Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Adam Cole was tired, and not just the kind of tired that came after a long flight or a grueling workout—this was the soul-souring exhaustion that built up after weeks of promo battles, sneak attacks, and overall exhaustion of sharing a locker room with Maxwell Jacob Friedman. The kid was everywhere: strutting through the halls, talking loud enough for catering staff in the next building to hear him, face plastered on every AEW poster, and ego inflating the air like an overstuffed balloon never quite ready to pop. He was only twenty-six—barely older than some of the rookies—and yet he’d managed to claw his way to the top, sitting pretty as champion of the entire company.

Adam sat at a makeshift table backstage, lacing his boots while a handful of fellow wrestlers clustered around him, each one determined to hype him up before the main event. They shoved shoulders into his, clapped him on the back, their voices overlapping in a chorus of good-natured trash talk.

"Come on, Adam. Someone has to knock that punk down a peg," Ricky muttered, passing him a bottle of water.

"Nobody deserves it more than you, man," Roddy flashed his crooked grin. 

"He’s insufferable. Like, does he even realize what humility is?" Britt spat out, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over the mere mention of Max’s name for the past ten minuets. 

Adam grinned, playing his part, trading jokes back and forth. “I think the word ‘humility’ isn’t in Max’s vocabulary. Or maybe he just shouts so much, it got drowned out.” The laughter echoed around the cramped locker room, the tension blending with anticipation, everyone united in their barely concealed exasperation with Max.

But beneath Adam’s veneer of confidence, the irritation ran deep. He hated how Max was so young—young enough to still be brash but old enough to be dangerous. He hated the arrogance, the constant flexing, the smug smirk plastered on Max’s face whether he’d won, lost, or simply walked into a room. Nobody knew how he did it, or why.

It was especially maddening because Adam’s sense of smell had always been a crutch he relied on to sort people—alphas, betas, omegas—sometimes a party trick, sometimes a way to predict locker room drama before anyone else cottoned on. Yet when it came to Max, the usual clues failed him; there were moments when a hint of something danced in the air, a fleeting whisper of scent that raised the hairs on Adam’s neck, but it always vanished before he could pin down exactly what it meant. That elusiveness only made Max seem more untouchable, more frustrating, and kept Adam perpetually off-balance whenever their paths crossed.

So, visual cues had to do. 

Max was big—not just in stature, but in every way that mattered inside the ring. He didn’t back down, and wasn't afraid. The kid’s technical ability, his ring psychology, his knack for turning every crowd to his favor... it was phenomenal. Infuriating. He carried himself with that raw, primal confidence that belonged to the alphas. And he was always, undeniably alone. It was that isolation—the sheer unwillingness to ever let anyone get close—that made Adam despise him most. 

He’d seen Max turn away friendships, brush off the camaraderie that made wrestling bearable. Most everyone on the roster wanted the title as badly as Max did, but none were so singular in their drive. It just made sense. Omegas weren’t solitary; they craved packs, alliances, relationships. Max was pathologically alone, and that only cemented what Adam already suspected.

Max was an alpha through and through.

As the trainers cleared out and the last jokes died down, Adam stood, rolling his neck, stretching the nerves out of his shoulders. He turned, expecting to see the rest of the locker room bustling, but instead found Max standing just beyond the curtain. Still, silent, watching Adam carefully. There was no polishing of his title that had always irked Adam, no jokes, not even a smug smile—just Max, shoulders squared, eyes hard, jaw set, sizing Adam up like prey.

Adam hesitated as the backstage noise faded into an expectant hush. Why was Max just staring? Adam raised a brow, refusing to be unnerved.

He moved to brush past, ignoring the way Max stood so perfectly still, locked in some private world. “Champ, you waiting for your music or just soaking in all the attention?” Adam tossed out, voice easy. Max didn’t answer. He just stared, eyes dark and focused.

Adam let out a breath, refusing to give ground. He walked past as if nothing was wrong, hiding the tension that ran through his bones, the strange confusion flickering beneath his confidence. 

If Max wanted to play the lone alpha, that was fine by Adam. Tonight, the ring would strip away the masks and reveal what Adam already knew: that pride came before the fall, and Max, for all his bravado, was overdue for a lesson.

In the ring, the world had stripped away all pretense—thousands of shouting voices faded to dull thunder beneath the bright lights and the relentless pulse in Adam Cole’s ears. For almost twenty five minutes, he and Max had battered one another, each move sharper and more desperate as the clock wound down. Sweat slicked the canvas, muscles trembled with fatigue, and every breath rattled between clenched teeth. Both men had thrown everything; for once, there was nothing but animal honesty in every strike, every counter, every risk.

