Dylan
My rut comes a month after the fight.
I knew it was coming, and I’d timed it for the gap between fights, when I could afford a few days away from training.
The guys at The Foundry know I’ll be out for a few days, and honestly, it’s a good excuse to rest, eat and channel all of my excess energy through my dick instead of my fists, for once.
It starts like it always does. My muscles ache in places they shouldn’t, my scent thickens, my blood starts to feel strangely alive, like someone’s hooked me up to a live wire and is running the current straight through my bloodstream.
Then comes the burst of energy—at first it’s exhilarating.
I run until my lungs burn, clean my apartment obsessively, and convince myself I can ride it out like always.
But then it turns to restlessness. A nagging, relentless itch deep in my bones, the kind that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin.
I pace my apartment instead, stripping down to my underwear when I break out in a sweat, unable to watch any of my usual comfort shows for more than five minutes.
When the horniness hits, it’s usually a relief. All the other symptoms stick around, but at least I’ve got jerking off to focus on, and I’ve never had a problem riding it out solo.
But this rut feels different.
I can’t put my finger on it right away, I just know that my fist around my cock is doing nothing—nothing at all—to alleviate the painful arousal lighting up every nerve ending in my body.
Every strained orgasm ends in the same unsatisfying frustration, like all I achieved was to build up more tension instead of the release I’m supposed to be feeling.
It’s… horrible. Weird. Kind of alarming, actually.
It’s even more worrying when I start to feel that cold, empty ache that’s started to become familiar over the past few months.
Only, it’s ten times more potent than it ever has been, because everything is dialed up to eleven when I’m in rut.
So that ache becomes a whimpering desperation fast, and before I know it, all I can think about is being pinned down and filled.
And not just by anyone. By another alpha.
By Levi.
Shit.
It takes hours before I admit this isn’t going away. This isn’t just desire anymore; it’s a need. God knows why—maybe I’ve broken something in my biology just by submitting to another alpha so completely. But I can worry about the whys and hows later.
I scroll down to Levi’s contact in my phone, still there from our school days.
I don’t even know if he still has the same one—it’s been years, and he’s moved countries more than once since he used this number to send me trash talk texts before our wrestling matches. I don’t know why I never deleted it.
My hand trembles as it hovers over the call button.I look at his name on the screen. I try to mentally run through what I’m going to say, but everything sounds ridiculous.
What the fuck am I doing? I imagine Levi picking up the phone, bewildered, making some wisecrack when I—when I what? Tell him I’m in rut and that I want to—that I want him to—
I can barely bring myself to think it, let alone say it out loud. To Levi fucking Bastien, of all people. But he’s also the only person in the world I could possibly ask to do this for me.
God, what a mess.
I groan as another vicious jolt of arousal rips through me, my cock straining painfully against my boxers and my hole clenching around nothing, like a fucking omega in heat.
Fuck it.
Levi picks up the phone within two rings.
“Dylan? Are you calling me with your butt?”
It takes me too long to realize what he means. And that he has my number still saved. “Do you mean did I butt-dial you? No. I called you, uh, intentionally.”
“Ah. Okay. Salut.”
“Sal—hi.”
There’s a pause, before Levi laughs, his sardonic cackle crackling through the phone.
“Did you call me to breathe down the phone?”
Maybe I should have written myself a script. “No. Sorry. I, um, I’m calling because I need your help.”
“Is there an old lady threatening you and you need me to beat her up because you are too weak?”
“What? No, Levi, can you shut up for two seconds?” I drag a hand over my face. “I’m—I’m in rut.”
This time the silence stretches on long enough that I wonder if that call’s dropped. Then I hear Levi breathe.
“You need me to find you an omega?” His voice is tight. “Have you spent so long in the gym you have forgotten how to find a rut partner?”
I take a shaky breath. “I don’t want an omega, Levi. That’s the problem.”
This time there’s no mistaking the sharp intake of breath. Then there’s a muffled sound, like Levi has had to shift his grip on the phone. “Then what do you want, Dylan?”
I force down the surge of embarrassment and the growl that threatens to rip out of my throat. “I want an alpha.”
“Merde.” The curse is so faint I have to question if I really heard it. “Text me your address. I will come.”
Holy shit. My heart is in my throat. I don’t know exactly what I expected, but immediate agreement was probably at the bottom of the list.
