way he rubs a finger over the slit, the way he finally shoots hard, his semen spraying over Nate’s stomach, mixing with Nate’s own, and the way Brad’s eyes gleam in the low light as he leans down and licks their combined come out of Nate’s navel, that has Nate coming once more. “You’re doing so well,” Brad leans down to murmur in his ear once Brad has licked Nate’s stomach clean, once Nate has finished twitching.  He presses his mouth to Nate’s, and Nate is overwhelmed by the scent, the taste of them combined, as he licks the few drops that adhered to Brad’s lips. Brad takes this as another opportunity to kiss him breathless.  Unlike the first kiss, Nate isn’t overcome by the shock of being kissed by Brad and along with the fervid responses it created in his body.  He can focus on participating, learning Brad’s mouth and imprinting it to memory, sucking on Brad’s tongue. He brings his arms up around Brad’s neck and keeps him there as they continue to make out.  The longer they kiss, the more aroused Nate becomes, his dick getting back into the game, and he can feel Brad’s own erection at the apex of his thighs.     Brad eventually — Nate has no sense of time now, hasn’t really had one since he woke up from his attempted nap and realized he was in heat — breaks out of Nate’s grasp and stands up.  Nate keens at the loss of his alpha, watching Brad with half-lidded eyes as the man stands up fully — his head only centimeters away from the top of the heat tent — and hooks his own thumbs into the elastic band of the briefs.  Making eye contact, wearing a mischievous smile, his pheromones getting thicker in the air as he tries to comfort Nate while standing, Brad takes his time as he eases the underwear past his balls.  Once they are free, Brad lets gravity take over,  and the garment drops to the floor, leaving Brad completely bare to Nate’s gaze — and satisfaction.   Being in the Marines — being in the infantry — means a spare glance at a dick or ass is not uncommon.  It doesn’t mean anything.  Shitting, dressing, pissing, jacking off when forced into close quarters with a bunch of other men doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination, if you want to even bother imagining it in the first place.  Nate’s afforded a bit more privacy because of his rank and his status as platoon commander, and Brad isn’t generally the type to go run around free-balling (and then lose his pants thanks to a prank) or putting on a show, so until this heat they’ve both been mysteries to one another. Nate’s impressed. Nate’s very impressed. Brad’s dick bends upwards towards his navel.   It’s long and wide and dark pink, and damn does Nate want that inside him.  Unfortunately, Brad doesn’t seem to be making any moves towards him.  Instead, he stands slightly off to the side, his heavy gaze on Nate, taking in Nate fully, as if he hasn’t just made Nate come multiple times, as if he is seeing Nate for the first time.   Nate clenches his fists, the muscles in his arms straining.  Brad’s not supposed to look at Nate; he’s supposed to fuck him, knot him.  You can’t actually fuck someone with your eyes, though it could be interesting if it were possible.  Nate squirms under his gaze, not wanting to give in but needing something more than just a look .  Ultimately, though it’s probably not even minutes, Nate feels like an eternity has passed, and he can’t resist anymore.  He reaches out his hand and takes his own dick in hand.  His fingers have barely closed around his dick — the touch nice, sure, but nowhere near as good as it would be if it were Brad, and not even close to how it would be with Brad fucking him at the same time — when Brad suddenly drops onto his knees besides Nate and yanks Nate’s hand away. “Not yet,”  Brad admonishes, his eyes dark with lust.  “Let me take care of you.” “Then do it.” Nate hisses.  Brad decides to do just that, taking a hold of Nate’s dick. Which is great, and all, but what Nate really wants, what Nate really needs is Brad’s fucking knot, not another hand job.  “Fuck me, Brad,” Nate forces out through his teeth.  His dick is enjoying Brad’s touch, but it’s like his cunt is aching for Brad at the moment.  And Brad — Brad just laughs, leaving his other hand running up and down Nate’s glory trail. Nate is going to fucking die if Brad starts to tease him like that again. Or possibly commit murder. “Please, Brad…”  Nate doesn’t even try to fight the shiver that goes through his body as Brad continues his caresses.  “I need you.” Brad’s only answer is a chuckle.  However, after a few more agonizing, too-light strokes, Brad finally starts to jack off Nate in earnest.  He uses Nate’s own slick, and his strokes become tighter.  He rotates his grip, occasionally flicking his thumb just under the glans, rubbing hard circles over the head, dipping his thumb into the slit. Nate tries to buck up, but Brad uses his other hand to hold Nate down.  Brad bends over Nate’s torso and restarts the assault on his nipples and torso with his teeth and tongue.   “Brad…”  Nate starts to squirm, even more desperate.  “Please… I —”  He breaks off, his voice failing him as he thrashes against Brad’s attention.  Trying to twist away from Brad’s mouth means he ends up adding even more pressure on his dick.  Trying to thrust up gets him more bites on his chest.  He can feel his canal clenching, desperate for something to clench around.    “Please what, Nate?”  Brad looks him in the eye and smirks at him.  He stops jacking Nate off, which has Nate groaning — in relief or at the loss, Nate doesn’t know.  “Can you lie still for me, Nate?  Can you be good?” It’s a question, more a tease than an honest inquiry, but Nate feels the intent behind the words wash over him, and he instantly falls still.  That in of itself causes stirring within him: his alpha wants him to behave and lie still, and Nate will .  Nate is a good omega.  Nate wants Brad to continue to praise him.  Nate wants Brad to fuck him.  Nate wants Brad to knot him.  Nate wants Brad to knock him — 
NO.