Now, with only five minutes left on the time limit, Adam and Max lay side by side, chest heaving, faces inches from each other on the mat. The crowd was deafening—chants, stomps, wild cheers—but all Adam could truly hear was the rasp of Max’s breath and his own heart. Pain rippled through Adam’s body as he reached for the ropes, grabbing blindly, feeling Max’s hand connect with his forearm. Reflexively, Adam gripped back, both men dragging themselves up, bodies tangled by fatigue and mutual stubbornness.

That’s when Adam caught it— really caught it — for the first time. A scent, electric and unmistakable. A mixture of apple pie, cinnamon, and vanilla hit him like a punch to the gut. Sweet and complex, threaded with raw helplessness and adrenaline. 

Omega.

All at once Adam’s mind went blank, his body snapping to full attention. The exhaustion vanished. Max—Maxwell Jacob Friedman, the arrogant, untouchable champion—was Omega and exposed, unable to hide what he was at the very worst moment.

Adam’s grip on Max’s forearm froze. Shock, curiosity, and a surge of something darker—something magnetic—flooded through him. “Oh,” Adam breathed, barely a sound.

Max’s eyes snapped wide, terror blooming across his face. He understood instantly. For a moment, they just stared. Adam’s expression confused and hungry, Max’s trembling in real fear, both held hostage by the same revelation.

Adam couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t expected, not for a second, that this was what he would find. His mind spun with everything he had ever thought about Max, and now it all felt different. He saw Max’s  isolation and seclusion for what it was; a shield, not a sword.

Max’s lips trembled, and he shrank back a half-inch, the first honest vulnerability Adam had ever seen from him. “Cole! Friedman! Get up!” The referee’s voice broke the spell, panic lacing his words. The crowd’s fever grew. The timekeeper screamed a warning—only seconds left.

Adam snapped back into his body. His instincts took over as he lunged for a cover, managing to catch Max in a desperate roll-up.

“One! Two—!”

Max kicked out, wild panic in his strength. In a flash, Max reversed, steel in his eyes—one, two, and Adam tore himself free. Again, Adam hooked Max’s arms, gritting his teeth, forcing another pin—one, two, kick out. Their chests heaved with exhaustion and adrenaline, both fighting through the confusion.

Another reversal, another near-fall, hands slippery with sweat and terror and need. Outside, the crowd thundered. Inside, there was only instinct.

The clock hit zero.

The bell rang hard and final—thirty minutes. Time expired. The ref wrenched them apart, both barely able to stand. The announcer’s voice, somewhere far away, declared the match a draw: “Maxwell Jacob Friedman retains the AEW Championship!”

Max jerked himself away from Adam, wild-eyed, trembling, cradling his belt as if it were a life raft. He didn’t gloat, didn’t speak. Instead, he clutched the title close to his chest and stumbled backward, never breaking eye contact with Adam as he retreated up the ramp. His stare was terrified—wounded in a way Adam had never seen.

Adam stood in the center of the ring, alone and stunned, sweat running cold along his neck. He touched his wrist where Max’s claws had dug in, trying to piece the world together as the crowd roared, oblivious to the secret that had just shattered between them. For the first time all night, Adam found himself wondering not how to beat Max, but what it meant—who Max really was. And why he felt an aching in his chest as he watched Max scurry away.

Adam stalked through the labyrinth of arena hallways, the roar of the crowd faded but echoing beneath his skull. Sweat clung to his back, hair wild, and his heart still pounded from thirty minutes of war. The loss should have stung—should have left him cursing his luck, kicking over crates, obsessively picking the match apart on the replay in his mind. But none of that mattered now. The only thing Adam could think about was Max; Max’s scent, sharp and undeniable, still seared along Adam’s senses as if he’d never left the ring.

People flooded the corridors as he passed—production crew, other wrestlers, medics—but he barely registered any of them. 

“Hell of a match, Cole!” someone called.

“You’ll get him next time, man!” another voice, friendly, proud, eager. 

Adam ducked his head, barely looking at any of them, offering only a distracted nod or a forced, brittle smirk. He shrugged off well-meaning hands and slid out of clusters of bodies, lost in his own head.

