Dylan #3
But this… wanting to submit to another alpha.
Needing it, even during my rut. That’s different.
The way I crave Levi’s scent, the way my body reacts to him, goes against every biology lesson I ever begrudgingly sat through and every panicked Google search I’ve done since.
The only conclusion I can draw is that something is wrong with me.
Usually, when I have a problem, I fix it. I drill it out of myself.
A weak right hook? Fix it in the gym. A loss in the ring? Study the tape, find the weakness, come back stronger.
But this isn’t like that. No amount of overthinking or mental conditioning will fix this. And I don’t know what to do about that.
I rub the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to shut out the thoughts. Marcus says that negative self-talk gets you nowhere, and I know he’s right, even if I’m pretty certain it’s a line he’s picked up from Alex.
But that doesn’t stop the thoughts from coming.
Levi stirs beside me, his hand squeezing my thigh. “Mon loup. T'es réveillé?”
“Hmm?” I hum.
When I drop my hands from my face, Levi is looking at me through sleep-heavy eyes. “You are awake?”
“Hmm.”
“Need me to fuck you?”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “No, I’m fine for now. Just thinking.”
“You think too much. Tell me your thoughts.”
“God, no.”
He clicks on the bedside lamp, and we both wince at the sudden brightness. “You keep me awake with your thinking, and do not tell me your thoughts? This is very rude, Dylan.”
“You’re very rude.”
“Yes. And you are very sad, I think.”
He props himself up on one elbow, resting his head on his hand and leveling me with a steady, neutral stare, and for some reason, just him looking at me like that makes all the emotions swirling in my gut rise to the surface faster than I can handle.
They get stuck in my throat, and when I look away from him, Levi hooks his foot over mine.
“Do you not think it’s strange?” I say. “Me calling you and—asking for what I asked for?”
Levi shrugs. “Not really. I’m a great fuck.”
A soft laugh bubbles out of me, but it’s short lived.
“You know what I mean. I feel like something’s wrong with me.
” It sounds stupid and kind of childish when it comes out of my mouth, but Levi doesn’t smirk; he just moves his toes against mine in slow, calming circles.
“An alpha shouldn’t want to submit to another alpha.
Especially during rut. I should be trying to tear your throat out. Pinning you down.”
Levi squints, like he’s thinking about what to say, and when he speaks, his voice is unusually soft. “You take a physical before your fights, oui? Blood tests and hormones and all of that.”
I nod, knowing what he’s getting at. “Of course. And they come back healthy, sure. But what if it’s something deeper? Something psychological, or—”
“Then who gives a shit?” he says matter-of-factly. “You talk about what an alpha should be. I do not understand this American obsession with should. There is no should, Dylan. There is only what is.” He sighs heavily, rubbing at his eyes. “I could say this much better in French.”
“It’s fine. I think I know what you mean.”
Levi’s thumb brushes over my thigh. “Do you feel bad, when we are together?”
I shake my head, because I feel the polar opposite of bad whenever I’m with Levi. Which is part of what makes it so terrifying. “No. But my body’s never reacted like this during rut before. What if—what if I always need this, now?”
What if no one ever compares to you? Because this isn’t just about my rut. Since the first time Levi bent me over and taught me what it truly means to give myself to another alpha, I haven’t been able to get him out of my head. My rut just made it impossible to ignore.
“Then I will spend your ruts with you, as long as this is what you need.”
My heart stutters. “Why would you do that?”
He lets out a long, labored sigh. “Because I think if you get fucked more, maybe you will be less serious. And you have a very comfortable bed.”
I smile, my heart still hammering, but the icy grip around my gut is beginning to loosen. Levi’s grip on my thigh tightens fractionally.
“You are not wrong, Dylan,” he says softly. “You are a strong alpha. A terrible boxer, yes, but a strong alpha.”
I swallow thickly, and lean in to kiss him before I talk myself out of it. He kisses me back, slow and deep, his arm slipping around my waist to pull me closer.
“And I like fucking you,” he adds when we break apart, with one of those grins that used to make me want to hit him, but now makes me want something completely different. “So go to sleep, and I will fuck you again in the morning when you are less sad, oui?”
“Yeah,” I say, twisting in his grip so his lean chest is flush with my back. “Okay.”
He buries his nose in the nape of my neck with a tired sigh, and when he pushes out a thick wave of calming pheromones, scenting me just like I need but couldn’t ask for, I don’t fight it.
It shouldn’t quiet my racing thoughts, or slow my heart rate, or ease the squeeze of uncertainty in my chest. Another alpha shouldn’t be able to do that for me.
But he does.