 Not going there. Nate forces down the rising wave within him as best he can.  “ Brad ,” he huffs, out of breath, unable to clearly articulate his thoughts.   (That’s probably a good thing. The idea of blurting out something like “mate with me” is mortifying at best, even if his heat is more than an acceptable reason for it, and hell, if something compelled Brad to actually act… He still has to serve with Brad.  Begging for his knot is bad enough, but asking him to bite Nate or worse is something else entirely.) “Patience, Nate,” Brad teases.  Nate’s always known that Brad can be an asshole, but he never realized how sadistic the man could be.  Brad kisses up his chest. Nate just knows he’s going to be full of marks tomorrow, but those are marks Nate doesn’t mind wearing.  It’s not like anyone except Mike and Doc — who are definitely in the know about this heat — will possibly see.  He feels too tight in his skin, like he’s going to vibrate out of it.  He can feel tears in his eyes.  He’s sweating heavily.  The air is heavy around him. Brad’s pheromones are cloyingly sweet in his nose, even though Nate wouldn’t normally consider the smell of ocean and anise sweet. Brad runs his hands down Nate’s body, leaving no place untouched.  It’s so much — too much — but Nate cannot gather the energy to protest.  He’s nearly at the peak, needing just the slightest nudge to push him up and over it.  His control is hanging by a thread.  “You look so perfect, Nate,” Brad whispers, as his hands slide up and down Nate’s thighs.  Brad splays his fingers to dip into the clefts of Nate’s hips, gently stroking Nate’s pubic hair with his thumbs, before finally running his hands down, brushing over Nate’s balls, cupping them, rolling them gently.  Brad shifts so he’s holding both of them in one hand before suddenly probing Nate’s opening with a finger while giving a mild tug on Nate’s balls. Nate comes.   Brad continues to stroke inside his cunt as Nate trembles from the orgasm.  He feels like he’s waited an eternity to finally come, even though he’s come many times already.  He’s lost count on how many times he’s come.  Brad’s continued stroking should be too much, but it’s not.  Instead, once he stops shuddering, Nate is lax, spent, completely boneless, feeling Brad’s fingers as a pleasant motion in his cunt.  “I noticed you ignored the toy box,” Brad says teasingly, finally stopping his ministrations.  He pulls his fingers out of Nate, sucks them, and finally leans down to place a kiss at the base of his dick.  Nate can do nothing but moan as Brad backs away to stand and stretch.  It takes a bit for Nate’s strength to return, but soon he’s able to prop himself up on his elbows and watch the way Brad’s dick moves in the various stretches.   If moving weren’t so much effort, Nate would be reaching for Brad — his dick in particular.  An alpha can come multiple times without knotting; it’s knotting that gives them a longer refractory period, usually lasting anywhere from minutes — while in a rut, heat-induced or not — to days (in alphas of a more advanced age).  Brad deserves to come again too, but he always seems to keep himself just out of Nate’s reach and spends most of his focus on Nate’s pleasure, not his own.  “Don’t need them, I have you,”  Nate says matter-of-factly, after he finally feels like he has enough strength to try to reach for Brad.  He sits up, leaning forwards.  He makes a face as he becomes suddenly aware of the state of the pad he’s laying on.  Brad notices, of course, because Brad is taking such good care of him.  Brad takes a break to fetch several new pads to lay out underneath Nate.  The new pads are a welcome change now that he’s aware enough to appreciate it, and as Brad begins stretching again, he enjoys the view immensely.  Brad regards Nate with a knowing smile while he does movements that show the power in his body, the fitness of his physique.  Nate cannot fathom how Brad could possibly think Nate would prefer a toy to his alpha. Omega heat toys — that is, toys made especially for omegas in heat — are artificially infused with alpha pheromones and hormones, but they’re never as fulfilling as the real alpha.  Nate’s never been with an alpha prior to this heat, but he could tell something was missing from those heats even without a comparison, be it a solo heat or shared with a non-alpha partner.  Those toys lack the true, non-synthetic alpha pheromones that ignite his hormones, tell his wanting body to settle down, to accept the alpha, to let the heat pass quickly.  Besides toys, people can also buy artificial alpha scented perfumes and oils, and they help, sure, but… In the past, Nate never quite understood why other omegas found those infused toys, scents, perfumes, and oils inefficient.  He has tried them, and his heats are better with them, even though they last the same amount of time as a heat with no artificial pheromone additives.  At the very least they made the heat feel a bit more pleasant, less desperate.   Would an actual alpha really change that much?.       Yes . Nate gets it now. “Then I suppose it’s my turn,” Brad grins, getting to his knees.  Nate returns the grin, keeping his eyes on Brad as the man moves to kneel between Nate’s parted legs.  “I’ve been wanting to do this all night.”  He manhandles Nate into a position that works for both of them: two pillows underneath Nate’s hips, a blanket rolled up and set under his back so the position doesn’t strain him.  Nate’s legs are pushed apart, his knees bent, giving Brad a clear, close-up look at his genitals.   Brad’s finally going to knot him.  Finally . He needs this so badly. “I’m going to eat you out.” “Uhhhh…” Nate drops his head back, letting it loll as another wave of molten want shoots through him at the idea of Brad lavishing such thorough attention on Nate’s cunt.  It’s not knotting, sure, but he’s never had someone use their mouth down there: he’s never let someone do that.   It’s a night of firsts. Under Brad’s focused gaze, Nate can feel a trickle of slick seeping out of his opening.  He feels incredibly exposed — he’s definitely not a virgin, but this is the first time any partner has spent so much time just looking at him all spread out, his ass propped up and giving Brad a perfect view of his opening, centered between his balls and anus.   He also feels incredibly revered.   “Brad,...”  He groans, wriggling his hips, though not enough to fall off the pillows.  “ Come on .”     “Just admiring the view,” Brad comments lightly, before scooting up and bending down.  He first makes sure to meet Nate’s eyes with his own glinting eyes until he finally breaks the gaze to focus on his current mission: eating Nate out. Contrary to common belief, male omegas do have clits, or at least they can, though the scientific community is divided on whether it is actually an organ or more a general area that feels great when stimulated.  There just isn’t enough research about it.  (A former omega (and pre-med) boyfriend was very vocal about that kind of research and the disparities therein.) Nate doesn’t really care what it’s called or who may or may not have one.  What he does care about is that he does have a certain spot around an inch or so above the opening inside his canal that almost always gives him a burst of pleasure when even lightly brushed against and sometimes even an orgasm. He’s enjoyed the effects many times before.   Brad is clearly not one of those people who adheres to popular belief, because he practically hones straight in on it. Brad licks inside of him, stretching his tongue as he traces Nate’s canal as if he’s memorizing it.  He finds the spot quickly, just the slight pressure from the light, probing touch causing Nate to shudder.     