He should have been angry about not leaving with the title. Instead, his thoughts spun in tight circles around Max. The shock on Max’s face. The fear. Adam’s mind raced with slow realization: the way Max shut everyone out, the venom in his words, the way he always seemed to have his back to a wall as if expecting a knife. It made sense knowing what Adam knew now. It also rattled something deep inside Adam that he didn’t want to name.

He realized, somewhere between the loading dock and the catering hall, that he was subconsciously searching for Max. He scanned every group, every shadow. He couldn’t figure out what he wanted to say, just knew he needed to see Max properly, face-to-face, for the first time with the pretense gone.

By the time he made it toward the back exit, the arena had started to empty out. Night air leaked through the industrial doors, heavy with the smell of rain and concrete. Adam’s footsteps slowed as he spotted Max by the back entrance, hunching his shoulders and gripping his championship belt like a shield, still in his gear but with a hoodie covering his arms which Adam could see were trembling, his bag sat beside his feet. He was alone, which was just as well—most left him alone by default, this was the norm for him.

Adam called out, trying to keep his tone gentle, “Max! Hey—wait up.”

Max flinched, whirling around. He looked almost feral, wide-eyed and teeth bared. The gold plate of his title glimmered beneath the harsh light, his hands white-knuckled and trembling. “Get lost, Cole.” For the first time, there was no smugness, no performance—just naked, brittle nerves.

Adam raised his hands, careful, as if he were facing down a wounded animal. “I’m not going to—look, I just want to talk, alright? I’m not—” He tried to steady his voice, to keep the confusion and curiosity from spilling into something more.

Max’s nostrils flared. “Talk? About what? You got what you wanted. You figured it out. Congratulations.” The words were all fangs and venom, but his body screamed panic.

“Hey, slow down.” Adam took half a step closer, cautious. “I’m not going to tell anyone. I swear. What happened out there, that’s nobody’s business but ours.”

Max blinked, looking momentarily disoriented by Adam’s words. Uncertainty flickered across his face—like he hadn’t considered the possibility that Adam might keep his secret, might not use it as leverage.

Before Adam could say anything more, Max’s expression hardened. Fear morphed into fury—defensive, desperate. He pulled his hood up and shouldered past Adam, not making eye contact. “Don’t do me any favors, Cole,” Max spat, voice trembling just enough to betray the truth beneath. “They wouldn’t believe you anyway.” He moved faster now, practically running for the black car pulling up at the curb.

Adam didn’t chase after him, just watched as Max yanked the car door open, slid inside, and slammed it shut—leaving Adam alone with his racing thoughts. The taillights streaked red as Max’s car peeled away into the darkness.

The entire week that followed, Adam Cole felt the absence of Max like a missing thread tugged from the very fabric of the company. Max wasn’t at the shows, wasn’t at production meetings, didn’t make appearances for press. Backstage, the usual bustle felt off-balance, people whispering speculations.

“Is he injured?” 

“Maybe he’s holding out for more money.” 

“He probably just doesn’t care.” 

But not a soul suspected the real reason, and Adam, for his part, kept Max’s secret clamped tightly behind his teeth.

His world moved on as if he was supposed to—fulfilling media obligations, training, watching tape, and halfheartedly strategizing for his obligatory rematch. But his thoughts drifted again and again to Max. Adam kept replaying their last encounter: the flash of fear, the scramble into the night, those wide eyes gone vulnerable with terror.

When Max finally did reappear, it was the next Wednesday night, just as the crew began to prep for the show. His championship belt slung over one shoulder, duffel bag bouncing off his hip.

Adam caught sight of him first in the hallway. The difference was immediate—Max normally walked like he owned every inch of this place, head high, scowl daring anyone to cross him. Now, he moved with jittery, sidelong energy. His skin was a few shades paler, cheekbones sharpened by a week of sleepless nights, not dressed to nines in a suit and his signature scarf. This time dressed in joggers and a hoodie. His fingers fussed with the zipper, pulling it tight around his neck even in the over-warm backstage air.

Adam found himself scrutinizing Max—really seeing him, this time, searching for whatever clues marked him so indelibly as omega. But there was nothing overt. Max, for all he’d revealed a week ago, still looked like Max: a cocky, stubborn force of nature wrestling the world on his own terms. 

Omega, Adam thought. 

The word struck him as impossible, yet piercingly true. Adam hovered in the hallway, torn between respecting Max’s obvious need for space and the unshakable urge to say something—anything—to pierce through whatever fear or shame Max might be feeling.