“If you’re busy, I—”
“I will come, Dylan. Text me.”
I nod, and then remember he can’t see me. “Okay.”
He hangs up, and I stare at my phone blankly until another wave of shuddering, painful arousal has me back to writhing in my sheets and counting down the seconds until he gets here.
Half an hour later, Levi is standing in my doorway, smirking like an idiot and clutching a paper bag full of god knows what.
“What’s in the bag?” I say, letting him push past me and locking the door behind him.
His scent hits me immediately, my senses heightened and desperate for it.
Another alpha’s scent in my space should have me territorial and borderline violent, but Levi’s doesn’t.
And I still don’t understand why. I bite back a whimper, forcing myself not to jump him the second he crosses the threshold.
“Bonjour to you too, Dylan,” he says sarcastically, walking into my apartment as easily as if he lives here and is just getting back from work, setting his bag on the counter.
His eyes drag over my bare chest and the outline of my erection in my sweats, but then he starts unpacking.
He pulls out some supplies—a jar of fancy-looking coffee, milk, a loaf of bread—before producing an entire 4-person cheesecake from the bottom of the bag and sliding it into my embarrassingly bare fridge.
I stare at it, completely thrown. Because apparently Levi Bastien showing up at my apartment during rut means bringing me dessert.
“Is that a cheesecake?” I hiss.
He stares at me like I’ve just asked if the sky is blue. “No, Dylan, it is an Alaskan salmon. Oui, it is a cheesecake. Do you have a problem with this?”
“I call you in an emergency, and you stop off to buy a fucking cheesecake?”
“You will thank me later,” he says, always so goddamned confident. “But first…”
He’s finished unpacking. He turns to face me, closing the gap between us in a couple of relaxed strides. His hands come to rest on my hips, guiding me back against the kitchen counter in a quiet display of dominance that steals my breath.
“Is my scent bothering you?” I say quietly. “I have blockers.” I was half-expecting him to start snapping his teeth at me when he got here, or at least keep his distance. But the way his hips are pressing into mine is very far from keeping his distance.
He grins devilishly, his eyes dropping to where my teeth are chewing on my lower lip.
An image of him sinking his teeth into my lip flashes across my mind, and my cock throbs.
“Part of me wants to piss all over your living room floor,” he says with a cock of his head, and I huff a breathless laugh.
“But no, it is fine. The first time we…” he gestures between us.
“I wanted to rip you apart, before you got on your knees for me.”
I flush at the memory, desperate to do it again.
“But now…” he continues, and I wait for the usual teasing. The taunt. But instead, he takes my hand in his and guides it to the stiff bulge in his jeans, humming when I press my palm against it hungrily. “Now, this is what your scent does to me.”
God. He’s so hard.
“Even though I’m in rut?” I breathe.
“Especially because you’re in rut,” he says, his voice so rough it makes me shudder. “Now, unless you want me to fuck you against your fridge, you should take me to your bedroom.”
But I literally can’t wait a second longer.
The hot press of his erection against my palm has my alpha roaring for attention, and I connect our lips in a dirty, rabid kiss.
Levi groans, pressing back with just as much urgency, his hands raking over my abs and chest as I pull at the hem of his t-shirt, only disconnecting our lips to tug it over his head.
“I am supposed to be taking care of you, no?” he chuckles darkly as I sink to my knees, tugging down his jeans and boxers just far enough to let his cock free.
And the idea of him taking care of me has me shivering with something totally separate from the lust twisting through me, a suffused warmth that spreads right to the tips of my ears.
“Shut up and fuck my mouth,” I rumble desperately, and the throaty moan of surprise he lets out above me has my cock spurting precum. I dip my hand into my shorts, fisting it roughly as I wrap my lips around the head of Levi’s cock, savoring the stretch of my lips around his girth.
“Yes, touch yourself while you suck me,” he growls. “Like a good fucking alpha.”
He threads his fingers into my hair, guiding my head down so his cock slides deeper into my mouth, bumping against the back of my throat until I have to draw back for air.
And then he does exactly as I asked, holding my head in place and fucking into my mouth in sharp thrusts, until my chin is slick and my cock in straining in my hand.
“Fuck, you take it so well,” Levi groans, one hand a tight fist in my hair and the other wiping the spit from the corner of my mouth. “Are you going to make yourself come with my cock in your mouth, mon grande?”