Nate started squirming the moment Brad’s tongue touched his opening, but it has become shudders, practically seizures, the way the pleasure is already so intense.  The build is quick, taking only seconds.  Nate comes purely from Brad’s tongue licking that spot inside of him.   “ Brad ,” he finds himself keening as he trembles in the aftershocks.  Brad holds Nate’s legs open and continues to lick up his slick and every few licks, running his tongue on Nate’s clit.  Nate can feel the second orgasm coming on, and he is torn between wanting to call Brad off and telling him to suck harder.  It’s too much, yet Nate wants — needs — more.  Brad moves his hands from Nate’s legs to rub his hands up and down Nate’s stomach and hips and thighs: light, ticklish touches that smear Nate’s semen over his skin.   “Oh fuck, Brad .”  Nate’s exhausted and yet still so aroused, so entrenched in his heat, needing that knotting.  “ Please fuck me, Brad, I need your knot.”   This is the first time Nate has had a heat this intense.  He’s not sure if it’s because of his alpha partner or that he shouldn’t even be in heat in the first place, but it doesn’t matter.  None of it matters, as long as Brad stops torturing him and knots him.  “Brad… alpha.. .please…”   “You’re so desperate, Nate, aren’t you?”  Brad looks up from Nate’s cunt and meets his eyes.   His gaze is predatory, heavy with promise of what’s to come, freezing Nate in place.  “You’re begging for me.  You’re being such a slut for me, Nate.  I’ve never seen you this way — I’d never believe it if someone told me you were this desperate for me, for my dick, for my knot.” Nate has been called a slut before — because clearly omegas are sluts (at least in some imbecilic alphas’ minds) —  but this is the first time he hasn’t wanted to punch (or at least insult) the person.   It’s dirty talk, nothing more, and while Nate isn’t usually much of a fan, right now it just spurns him on.  He’s so desperate, and he doesn’t care.  No — he wants Brad to know how into him he is, how ready he is for Brad: his dick, his knot, his bite — No. No , bad thought. He’s twenty-five years-old and a Marine lieutenant and on deployment and has no idea what the future holds.  Getting essentially married because of heat hormones and pheromones is such a spectacular idea —  no, spectacularly bad idea — even if the mere thought of it is so damn enticing. The only thing better would be mating Brad and then adding their baby —  Abso-fucking-lutely not.  Bad thought . Not unexpected, no, because that’s literally the point of a heat.   No matter that he has n ever even thought of having a kid with Brad or that he’s given much thought to getting pregnant at all, but a heat-addled brain does not care about how practical mating or conception might be.  A heat brain wants to mate ; it wants Nate to conceive , with no consideration about what that might do to Nate’s life.  He forces his brain away from those unwelcome thoughts, shoving them into a metaphorical box.  He’s on birth control.  Unlike the heat suppressant, which needs time to work and thus is useless when injected while already in heat (or even pre-heat), birth control shots are effective immediately if injected during a heat, or while in pre- or post-heat.  Nate can’t get pregnant now (thank God), but unfortunately his hormones haven’t seemed to get with the program.   Instead of focusing on some hazy, currently-impossible future, one that he isn’t even sure he ever wants, he tries to focus on the now: the fact that he’s with Brad, his alpha, and in heat, and getting through that heat is the only important thing at the moment.  “Desperate only for you,” he pants, wriggling his hips to entice Brad to move on to the actual fucking.  Brad has stirred him up, given him several orgasms, and yet he still hasn’t knotted Nate.  “Come on…” “I don’t know,” Brad says with a smirk, “do you think you’re wet enough for me?”  It feels as if he’s bathing in slick, the absorbent pads full despite having already been changed out just before Brad started to eat him out.  Excess slick clings to Brad’s mouth.  Nate gives Brad what he hopes is his best “not impressed” officer-look, but with the way Brad grins, he has a feeling it didn’t work as he’d intended.  “I’m ready, Brad, please.  I need your knot,”  He tries again, the words pleading, desperate, wanting.   
Begging.
 He’d be mortified if it weren’t Brad here, sharing his heat, but Brad is who he wants, and that makes it okay; it makes perfect sense to him.   He needs Brad — not as his team leader, as his sergeant, as his friend, but as his . “Oh, Nate, you’re so gorgeous like this…” Brad draws out, sitting up.  “Are you going to present for me? Like a good omega?” Nate has never presented in his life, most certainly never to an alpha during a heat, and he never thought he ever would.   He never thought he would want to. It’s not a lordosis behavior, though it once was: it’s no longer an autonomic reflex, but it does feel natural.  Nate doesn’t have to present, even if Brad asks.  Even if Brad orders Nate, he has the ability to say no, to resist.  Like all commands and even suggestions during a heat, he’s more likely to want to obey, but it’s not a forced thing.   But. There’s something in Nate’s hindbrain, maybe brought forwards by Brad’s pheromones, that has him sliding into the posture. He rolls from his propped up position onto his front, sticking his ass in the air.  His cunt is on display, dripping with slick, while his dick and balls hang down, not as exposed.  His knees are apart, keeping his ass steady, and his head is down, pillowed in his arms.  He’s facing to his left, his cheek pressed against the sheets underneath him. Nate has always thought presenting is demeaning.  It’s always been a relic, a position that only outdated, misomeganist alphas (or betas) wanted their submissive, compliant omega partners to perform. But at this moment?  Enveloped in Brad’s pheromones, in the haze of his heat, he feels right , as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to present, just waiting for Brad’s knot. “Oh, what a good omega,” Brad says, learning close to Nate’s ear.  His voice washes over Nate, bathing him in warmth.  “You’re so eager, doing just what I want you to,”  Brad continues in a low murmur.  “You’re being so wonderful, Nate.”  Brad strokes his hands up and down Nate’s body, again.  “So lovely, Nate.”  He runs a hand down the crease in Nate’s ass, gently stroking his anus, practically petting the furled skin.  “So perfect,” Brad practically whispers, moving his hand lower to trace Nate’s balls and dick in light, barely-there touches, before he moves to trace around Nate’s cunt.  His voice alone is a caress.   He moves on to Nate’s cunt, where he slowly traces a finger around Nate’s vulva, just avoiding entering Nate.   Nate shivers.   “You really are so wet for me, aren’t you, Nate?”  Brad murmurs, finally pushing his finger inside of Nate.   “Look at all the slick pouring out of you, even dripping down to coat your dick and balls.”  He brings his other hand up to stroke those again, causing Nate to bite back a whine.  “Don’t worry, Nate, I’ll take good care of you.” “I — I know you will,” Nate chokes out, nearly overwhelmed with the sensations.  Officially, the one thing he needs is an alpha’s knot and pheromones to be sated, for the heat to start to wane, or at least that’s what the textbooks would have you believe.  Nate had been hesitant to fully believe that before, but now he fully does after so many organisms with an alpha and still in the throes of his heat.   When an omega lacks an alpha to share a heat, the omega can turn to their other sexual organs to try to get the edge off and force the heat — eventually — to abate.  It’s always worked before.  