Their eyes met across the corridor. Adam’s own alpha scent, sharpened by adrenaline and something stranger, must have carried. Max flinched, the motion sharp and unmistakable. His gaze darted around like a trapped animal’s, shoulders hitching up to his ears.

Adam took a careful step forward, intent softening his tone. “Max—”

But Max stiffened, feet already carrying him backward. He shook his head, almost imperceptible, lips pressed into a bloodless line. Panic flickered in his eyes, and a brittle, desperate energy coiled through him. Without a word, without even another glance at Adam, Max turned and bolted down the hall, skidding around the corner and out of sight before Adam could say anything more. Adam stood alone, frustration and confusion prickling under his skin. He turned on his heel with a huff, making his way towards catering.

Adam sat alone, shifting his weight from foot to foot, the skin on his knuckles tight from anxious clenching. Frustration and confusion built, but he fought to remain calm, telling himself Max didn’t want to talk—at least not yet. Adam busied himself with menial tasks, idly scrolling through his phone, stacking catering cups, retying his shoelaces—anything to keep his mind off the restless itch in his blood that screamed to ‘find the omega’. 

Every few minutes he caught himself pacing, fidgeting with his jacket zipper, jaw clenched against the stubborn growl rising in his throat. The tension built until Adam couldn’t pretend any longer; unable to sit still, he let out a low growl and finally got up—giving in to the need to hunt through the arena’s shadows and track down Max.

As he prowled the winding backstage corridors, Adam realized that Max was avoiding him. He darted through the arena, deliberately scattering his trail, weaving unpredictable paths past storage, gorilla and equipment bays in a careful, frantic dance—determined to evade any alpha, especially Adam. Maybe only Adam.

But Adam was locked in. His focus on finding the champion. Every time he drew a shaky breath, Max’s pheromones teased something primal and urgent deep inside him, flooding out all logic, all annoyance, all memory of why Max irritated him so much in the first place. It was just need and want and the restless compulsion to have—to protect, to claim, to possess. 

Adam shouldn’t be thinking that way about Max, Especially about Max. Adam didn’t own anyone, that was never his goal, no matter how many times he saw other alphas snap and growl at another alpha getting anywhere close to whatever omega they’d deemed as theirs. Adam never saw the purpose of that. If they wanted to be with you, to mate with you, to bond with you, they should do it of their own choice. An alpha shouldn’t have the right to just pick an omega like they’re a rabbit won at the state fair, no matter how many times they were compared to such throughout Adam’s teenage years, and it always made him cringe. 

He pressed through a fire door, ignoring the startled glances from techs and stagehands. Max’s scent twisted through the air, heavy and ragged, never growing weaker, only more frantic. Adam’s pulse thundered as he searched frantically, pausing occasionally when he got a stronger whiff, only to lose it moments later.

Adam snarled under his breath and moved faster, refusing to let himself lose the trail. He ducked through a hallway, skirted around production crates and curtain rigs, shoulders tense. It was only when he spotted Max in a far, half-lit loading dock that his heart truly froze.

Max was pressed close to his driver, wild-eyed and sweating, shoving something into the man’s hand. “Get it quick, don’t stop for anything, you hear me? Just come back—just—” His words stuttered out, broken by panic. His driver giving a curt nod before getting in the black car and speeding away.

Adam didn’t stop to think. He moved without noise, predatory and certain. He was on Max before Max could react, gripping his arm hard and spinning him, pressing him against the cinderblock wall with a hand braced above his head. It felt dangerous, electric—overwhelmed by the heat of Max’s scent in this small space.

Max snarled instantly, baring his teeth, eyes all whites and skin flushed with terror even as Adam pinned him there. He went to lunge away, but Adam already had his wrists, holding Max still.

“Stop—stop! Let me go, Cole—!” Max hissed, squirming beneath Adam’s touch, every line of him tense and wild as a trapped animal.

Adam’s voice shook, too rough, too needy. “You smell good, Max.” The words tumbled out honest, primal, unguarded.

Max gaped, anger briefly overtaking his fear. “What—what’s wrong with you?” he spat, twisting again.

Adam’s focus zeroed in on Max, the scent nothing like the cheap, artificial perfume that had masked it before. Now it was real, raw, drawing out instincts Adam could hardly restrain. “Something’s wrong with you,” he growled, lowering his face shamelessly, nostrils flaring as he buried himself against the glands at Max’s neck, breathing in deep. He pressed his nose to the soft skin below Max’s ear, voice rough and almost pleading, “I can smell it. You—God, Max, you’re—”

Max whimpered, the sound ragged, eyes wide and glassy. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he whispered, voice broken—too tired, too frightened, too honest.

