Rough Heat

by Marina Vivancos

Once, an Omega he was casually seeing had called him ‘the weirdest Alpha he’d ever met’ and although Leo knew he’d meant that in a good way, the shame of it had stayed like a thorn inside him for a long time.

“It’s fine to like it, you goof. It’s just not okay to feel entitled to it ’cause you like it.”

there were a lot of good things about sex work—most of the clients were fine. It was fun to meet new people, to be part of people’s unusual desires.

Leo didn’t really know what to do about the clients who made him feel like shit. Didn’t know how to say No, or Enough, or That’s not okay—it was a job. Nobody got to decide what they did and didn’t get to do while at work.

a condition. It’s called hyperhitastia.

Usually, Omegas had a heat once every two months,

“Good thing we didn’t pull out our white tablecloth and china plates, huh?” Josh replied. “Oh, well, now I’m just insulted. Not worth the good stuff, huh?” “We reserve that for royalty like Beyoncé. Or Prince.” “So, I have some bad news about Prince…” “This is a ghost-friendly house.”

Not that he didn’t enjoy some of the sex he had on the job, but it was work. There was only so much enjoyment he could get from something he had to do to be able to pay his rent or whatever.

Josh blinked at Damon, eyes wide and wet. “I love you,” he whispered, voice wobbly. “I know. Me too, so much. This has nothing to do with that.

Trusting each other and their relationship enough to know this wouldn’t cause a rift between them.

This had been precisely why Leo had chosen their current position—so the connection could remain between Josh and Damon. So he could be part of this without getting between them.

I knew! Good thinking

Leo ignored the pull in his chest as Damon washed him carefully, massaging his scalp as he shampooed his hair. In the billowing steam, they looked at each other, lips inches away, and Leo felt like he was drowning.

Leo smiled, butterflies gnawing at his stomach lining with their evil little butterfly mouths.

Lmao

Josh greeted enthusiastically, getting on his tiptoes to give him a hug. Leo held him back, taking in a lungful of his scent. Fuck, how had he missed that smell so much in such a short amount of time? It was even better when Damon joined in with a one-armed hug, their three scents mingling familiarly. It was as if something tense and aching eased inside Leo, letting him rest.

Damon grabbed a mason jar full of tomato sauce. “We have to shop local more often.” Leo winced. “Me too. Shit, I never go to markets. I literally get my groceries delivered, is that bad?” “It’s hard to not do the convenient thing, honestly.

It all of a sudden became too much, head spinning. “Wait,” he said, and for the first time in his life, that word made the people he was with stop what they were doing immediately.

Most days, he felt spread thin, like people were taking bits of him and not giving anything back. For now, though, he could pretend he was whole, and that he could give it all to whomever he wanted.

Leo didn’t feel like some necessary but mostly unwanted part of that heat. He felt like he was part of whatever beautiful thing Damon and Josh had built throughout the years, enveloped completely in it. At home in it.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a pair of ogres, is what you are.” Leo smiled cheekily. “Does that make you our little elf?” “There is no way I’m role-playing whatever elf porn you’re into.” “Damn, busted,” Leo joked.

Josh groaned. “Oh, my God, are we…vanilla?” “I mean…by my standards, you’re ice.”

“Hey! You don’t know what we get up to when it’s not during my heat. We can be kinky.”

“Guys, there are three kinds of people who hire a sex worker. One, people who have some unusual sexual interest they’re too scared to share with people that know them. Two, people who want that sort of control over someone, wanna fuck someone they think can’t say no. And three, people who are pretty normal but hire a sex worker to help them lose their virginity or for something like this. That want pretty normal sex for their own reasons or whatever.

His job was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine.

Until It isn't

“You think I can’t find my mates during rut?” Everything went very, very quiet except for Leo’s heart, which started pounding loudly in his ears. Mates. Not mate, singular. Mates.

He picked up all the pieces of himself that had fallen out, pressed them into a place where it hurt, and opened the bathroom door.

Nothing had happened. It just felt like someone had scooped out all his insides and replaced them with something rotting and heavy and gross.