He — he wouldn’t say he has been hoping , but at least it would be nice if all the orgasms had taken at least some of the edge off.  But it isn’t until now, when Brad — just like earlier — is stroking Nate’s balls while also stroking inside him at the same time, that Nate feels himself almost at the precipice of another orgasm, of his heat .   The difference this time is that Nate is presenting, and as he moves his head just a bit to peer behind him, he catches sight of Brad on his knees, his dick hard and leaking, at the perfect level to spear Nate.  Despite the easy access, instead of entering Nate, filling Nate up, giving Nate his knot, Brad seems content to ignore his own desires, his own rut, concentrating on working Nate up.  Again.  Brad’s sudden grip — firm, but gentle at the same time — on his dick is enough to shock him into paying attention again.  Brad starts to jerk him off, unlike earlier where he was working Nate up but didn’t seem to intend to finish, and Nate feels the heightened awareness of an oncoming orgasm take him.  It doesn’t take long before Nate’s coming, spewing semen onto the pad beneath him.   His dick stays hard.  “You’re so amazing,” Brad leans over him, still stroking Nate through the slight discomfort of his sensitive but still erect dick.  “You should see yourself, presenting for me, coming for me, my perfect omega.” “Yours,” Nate pants out, wrung out from the orgasm — and he still hasn’t been knotted.  “I’m yours.” “Yes, you are,” Brad murmurs.  He turns away for a moment, and Nate tenses, watching his movements carefully.  Brad carefully maneuvers Nate so he can switch out the soiled pad underneath Nate, before reaching into the box of rations and digging out another bottle of Pedialyte and holding it out for Nate.  “Do you need me to help again, or do you want to do it on your own?” “You,” Nate says, tipping onto his side, propping his head up with a pillow that was in reach.  His limbs are heavy with exhaustion and his mind is hazy, but his arousal is intense and at odds with the rest of him.  He opens his mouth and lets Brad slowly pour the drink into his mouth.  He’s produced so much slick that despite three bottles of drink, he still has to be careful of dehydration.  He’s not used to that: solo or even partnered heats in the past have never produced this much slick.  Of course, with Brad, his alpha , watching over him, he doesn’t have to be careful himself: Brad will make sure he drinks enough. Once the bottle is finished, Brad tosses it away and gulps down half of a bottle of water.  Nate frowns when, after setting the bottle aside, he dives into another box.  It’s when Brad turns back around that Nate catches a glimpse of the foil packets in his hand, and Nate starts to shake his head. “No, Brad, no,” he mumbles, drawing his legs up to his chest.   Brad pauses.  “What’s wrong?” He asks, concern written all over his face.   Nate honestly doesn’t know.  Really, using condoms is the smart move — Nate has used condoms with all his partners, during heats or not, has, in fact, insisted upon them more than a few times, when a partner doesn’t seem to care.  It’s just common sense to use protection — to double or even triple up on protection — when having sex, especially with a new partner. But somehow the idea of Brad using a condom, of having a condom between Brad’s skin and his own, feels horrible .  It’s like the haze is gone, to be replaced with a heavy, oppressive fog that numbs his entire being in a very uncomfortable way.   “I want you in me, not a condom,”  Nate mumbles the words, reeling from sudden dizziness.  “Nate…” Brad draws out, eyeing him. “We’re both clean, abstinent, no partners since deployed,” Nate continues to mumble.  “I got a birth control shot. It’s safe.  No condoms.  Just you in me.” (In retrospect, going without condoms is still a horrible idea, regardless of what precautions or the length of abstinence.  In retrospect, though, forcing Nate to share a heat with an unmated alpha is also a horrible idea, so really, can Nate — or Brad — be blamed for this?) “I…”  Brad trails off, scanning Nate from head to toe with a careful gaze.   “ Please , Brad,”  Nate peers up at him with dilated eyes, sweat shining on his forehead, covered in slick, his dick still as hard as it was before Nate’s most recent orgasm.  He’s not intentionally trying to guilt Brad or influence him into making a bad decision, but at this moment, he can’t help the strength of his pheromones, the plea in his voice, the curl of his body that puts his leaking cunt into Brad’s line of sight.   Brad gives him one last searching look before nodding, and something in Nate releases, allowing the familiar heat haze to come back, as Brad drops the condoms back into the box. (Brad should — would — be the voice of reason in any other occasion, including any other heat, but Nate’s heat pheromones are thick and strong, and he’s not exactly lucid either.  This heat is not only at the wrong time, but it’s also extremely intense, Nate’s pheromones and hormones on overdrive, and it affects Nate’s partner as much as it does Nate.)  “Will you present for me again, Nate?”  Brad caresses Nate’s arm.   “Of course, alpha,” Nate murmurs and rolls back into the presenting position.  .   As soon as he’s settled, he feels Brad grab his hips and position him just right so that Brad can drape himself over Nate, his dick touching Nate’s opening but not penetrating — yet.   Brad’s tall enough that he can sheave himself into Nate with one thrust and simultaneously stick his nose to Nate’s scent gland.  Nate gasps at the intrusion, at being entered so suddenly, even if it’s exactly what he’s been wanting this entire heat — and before.   Brad nosing at his scent gland just adds to Nate’s pleasure at finally being filled. “You — you feel so good,” Brad whispers, moving his lips barely next to Nate’s ear.  “So tight and wet for me.  Have you ever been fucked like this?”  Brad mouths his way down to Nate’s scent gland and kisses it.  Nate jolts, but Brad holds his hips still.  There’s just enough pressure on Nate’s clit to send a bolt of electricity through him.   “Not — not like this,” Nate gasps out. Brad straightens his torso, takes hold of Nate’s hips, and begins to thrust inside of him.  “Never.”  He’s been fucked, but only in the anus, like non-omega men can be.  It’s not bad — in fact, it can feel pretty damn amazing, someone filling him up, hammering his prostate, possibly jerking him off at the same time.  He has a good time, and he knows how to make it good for his partners when he’s the penetrator. But this.  Fuck . He doesn’t ask if Brad has shared a heat with an omega before.  It’s not necessarily something that’s bad — he knows that Brad was engaged, though he doesn’t know the secondary sex of the woman, and if rumors are correct, Brad volunteers at heat rooms and is also willing to pay for sex, though Nate isn’t aware of those partners’ secondary sexes either.   It’s never something Nate would go for, of course, but it isn’t uncommon. He gets it.  Some omegas want the comfort of having a partner care for you and soothe you — just the way Brad’s been looking after Nate, the way Brad’s pheromones have been so soothing to Nate — and the presumption that a heat will go quicker with an alpha.  And, if you don’t have a partner of your own, the heat rooms are happy to supply you with a volunteer.  There’s no feelings , there are strict rules, and there’s nothing more than first names used, if that at all.  Nate’s always refused, but the form is included when using heat rooms, so he’s seen the options, and he knows it’s as anonymous as can be. No, Nate isn’t upset that Brad has possibly (probably) shared a heat with other omegas, not intellectually.  