Adam hesitated only a breath, every reasonable thought drowned out by instinct. He inhaled, savoring, losing himself for a single fragile moment in Max’s unique scent. It was overwhelming: heat, fear, want, defiance. Then Adam snapped out of it as if doused in cold water and jerked back, stumbling away, guilt blazing across his face.

“I—I’m sorry, Max.” Adam stared at his own hands, chest heaving, shame peppering the haze in his mind. “I shouldn’t have—”

Max stared at him, chest trembling, confusion and awe warring in his eyes. His lips parted, a trembling whisper barely escaping: “H-how did you…? You stopped.”

Adam swallowed hard, sudden horror at himself settling in. He forced himself to look away, desperate to control the want thrumming in his bones. “I shouldn’t have done that, that wasn’t me. I’m sorry.” He apologized once more.

But Max caught Adam’s eyes, voice small yet resolute, a secret laid bare as if it burned his tongue to finally say it: “I’m about to go into heat.”

Adam’s eyes widened as he opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. Why was Max telling him this? The words hung between them—electric, terrifying, impossibly fragile. Adam’s heart hammered, and for the first time, Max met his gaze not with arrogance or pride, but trembling honesty.

Chapter Text

Adam’s heart pounded so hard it nearly drowned out his thoughts, but he forced his voice low and soft, careful not to startle Max again. “Do you have… an alpha?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, needing the answer and dreading it all at once.

Max’s eyes flickered, defenses slamming up for a brief instant. He looked away, jaw working as he weighed the risk of honesty. Finally, he shook his head and muttered, “No. I don’t.”

That threw Adam more than he expected. He fumbled for words, torn between sympathy and confusion. “How do you—” He cut himself off as he took in the state Max was truly in now: breath shallow, cheeks flushed red while his skin was pale and clammy, a film of sweat slicking his brow. Max’s hands trembled so hard Adam could see the shake from inches away. The heat was coming fast.

Adam fought every powerful instinct thrumming in his blood—to comfort, to take care of this omega whose scent screamed distress and need. But he forced himself to respect Max’s boundaries, even when they both knew how thin those lines could become in a moment like this.

Still, Adam had to ask. “Max, what do you want to do right now?”

Max clung to the wall with one hand, forcing calm into his face. “My driver’s bringing back some suppressants. If he does his job.” His voice was brittle, rough at the edges.

Adam nodded, muscles tight. “Okay.” He waited, watching Max’s every flinch. “Do you—want me to help mask you? At least until your driver gets back? It’s just—if another alpha picks this up, they might—”

Max shot him a glare, stubbornness fighting through panic. “I don’t need help. I throw them off. I’ve done it before, nobody’s going to find me.” But Adam saw the doubt flicker in his eyes.

Adam stepped just close enough to let his own scent surround Max, just a ripple of reassurance in the storm. “I did,” Adam said, voice quiet, reminding Max—and himself—how the game had changed. The effect was immediate. Max’s jaw slackened, eyes wide. Doubt, frustration, and a trace of something wounded flickered across his face.

“I know,” Max said, voice cracking. “That’s… that’s never happened.”

Adam’s nostrils flared as another wave of Max’s scent washed over him, sweeter, more frantic this time, and he had to bite back a growl. Every cell in his body screamed to act, to do more, but Adam clamped down hard, grounding himself in respect—not desire.

Max groaned, suddenly clutching his stomach, doubling over as the heat threatened to swamp him. He straightened with effort, glaring but desperate. “Look, you can help… help me hide. Just that. Nothing else,” Max ground out.

Adam nodded instantly, eyes intent, voice steady. “Of course. Just that. Come on.” He positioned himself between Max and the open corridor, careful and protective as he guided Max quickly—quietly—through back routes to his private locker room. 

Max sprawled across the leather arm of the couch in Max’s dressing room, his body curled in agitation and discomfort. A fine sheen of sweat shimmered on the hollow of his throat, eyes glazed and glassy with the effort of keeping composure. Every few moments, a tremor rolled through him and he squeezed his fists, panting shallow and sharp. Adam lingered by the door, trying to look deliberately casual—alert but outwardly calm, watching over Max while giving as much space as he could manage.

Adam spoke softly, just trying to help. “Maybe you shouldn’t fight it so hard. I read somewhere that when omegas fight their heats, it can actually make things worse—”

Max’s response was a snarl, exhausted and bruised. “Have you ever been in heat, Cole?”

