IF YOU CAN'T STAND THE HEAT (Warning: Omegaverse) 2avelvet_maceSeptember 13 2011, 17:52:21 UTC
Warning: embarrassment factor. Also my knowledge of the school system is iffy at best.
II. Oh, God, please let me die.
Unlike Harry, John wasn’t born knowing what gender he’d be. Girls had it a lot easier in that respect. For them the differences were all on the outside. Big dick - alpha. Nothing but a little nub that couldn’t penetrate anything? Omega. For boys, the differences were all internal and it wasn’t until puberty that they knew definitively one way or another. Every boy bragged that he was an alpha and silently wondered what it would be like to be an omega. Most were secretly convinced that they’d be betas, the most boringly comfortable of all the options. John firmly counted himself in that number.
Which was why his first heat took him by utter surprise. Later he’d look back and tick off the signs: the way he’d nibbled at dinner the night before and had skipped breakfast all together, not because he felt sick, but because he simply didn’t have any appetite. He’d felt a strange heavy feeling low in his gut all through History, but it wasn’t until midway through his maths test that he began to worry something might be wrong with him. His sense on smell had gone all wonky. Girls cosmetics, boys sweat, b.o., plastics, mouthwashes, rubber dust, chalk, pens, whatever cleaner the janitor used on the floor, it all seemed to ganging up on his poor nose and intruding in an unwelcome way. He’d tried to concentrate on the formulas he was supposed to be remembering, but his brains were taken up by the feel of the pencil between his fingers, as if the smooth wood were suddenly so very important it couldn’t be dismissed.
And then suddenly he knew he had to get to a toilet right away or there would be a horrible accident. Giving the test up as a lost cause, he stood and shuffled to the head of the class, handed his paper in and grabbed the hall pass before the teacher had a chance to comment. And then he made a dash for it. The toilet was just down the hall, empty except for a couple of older girls who were hogging the mirror, the way girls always did. John ignored them in favour of finding a stall and locking himself in it.
He let go, and then nearly went through the roof as the feeling of fullness turned abruptly into an incredible itch. Gritting his teeth it was all he could do not to wiggle and try to scratch. It was unbearable - but not actually awful. It was hideously good feeling in fact. He had to fight to stay still or otherwise make a noise that would disturb the girls. He held his breath and hoped they’d leave soon but they didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
“- So adorable on you. It’s much more your colour than mine,” said one of the girls with that condescending tone Alpha girls liked to use on betas. Marcy Brookes, John recognised. Fifth year and all around queen bee. For some reason her scent was about twenty times more powerful than it should have been. “Would you like it?”
“You’ll give it to me?” simpered the other girl, who reeked of being a beta. “Oh, god yes! I love it!” Then her voice changed. “What’s that smell? Is that?”
They knew - fuck, they knew. And John did, too. He was in heat and it was a thousand times worse than getting a boner in front of class. He kicked himself. He should have known. But somehow he hadn’t connected up the dry clinical terms he’d learned in Health Class with all these sensations he was feeling. But of course, it was obvious. Oh, god, I’m in heat. I’m in heat! I shouldn’t even be here.
“Oh. My. God,” said Brookes. “Oh shit,” and then she giggled. Her voice lowered, “Did you see who that was?”
“Third year. One of the boys. Watson I think.” Oh, God, please let me die right now.
II. Oh, God, please let me die.
Unlike Harry, John wasn’t born knowing what gender he’d be. Girls had it a lot easier in that respect. For them the differences were all on the outside. Big dick - alpha. Nothing but a little nub that couldn’t penetrate anything? Omega. For boys, the differences were all internal and it wasn’t until puberty that they knew definitively one way or another. Every boy bragged that he was an alpha and silently wondered what it would be like to be an omega. Most were secretly convinced that they’d be betas, the most boringly comfortable of all the options. John firmly counted himself in that number.
Which was why his first heat took him by utter surprise. Later he’d look back and tick off the signs: the way he’d nibbled at dinner the night before and had skipped breakfast all together, not because he felt sick, but because he simply didn’t have any appetite. He’d felt a strange heavy feeling low in his gut all through History, but it wasn’t until midway through his maths test that he began to worry something might be wrong with him. His sense on smell had gone all wonky. Girls cosmetics, boys sweat, b.o., plastics, mouthwashes, rubber dust, chalk, pens, whatever cleaner the janitor used on the floor, it all seemed to ganging up on his poor nose and intruding in an unwelcome way. He’d tried to concentrate on the formulas he was supposed to be remembering, but his brains were taken up by the feel of the pencil between his fingers, as if the smooth wood were suddenly so very important it couldn’t be dismissed.
And then suddenly he knew he had to get to a toilet right away or there would be a horrible accident. Giving the test up as a lost cause, he stood and shuffled to the head of the class, handed his paper in and grabbed the hall pass before the teacher had a chance to comment. And then he made a dash for it. The toilet was just down the hall, empty except for a couple of older girls who were hogging the mirror, the way girls always did. John ignored them in favour of finding a stall and locking himself in it.
He let go, and then nearly went through the roof as the feeling of fullness turned abruptly into an incredible itch. Gritting his teeth it was all he could do not to wiggle and try to scratch. It was unbearable - but not actually awful. It was hideously good feeling in fact. He had to fight to stay still or otherwise make a noise that would disturb the girls. He held his breath and hoped they’d leave soon but they didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
“- So adorable on you. It’s much more your colour than mine,” said one of the girls with that condescending tone Alpha girls liked to use on betas. Marcy Brookes, John recognised. Fifth year and all around queen bee. For some reason her scent was about twenty times more powerful than it should have been. “Would you like it?”
“You’ll give it to me?” simpered the other girl, who reeked of being a beta. “Oh, god yes! I love it!” Then her voice changed. “What’s that smell? Is that?”
They knew - fuck, they knew. And John did, too. He was in heat and it was a thousand times worse than getting a boner in front of class. He kicked himself. He should have known. But somehow he hadn’t connected up the dry clinical terms he’d learned in Health Class with all these sensations he was feeling. But of course, it was obvious. Oh, god, I’m in heat. I’m in heat! I shouldn’t even be here.
“Oh. My. God,” said Brookes. “Oh shit,” and then she giggled. Her voice lowered, “Did you see who that was?”
“Third year. One of the boys. Watson I think.” Oh, God, please let me die right now.
Reply
Leave a comment