Even now, during his heat, it’s more an uncomfortable idea for him.  He focuses on Brad’s praise and care.  It doesn’t matter what Brad has done in the past.  Nothing matters but the here and now. Nate starts shoving backwards to meet Brad’s thrusts.  He’s practically mewing.  His entire canal is so sensitive, and Brad’s dick rubs against Nate’s clit seemingly with every movement.    It’s clear now that this experience has changed Nate.  During his previous heats, be they solo or with non-alpha partners, he is now very aware that there’s always been something missing when he’s only got a vibrator or fingers shoved up his cunt. Nate is trembling.  He gets why this is a common position for fucking an omega, especially a male one.  His cunt is on display, his dick and balls are out of the way, and he doesn’t have to use precious energy to hold himself up while being nailed.  Sure he would like to see Brad, look Brad in the eyes as Brad fucks him, and he’ll definitely try later to get Brad to use a position where they can have eye contact, but right now he knows that in any other position, he’d be face-planting into the bedding and sliding around from the delicious pounding.  He is torn between continuing to push back against Brad and just letting Brad do all the work while Nate loses himself in the sensations.   When Brad reaches down to tug at Nate’s sac, Nate hisses.  He can’t stand it anymore: each touch is like poking a sunburn, but with an added jolt of want .  He tries to move away from Brad’s wandering hands, but Brad pinches his ass.  “ Behave , Nate.” “Brad, it — it’s too much,” he cries.  He can actually feel traces of tears on his arms.  “I need —”  He moans deeply when Brad hits that perfect spot inside of him.  “I need —” He comes before he can finish the sentence.  He gets no reprieve.  Brad is still pounding into him, his canal tightens more and more intensely around Brad’s impressive dick  — Nate howls as he comes.  Again. He’s never come that hard in his life: his vision blacks out, his limbs seize into position, and his insides pulse as Brad’s knot begins to fill him.  Brad’s hips are still pounding into him until the last moment when he feels Brad’s knot lock into him.  It’s an…odd feeling, having a knot — a real one, that is — inside his canal.  Brad drapes himself over Nate, his weight grounding Nate in the moment.   “Brad, Brad, Brad,” he can’t help but mumble repeatedly with each jolt of Brad ejaculating within him.  He is completely surrounded by Brad, and it’s the best feeling in the world, the best he has ever felt.  His alpha is knotted in him, emptying himself into Nate, covering him, protecting him from the outside world.   No, there is no outside world.  The entire world is just Brad and him, completely bound together as one.  “I love you,” he says, the words slipping out unconsciously but nevertheless completely true.  There is no doubt in Nate’s mind that he loves Brad Colbert.  This is what he wants: Brad as his, forever and ever.   Till death do they part. “Brad, I’m yours,” he murmurs, against Brad’s heavy breathing in the crook of his neck.  The air is hot on his scent gland and despite the heat, he shivers at the feeling of Brad mumbling something.  “Take me, Brad. Make me yours.”  The words fall out unbidden. The idea of being separated from Brad at any point is not one he can even think about at the moment. He needs everything Brad can give him. “I will,” Brad murmurs, raising his mouth to Nate’s ear, before returning to Nate’s neck, and mouthing the scent gland.  Brad runs a hand down to feel in between their bodies, moving his hips in such a way that his knot jostles just enough inside Nate to put even more pressure on Nate’s clit.  Somehow, despite feeling utterly spent, Nate finds himself coming again, his cunt clutching around Brad’s dick, as if squeezing out every last bit of Brad’s semen that he can.  Brad’s grip on his shoulder increases, the pressure intense on his neck and gland, and then — as Nate’s shudders begin to subside, he feels a prick at the crook of his neck and he finds himself coming once more, before the intensity of it all, of the fucking and the knotting and the mating bite, is enough to knock him into a deep unconsciousness. The last thing he thinks, before the wave of utter exhaustion and overstimulation consumes him, is two words:    
Oh.
  Fuck .  There are no clocks in the heat tent: it’s not like clocks are needed, when you are compelled to put your body’s needs first, and there are no schedules of when to eat or sleep.  You sleep when exhausted, you eat when hungry, you drink when thirsty (or have your partner make you).  Clocks are just a distraction. But Nate’s also been a Marine long enough that he has developed an inner clock, and his body is telling him that it’s early morning.  He doesn’t feel like he’s in his ranger grave or sleeping on the ground.  In fact, he can’t feel clothes at all, which is very suspicious, and he’s laying on what feels like generic, run of the mill sheets — nothing special except that he just knows he shouldn’t be lying on sheets right now.  He’s achy, but not in a bad way; it’s more like he has just had a hard workout and the aches and exhaustion are proof of a job well done.  He feels sticky and crusty.  He tenses a leg, and the twinge in his groin — in his cunt — is what brings enlightenment. His heat.   He went into heat in a war zone.  He went into heat, and Godfather required that he share it with an united alpha.  He shared that heat with Brad.   Holy fuck, he shared his heat with Brad . The post-heat fog lifts suddenly with that realization, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.  He is now very aware of his nudity and Brad’s close proximity.  He shifts, turning onto his side to verify that yes, Brad seems as naked as he is.  He takes stock of his own body and Brad’s, cataloging the marks, the aches, the mess both on them and around them.   Brad is lying on his front, the sheet pooled at his waist, his tattoo fully exposed.  Nate’s not big on tattoos; he doesn’t have any desire to get one himself.  He doesn’t mind them on a partner, but it’s definitely not something he seeks out.  Brad’s tattoo, however…. The tattoo is really the only color in the room that Nate can see, amid the drab tones of the heat tent, and he really wants to touch it.  Brad has generally been a stickler for the uniform of the day (aka MOPP suit and kevlar unless under camo nets), but he has once or twice taken off his shirt to make an attempt at getting clean, and Nate has had chances previously to see it as well.  It’s so garish and geeky but also speaks to the patience, the discipline, and the will of Brad: that thing had to have taken multiple sessions that took hours.  It’s also one hundred percent hidden under his uniform. Everytime Nate sees it, it is so over the top yet so overwhelmingly Brad that Nate feels like he’s been socked in the face.     He really wants to touch it.   He shouldn’t.  Consent is important and all.  Then again, he muses, he’s in heat and Brad is his heat partner, so that in of itself is permission, right?  He might be in a bit of a lull, his heat being slightly sated, but he’s sure it will flare up again.  Heats don’t just end after one knotting.  The average length of a heat with an alpha is twenty-four to thirty-six hours, and it’s not even been twelve.   Except. He feels — not chilled , at least not to the point of chills, but he’s aware of the air on his skin.  He doesn’t feel hot anymore.  He doesn’t feel desire, at least nothing more than the usual desire for Brad he has kept locked up in his brain for months.  There is no fog, no haze, no nothing that speaks to him not being completely lucid. His head is clear.   He has his brain back again. 
His heat is over.