“No…”

“Then you don’t get an opinion!” Max snapped, hands flying to his hair as he tugged at the roots in frustrated agony. The sharp edges of embarrassment and terror filled his voice as it rose. “Where's Lewis with those damn suppressants?”

“Lewis?” Adam asked, tilting his head to the side. 

“My driver! Jesus Cole, who do you think?” He half-sat, half-fell back on the couch. 

Adam shrugged, biting his lip. “I just–-”

Max’s voice came out strained. “Don’t you fucking listen?” His breathing grew ragged as another wave hit him. His legs jerked, back arching, a needy whimper escaping—now unmistakably omega, exposed and helpless.

Adam moved to kneel beside the couch, but stayed just out of immediate reach. The urge to soothe Max was clawing at him, almost irresistible. Very slowly, Adam brought his wrist up and pressed it to the scent gland at the crook of Max’s neck. As he made contact, his alpha scent mingled with the cacophony of Max’s heat. Immediately, the writhing eased, and Max relaxed with a breathless gasp, eyes fluttering.

Max blinked up, shocked as his tension bled away. “What was— What was that?”

Adam offered a gentle shrug, trying not to sound smug or too familiar. “I’ve had omegas before. I know what usually helps."

Max’s eyes flared, the old bite returning. “You won’t be able to control yourself.” He jerked away hard enough to break the contact, glowering, and Adam could see fear lurked beneath the bravado.

Adam leaned back, genuinely confused. “What do you mean? Max—”

Before Adam could finish, Max’s phone buzzed violently in his pocket. Max fumbled for it, then pressed it to his ear, voice trembling: “You have them? Good. Hurry up.”

Adam moved toward the door. “I’ll get the meds, Max.”

Max tried to push himself up, voice thick with desperation. “No, I—it should be me—”

Adam shook his head sternly. “Max, your scent is everywhere. You’re—look, in this state, any alpha between here and the parking lot is going to know you’re in heat. I’m already masking it a little, but if I leave too long—” He hesitated, forcing himself to keep his tone practical, not possessive. “Let me go get them. I’ll be faster. I promise.”

Max’s teeth clicked together in irritation, but he didn’t argue further. “Fine. But hurry up. I swear to God, if you take too long—”

Adam managed a faint smile. “I’ll be right back before anyone can get a whiff but me.”

Max just grumbled and curled more tightly on the couch, trying to look annoyed but unable to hide the desperation—or how much he needed this reprieve.

Adam moved at a dead sprint through the winding halls, pulse thundering in his ears for reasons that had nothing to do with the exertion. When he reached the loading bay, Max’s driver, Lewis, was pacing in the shadows, clutching a small, unmarked bottle in his greasy fist. He eyed Adam with suspicion and not a small measure of wariness.

“Who’re you?” Lewis asked, voice guarded.

Adam stopped, short of breath, placing his hands on his knees as he leant down. “I’m a…friend of Max’s.” 

Lewis stared at him for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. “Maxwell doesn’t have any friends.” 

Adam stood up straight. “Max needs those. Now.”

He hesitated, holding the pills out of reach. “He said only him—‘didn’t want any trouble. These aren’t… uh, exactly FDA-approved, you know?” There was guilt and protectiveness in his posture, like he’d taken care of this for Max before.

Adam stepped forward, dropping his voice. “Max can’t get here without drawing half the locker room’s attention. Look at me—I just want to help him. Trust me, give me the meds, and you’ll be helping him just as much as I am.” For a heartbeat the two men just stared at one another, the tension thick as old oil. Finally, Lewis relented, pressing the little bottle into Adam’s palm. “If anything goes wrong—” he warned.

“Nothing’s going to happen.” Adam cut him off, already turning on his heel, clutching the bottle hard.

The closer Adam got to the locker room, the more intense Max’s scent became—sharp, sweet, desperate, saturating the stale air and clinging to every cinderblock. He could see a few female alphas from the women’s division out around catering, heads snapping up, nostrils flaring. They exchanged looks, sniffed the air, and frowned, the primal alert flickering in their eyes. Adam picked up his pace, thanking luck that female alphas—legendarily in control of themselves—wouldn’t follow the scent just out of animal curiosity. Still, he felt the hair on his neck rise, urgency pressing on him as he reached the door.