 What.  The.  Fuck. It’s not like he has a basis to prove otherwise, but this is definitely strange.  If a heat doesn’t fit in the average time-frame, it’s usually longer than shorter.  Nate does the math: if it’s about six in the morning, and he tried to get to sleep at nineish the previous evening, adding together however long he managed to nap and the whole holding off his heat and then getting ready…the moment he gave into his heat was nine hours ago at the most .   This is — this is almost as strange as having a sudden heat off of his cycle.   What is wrong with him? Nate starts to play over the heat.  He stares at Brad, for once fully ignoring his mantra of “observe but don’t admire.”  Getting caught up in things is not something he should do as a Marine, but as a…lover?  Heat partner?  He is finally in a position where he can .  Once they leave the tent, of course, they’ll have to return to an appropriate distance in their relationship as platoon commander and team leader, but at the moment the heat tent rules are still active.   He doesn’t know what effects this new…development will have on him and Brad in the future, after the invasion, whenever that may be.  Nate’s memories of the heat are still hazy, but getting clearer as time goes on.  He remembers how good Brad made him feel.  He remembers how well Brad took care of him.  He remembers — Fuck.  Did he actually confess that he loves Brad — that he’s in love with Brad?  He can’t remember if he actually said it aloud or not.  Finally being knotted after such a build up was so overwhelming that he just cannot remember if he actually babbled what he was feeling or not. And now, if the confession is out there…Nate can’t unsay it.  Heats don’t make you lie; in fact, they are more likely to remove your filter and leave the omega even more willing to reveal any truths — or secrets — they may be hiding.  If Brad remembers…. Brad will know that Nate’s confession wasn’t just some over-exaggerated heat fantasy but something Nate actually feels.  They haven’t even dated yet or had any conversation that goes the slightest in that direction.  This is — this is so not the time for bearing his heart like this.  If Nate said it aloud, if Brad registered it…when they’re back in Oceanside, they will have to deal with it.  Now is absolutely not the time.  Even if they both want it (and Nate does very much want it), a combat deployment is the wrong place for such a conversation.  They have to have their heads in the game.   There will be some… complications , down the line, no matter what, because Brad is an NCO and Nate’s an officer.  However, since Godfather gave Nate carte blanche for finding a heat partner, he can’t complain if Nate wants to stay with the heat partner now, once any hints of impropriety have been vanquished.  They definitely can’t start anything more now, but once they can be moved to different units, it should be perfectly acceptable.   (That is, Godfather — and anyone else in Nate’s chain of command — can definitely complain, but Nate’s got Doc and Aubin as witnesses to Godfather’s order.  Nate’s sure that nothing really bad can happen to him, and definitely not to Brad.  The battalion CO ordered them to share a heat together, basically, and that’s that. Of course, this is the same chain of command who did things like unsurrender prisoners,wave on what were clearly Iraqi soldiers despite being in civilian clothing, give the order that all Iraqis are hostile, abandon a supply truck that carried important things like weapons, ammunition, suppressants, and chow, and —  No, Nate has to stop, because if he thinks too much about the shit they’ve had to deal with, he’ll explode.) Right now, though…he can take the time to relax, work out his feelings about the heat (and Brad) and regain himself, putting the lid on Nate and going back to the lieutenant.  He doesn’t have much time, not really, so he needs to use it while he can. He reaches out to Idly run his fingers through Brad’s shorn hair.  The short hairs are soft under his touch.  He’s starting to feel hungry again, another sign that the heat has passed, but he can wait.  After all, they’ve had to go much longer on only one meal a day.  Putting off food for a few minutes longer isn’t going to have any effect.  He’s also had at least some hours of uninterrupted sleep in a (fairly) comfortable place, and he’ll be able to shower and change into a clean uniform and MOPP suit after the mandatory post-heat med check. The slight gurgling in his stomach is nothing compared to everything else he’s been through. Brad stirs, and Nate removes his hand, placing it between them and on top of the sheet.  He gives Brad a moment to look around and stretch his neck, waiting for the other man to fully wake. He sees the moment everything falls into place for Brad: his eyes darken for a moment, his pheromones flare.  The memories of the heat are clearly coming back.  Brad’s lips quirk into a tiny but definitely genuine smile, as he pushes himself into a sitting position.  “Feeling better?” His voice is hoarse with sleep, and it sends a flutter through Nate. (Just because his heat is over doesn’t mean he doesn’t want Brad; he just isn’t overcome with it anymore.) “Yes,”  Nate answers simply, letting a soft smile show.  There’s both so much he wants to say to Brad and so little.  He props himself up on his elbow and starts to sit up.  He keeps his eyes locked with Brad’s, wondering if they can get away with another round, even if his heat is over.  After all, it’s not like anyone is expecting them to be out so early. Brad’s eyes darken with desire, and Nate puts on his own smirk.  He shrugs his shoulders in a stretch, ready to lean forwards and take Brad’s lips again when he has to stop.  A new twinge makes itself known on his left shoulder, at the crook of his neck.  Frowning, he reaches back with his right hand to feel the area, rolling the left shoulder to loosen any muscles, before it dawns on him.  Fuck . A mating bite. He stills.   Brad notices the aborted movement.  Nate slowly traces his fingers over the mark: the small wounds are already healing.  Brad’s teeth marks are already scabbed over, and without a doubt, in a couple of days the only thing left will be a scar hidden by the neck of a t-shirt. “I…” Brad starts, before his eyes widen as he realizes what Nate is doing, what Nate is feeling .  “Is that —”   “We’re mated.”  Nate can’t manage to say anything else.   He and Brad are fucking mated . The one thing that Nate has been fucking terrified of since presenting, and it’s Brad who did it.  FUCK . Nate falls backward, staring up at the ceiling of the tent.  He needs to — He has to — His thoughts are a blur as he tries to sort through the consequences. Anyone, regardless of secondary sex, can bite a partner, but the only permanent bite, the only true mating — both in biology and in the law — is between an alpha and an omega.  This is why Nate has never shared a heat with an alpha, why he has never even considered going through a heat with an alpha, at least not one he wasn’t in a committed relationship with.  It is just too risky.  Sure, an alpha could swear up and down to you that they wouldn’t give you that mating bite that locked you together, but there was still a chance that the alpha didn’t have good intentions, or that once they started their heat-induced rut, they would claim they had become overwhelmed by the pheromones and couldn’t help themselves. And yes, that isn’t a legal excuse, and forcibly — or accidentally, even — mating an unwilling partner is tantamount to a sexual assault charge because of the biological consequences, but by that time, it’s too late.  