He pushed it open. Inside, Max was thrashing—curled on his side, knees drawn high, fists tangled in the couch's cousin, the leather squeaking with every squeeze of his grip. His hoodie had been abandoned, shirt clinging to his chest, skin flushed mottled red. Every whimper and high, breathy whine cut straight to Adam’s core, activating something deep and ancient that roared under his ribs. The feeling almost buckled him where he stood; for one, dangerous moment, Adam nearly collapsed, overcome by the urge to touch, to claim—but he forced himself to lock his knees and stay focused on the mission.

Max half-turned at Adam’s entry, eyes blown black, lips parted. He stilled, body poised between invitation and threat—one heartbeat away from offering himself or attacking, or both at once. For an endless second, Adam stood caught in the crossfire of that wild, primal confusion.

Then, wordlessly, Adam tossed the bottle and a water over. Max fumbled, nearly dropped both, then with shaking hands, twisted the cap and popped two pills, washing them down so fast he nearly choked. The effect wasn’t instant, but within a minute, the shuddering in Max’s limbs lessened; his breath evened out, the flush fading from his cheeks to something more ordinary. The raw, intoxicating heat of his scent faded, leaving only the undercurrent—dangerous, but manageable.

Adam watched him, both relieved and newly concerned. “Those are strong,” he muttered, glancing at the empty bottle. "Didn't think anything could stop a heat once it started."

Max couldn’t even muster a retort, just crumpled deeper into the couch, finally able to breathe through the aftermath. Adam studied him, unwilling to look away. If this was what Max had to rely on—shady pills handed over in back rooms—then Max’s isolation made a new, bitter kind of sense. And Adam was left standing on the threshold, desperate for answers but unable to ask a single question.

After the show, the hallways were mostly empty—just a few crew packing up cables and the distant hum of the last audience stragglers echoing through concrete. Adam steadied Max as they shuffled through the service corridor, close enough to catch Max if he stumbled but careful not to hover. Max leaned more heavily on Adam than he’d admit, face still pallid in the fluorescent wash of the overhead lights.

“I can walk by myself,” Max grumbled, shaking Adam’s hand off his shoulder. But his gait was unsteady, his steps too tentative for the bravado in his tone.

Adam hid a smile. “I know you can. Doesn’t mean you have to. Just let me help you to your car.” They walked in silence for a few paces. Adam watched Max closely, unable to reconcile the vulnerable person beside him with the image he’d had for so long of the cocky champion. “Can I ask you something?”

Max rolled his eyes, but grudgingly replied, “You’re going to anyway.”

Adam nodded. “Why was I able to smell you during our match last week? You were always perfect at hiding it before.”

Max chewed his lip, stubborn as ever. “I usually use a double dose of blockers when I know heat’s coming,” he admitted, grudging. “But I ran out before the show. The lower dose usually works but… I guess it didn’t. Not this time.”

Adam frowned. “I never caught a whiff of anything omega around you before,” he confessed. “Usually there’s something—a hint of a scent, or a vibe. But you? Nothing.”

Max snorted. “I’m rich. I’m champion. And my boss doesn’t want anyone finding out his top guy is an omega, so the doctors give me whatever I ask for. Blockers like they’re candy.” His voice dripped with bitterness, eyes flickering up to gauge Adam’s reaction.

Adam shook his head, still processing. “Didn’t think anyone would actually do that… Not for that reason.”

Max shot him a sidelong look. “You don’t know a lot of things, apparently,” he muttered under his breath, each word thick with things unsaid.

They ambled past the last loading bay, the air cooler outside, Lewis visible next to his sleek car just beyond the truck ramp. Adam hesitated only a second. “Can I ask one more thing?”

Max sighed, exasperated. “If it’ll make you leave me alone, sure.”

“Have you ever had an alpha?” Adam’s question was soft, almost surprised to hear himself ask it. He’d met dozens of omegas in wrestling, and so far, every single one had been claimed at least once.

Max slowed. For a moment, he almost lied—Adam could see the response warring on his face. But finally, Max shook his head. “No. Never have.”

Adam blinked. “Huh. I’ve never met an omega who hasn’t.” He was genuinely shocked, a respect growing alongside the astonishment. “First time for everything, I guess." Max shrugged, uncomfortable and a little uncertain. He looked everywhere but at Adam as Lewis opened the car door. Adam paused, fishing a folded slip of paper from his pocket and pressing it into Max’s hand. “Listen,” he said, tone gentle, “If you need anything—anything at all—call me. Or text. Seriously.”