The mating has occurred and even if the omega victim files for a legal dissolution, there’s nothing to be done about the biological changes. That means, going by the words of the law (both in the UCMJ and civilian law) that Brad just committed a sexual assault on Nate. He closes his eyes, wills the thought away.  Of course it wasn’t an assault.  Brad wouldn’t do that.  Nate — he doesn’t know what he should be thinking or feeling at this moment.  If he had a choice — if Brad hadn’t fucking bit him — he honestly thinks he probably would like to, at some point, mate with Brad.  Regardless of whether he blurted it out or not, he is in love with Brad.  They’re clearly compatible sexually, and they seem to have similar views on some important things and can discuss the ones they don’t agree on rationally and without throwing accusations.  Mere seconds ago, Nate had been thinking about continuing the relationship with Brad in Oceanside, or more like starting a relationship with Brad, since one shared heat does not make a relationship.   On the other hand, Nate did not have a choice.  Even if Nate had begged for Brad to bite him, it is Brad’s responsibility to refrain from doing so until after the heat, after they could have a conversation with both of them were completely lucid.  Pre-heat and post-heat are not as well defined legally as to what one can and cannot consent to, but the general law is that omegas are simply incapable of consent during a heat.  There are exceptions, and of course a lot of the interpretation depends on the relationship between the omega and whoever is trying to get them to consent to anything, but in the case of a heat where nothing was planned ahead of time, Brad biting Nate was very much not okay. It is also completely unlike Brad. Brad is an absolute master of control. Even if Nate weren’t in love with Brad, if Brad was just a team leader that he shared a mutual respect with, Nate would have no reservations about being able to trust Brad.  Brad is the last person that Nate would consider breaking that kind of understanding, between an omega in heat and their heat partner.   Why did Brad bite him? How could this happen ?  What is he going to do ? “I’m sorry,” Brad finally says, breaking the silence.   Nate’s introspection immediately vanishes.  “Yeah, well, your apology doesn’t fucking matter much when it comes to fucking biting me, Brad.”  He can’t stay in the bedding anymore, next to Brad.  He violently pushes the sheet aside and stands up.  It honestly doesn’t feel great; he doesn’t care about the nudity, and clearly Brad managed to wipe at least some of the fluids off of him while he was asleep, but he’s still crusty and exhausted, and his mood does not help any.  He stalks to the smaller chamber to pee and wipe himself off.  He’ll do a real shower later, but currently the idea of any other bit of Brad on his body just infuriates him even more. The heat tent is suddenly so confining, so depressing in the gray morning light.  He has a strong urge to just wrap a towel or clean sheet (if there are any left) around him and flee the tent, but that would likely make everything worse , so he manages to shut down that feeling.  He’s realizing as he pisses that he’s thinking about Brad the same way he tends to think about his commanding officer, and that is a wake up call. As furious, as disappointed in Brad as he is, likening Brad to Captain Schwetje is…not the least helpful and honestly not all that true.  Brad made a mistake, but clearly this heat was abnormal from the start. This bite is extremely out of character for Brad, unlike the captain who often makes decisions without thinking about them or their consequences.  Brad has the excuse of Nate’s pheromones sending him into a heat-induced rut; Schwetje does not. Plus… He and Brad have to work this out — not completely, not at the moment, but at least enough that they can function in the platoon together.  It’s not something either of them can just ignore, though Brad will likely have an easier time than Nate in that regard.  For one thing, Nate bears the mark.  At some point, Nate could bite Brad, but currently Brad is bite-free and thus unmated to Nate.  Mating, when it’s not performed mutually, is much more significant for the omega than the alpha.  In fact, an alpha can’t even be mated by an omega unless the alpha has first mated the omega.   Not to mention there’s all that pesky biology stuff, like the fact that Nate’s hormones and pheromones are changing  even as he stands there.  Mating is marked in the skin, the scent, and the biology of the recipient, particularly in omegas.  Mated people smell different, and aren’t nearly as influenced by heat or rut pheromones as non-mated people are.  With mating between other secondary sexes, such as an alpha with another alpha, or a beta with anyone, the effects are not permanent.  The length of the mating varies based on a multitude of factors, but by an omega’s next heat the mating effects are usually gone if it’s not with an alpha, and the other secondary sex pairings can last from a few months to a year or more, all dependent on things like hormonal and pheromonal compatibility, body temperature and stuff that Nate honestly only vaguely remembers from college biology.   But when an alpha mates an omega… Nate cannot go through another heat without Brad: if Brad is gone, he will have to go on suppressants if his scheduled heat nears.  Another person, alpha or not, will cause pain, like a contact allergy, and simply using toys just won’t be enough .  Even if Brad scented them, or they were infused with Brad’s own pheromones, it likely wouldn’t be satisfying enough for Nate’s biology to settle down and break the fever induced by the heat. Nate may be able to father a child with someone, but he will never be able to get pregnant by anyone other than Brad.  It’s not relevant right now, not to mention he doesn’t know if he even wants children, but the fact is that Nate’s body will only accept Brad’s sperm to conceive.  If Nate does want to carry a child at some point, he has to involve Brad.  There are ways, if Nate labeled the mating a sexual assault, to force the issue regardless of whether Brad wants to be involved or not.  Because the assaulting alpha took away the omega’s choice of mate, the omega can get a court order and be artificially inseminated with the alpha’s sperm.  The alpha has no rights in regards to the child — in fact, in a news article Nate vaguely remembers reading once, omegas could even request restraining orders for them and their child.   Nate’s scent profile has now changed, so he doesn’t reek of unmated omega anymore but instead as a mated one.  Any pheromone responses, any attraction that might have, in the past, aroused him will be much more subdued unless it’s Brad.  Scent suppressants will, of course, cover the changed scent like they cover all other scents, but without them, especially to people who know Nate’s unsuppressed scent, the mating will no longer be private.   The changes in Nate will take a few days to completely settle, but from now on, not only are Brad and Nate linked forever, but it will be obvious to others that Nate has an alpha mate, even if it may not be obvious that Brad is Nate’s alpha.  Nate now bears a permanent, visible mark of the mating and always will. Nate has been fucked, literally and figuratively, by Brad, and it’s all he can do to bite down hard on his lower lip as he hurriedly runs a wet cloth over his genitals.   He can’t — he doesn’t know what to make of it, and he needs time to think , except that he doesn’t have that time. Nate is going to have to be careful from now on, at least until they get back stateside.  Anyone who knows he went into heat, who knows that he shared the heat, and who he shared the heat with… there are going to be questions.  A lot of them.  It’s a fucking mess on top of the sundae of a deployment that has been a shit-filled disaster, and both the deployment and Nate and Brad’s fucking marriage (because that’s legally what it generally amounts to) are far from being resolved.   Nate tosses the cloth aside and wraps a towel around his waist, not willing to go out and face Brad in the nude.  He’d prefer actual clothes, or at least a pair of underwear, but he won’t receive those until he’s fully passed the med check and is declared heat-free.  He doesn’t stomp, though honestly he would like to, into the main chamber.  He stops once he catches sight of Brad.  Brad has spread out a sort of breakfast for them both.  Nate’s got another bottle of Pedialyte, and Brad’s got one too this time.  They each have packets of dried fruit, and protein and granola bars.  Brad’s sitting down on their former bed, the sheet covering his lap, giving him at least a sheen of modesty.  He’s also cleaned up a lot of the soiled bedding and other mess.  The tent still smells like sex and their combined pheromones, but it’s more bearable since he cracked an air freshener open. Brad looks like he’s going to say something when he notices Nate but quickly decides otherwise, gesturing instead at the food.  “It’s not much of an assortment, but…” “It’s fine,” Nate answers curtly, before tempering his voice as he sits down, holding his towel in place.  At the very least, he needs to be professional.  “Thank you,” he adds, softening his tone.  There’s…something about being near Brad right now that tempers his anger.  Maybe it’s a side effect of the mating; maybe it’s a side effect of the heat, though Nate can’t say he’s ever heard about the aftermath of a mating or a heat dampening anger.  In fact, it’s much more likely that anger is used to overcome the effects of a heat, like the way Nate had used his anger at the situation — at Godfather — to hold off on going into full heat until he was in the tent. “I really am sorry, Nate.”  Brad says after they’ve both eaten some.  “I honestly don’t even remember doing it, though that’s absolutely not an excuse,” he adds in a rush.  “I’ll accept whatever you deem fit.  If you want to charge me —” “No,”  Nate says forcefully.  “I’m not going to fucking charge you with assault.  That’s — I wouldn’t do that to you.  You —”  He cuts off and gulps down half of his Pedialyte.  The thought of actually reporting Brad never crossed his mind, no matter how furious he is.  He’s aware of the legalities, but it’s not  — it’s Brad .  “I’m pissed right now, and we definitely have to figure out what to do about this, but now is not the time.  We’ve got to have our heads in the game and get through this deployment.  After that we can talk things through.” Brad nods gravely.  “I accept that.  If you feel you can still command me —” “Do you want to transfer out of the platoon?  Godfather would have to do it; he’s the reason we’re in this situation in the first place, but I can’t promise it won’t be a mess.”  In fact, it likely would be a huge mess, because moving Brad out of the platoon and someone else in (if there is anyone else to be transferred in) would just disrupt the very shaky balance of Bravo Company.   Nate is sincerely afraid that if Brad got transferred out of the platoon right now, for any reason, there’d be a mutiny.   (He can’t one hundred percent say that he wouldn’t be leading it , much less participating in it, even if he is angry at Brad.) “As long as you feel comfortable.”  Brad manages to assuage Nate’s fear without even knowing.  “I — I do have feelings for you, Nate.”  He looks like he’s been captured and the enemy has just started to pull his teeth out.  “And if I remember correctly, you said you do too…so I would like to figure this out stateside and stay under your command until then.” Well, that confirms that Nate said his love declaration out loud. “That is the same conclusion I came to,” Nate admits, though his tone is sterner than he’d prefer.  He tries to temper his voice.  “We’ll get through the deployment and then really get into things.”  Brad still looks absolutely uncomfortable with the idea of talking about feelings , and Nate won’t lie and say he isn’t at least a little gleeful about that.  Misery loves company, after all. Brad attempts to put on the Iceman facade, but the effect is largely ruined when he’s half-naked with only a sheet wrapped around his waist and after the many orgasms Brad gave Nate. Nate, however, decides to be a nice person and let Brad believe he’s managed to cover up his emotions.  They eat a few more bites before Brad drops his empty bottle and stares at Nate.  “Wait — you’re no longer in heat.” “It took you this long to notice?”  Nate raises a brow.  “But yes, my heat has waned.” “I was a bit distracted by you and the bite,” Brad mutters, looking down at his meal, as if he regrets referencing it.  “But it’s been about seven hours,” Brad says, looking back up at Nate.  “That’s not — that can’t be normal.” Nate shrugs.  “I wouldn’t know.  I’ve never shared a heat with an alpha before.” Brad nearly chokes on his bite of granola.  “You — what ?” For a split second, Nate almost feels sorry for Brad.  “Until now, I have never shared a heat with an alpha.  I only did now because Godfather ordered me to.”  Nate takes a sip of Pedialyte to get a moment to gather himself.  “I thought you knew.”  “I — I had no idea.”  Brad takes a deep breath.  “Nate, I —” “If you’re going to apologize again, I don’t want to hear it.”  His tone is steel but not irate.  “I thought Doc told you,” he adds. “And you — you said something about it while we were —” Fucking.  While they were fucking.  There’s no reason to shy away from the term, not as reasonable adults, not as Marines, not as heat partners.   And yet he can’t seem to say it. “I did?”  Brad furrows his brow.  “I — honestly, I don’t remember much about what happened, especially at the end.  I think…”  He pauses, lifting his eyes up to look at Nate.  “I remember you saying you loved me.  I remember you saying you wanted me to take you, to make you mine.  I remember the feelings and some of the actions, but it was…it felt different than a heat rut should feel.” “Because you have taken part in many heats.”  Nate tries for matter-of-fact, but he knows he did not succeed when the corner of Brad’s mouth quirks.  Jealous ? Asks Brad’s face.   Nate does not acknowledge it. Him. “A fair number,” Brad shrugs.  “It’s no attachments, anonymous as possible, clearly defined rules, and it doesn’t cost anything, unlike hookers.”  A beat.  “And no heat-rut has been this… intense for me.  The moment I walked into the main chamber and saw you waiting for me, the moment I got a whiff of you…it was like I’d just chugged a bottle of rotgut: I was reeling.  And I wanted you so badly, that I expected, but the inability to remember exactly what happened?  The reeling? That is much more than the daze I get during a rut.” It’s not an excuse.  Nate’s furious at the situation, and he’s angry at Brad and even a bit at himself for his words in the throes of his heat. He should have had better control than that.  But Brad isn’t trying to excuse his actions.  He’s not trying to play them down, or act like he had no choice.  Brad is simply stating facts. Nate can’t fault him for that. “It was a lot stronger for me too,” Nate responds, after a few seconds.  “Not to mention that I shouldn’t have been in heat in the first place.  My next heat is supposed to be in June, and while pre-heat does resemble the general…conditions that we’ve been dealing with the last couple of weeks, I still should have had some warning.”  He frowns at his half-eaten protein bar.  “I’m just glad it’s over.” (Unfortunately, it is not.)