Max looked down at the paper, silent and unsure, fingers trembling only slightly before stuffing it deep into his pocket. He said nothing, but his eyes met Adam’s and there was something vulnerable—and grateful—lingering in the gesture as he slid into the back seat, door closing softly behind him.

Chapter Text

A month had passed since the night Adam carried Max through, what Adam could best describe as a half heat, since the frantic scent and vulnerability and the trust that lingered fiercely in Adam’s memory, as sharp as an ache. Adam had done his best to give Max space, keeping his word and keeping the secret—he’d barely spoken to Max outside of what was strictly necessary at work. To anyone watching, the two of them were professional, civil, occasionally sniping with the kind of rivalry others expected from the company’s top stars.

Max, for his part, seemed completely unchanged—wry, cocky, the undisputed champion with a chip on his shoulder and a swagger in his step. But for the last week, Adam couldn’t ignore how often he’d feel eyes on him across the locker room, in the gym, or during meetings. Every time, he’d look up and find Max staring—something guarded, hungry, and uncertain flickering behind those dark eyes—only for Max to glance away the second Adam noticed. Every time Adam tried to close the distance, to push just slightly, Max would stiffen and make an abrupt, almost panicked exit.

Finally, after days of sidelong glances and avoidance, Adam managed to cut Max off backstage, blocking the hallway so he couldn’t bolt. Max’s jaw clenched, posture bristling and defensive, but he stilled with nowhere to go.

“What’s up with you?” Adam asked, voice gentler than he intended. “You’ve been staring at me all week.”

Max instantly scoffed. “I haven’t,” he muttered, looking away.

Adam gave him a look. “You have. Don’t deny it.”

“I haven’t,” Max tried again, digging in, but his eyes were darting, nerves showing.

“Max.” Adam’s tone softened, lowering his head to catch Max’s gaze. “Come on. Talk to me.”

Max bristled, folding his arms defensively. “Just because what happened… happened, doesn’t mean you have the right to know everything about me, Cole.”

Adam just shook his head, trying to keep his voice level. “I know. I’m just offering help.”

Max raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear. “Why are you so obsessed with me anyway?” The question caught Adam off guard; for a second, he was silent, struggling for words.

Adam found his footing and shot back, trying to sound cool. “Any decent alpha would’ve done the same thing, Max.”

Max let out a laugh. “Decent alpha.” He shook his head. “Sure,” Max scoffed, voice heavy with disbelief. Adam sighed, the tension building. Max looked away, jaw tight. “Just drop it, Cole. Let it go.”

Adam’s eyes locked onto Max’s; he shook his head. “I can’t.”

Max glared right back. “You need to. It’s my business, not yours.”

Adam’s patience frayed, his voice rising. “I just want to help, Max.”

Max matched his volume, voice sharp and bitter. “Well you did, you saved me, congratulations! The big bad alpha saved the helpless omega…again.”

“That’s not what happened!” Adam shot back, the tension raw in his tone. “You know that Max!”

Max’s posture stiffened, frustration winding tighter. “Then what did?”

Adam shook his head, almost yelling. “I helped you!”

“Why?” Max snapped, Adam’s anger immediately vanished from his features, his eyes widening as he tried to process an answer to Max’s question. But he couldn’t. Why did he help Max? Why did he feel the need so strongly to protect and help this omega? No, not this omega…Max, who was staring at him, face red. “Because you didn’t want to help, you just wanted to feel special, to feel like you did some great heroic gesture.” Max bit back a snarl, “You didn’t do it for me. You did it for you.”

Then, just as Adam leaned in to insist, to give Max…some answer that might cover up whatever Adam was truly feeling, he caught the faintest, familiar trace of Max’s scent—something strained and unmasked, just a whisper under the locker room’s haze. Adam’s instincts sharpened, attention narrowing.

“I thought you were back on blockers,” Adam said quietly, concern edging his voice.

Max tensed, guilt flashing across his face. “I am. Just—not the same. The doctors are refusing to fill my higher dose, something about new regulations or whatever.” His voice trailed off. Even with all of Max’s insistence that Adam didn’t need to know everything about him, it sure seemed natural for him to open up to him. Maybe unwillingly, maybe subconsciously, who knew?

Adam frowned, brow furrowing. “I thought they gave you whatever you wanted.”

Max looked away, embarrassment flickering. “Yeah. I thought so too. Guess even being rich can’t fix that.” Mad shrugged. “Apparently some people ‘want to keep their jobs’ and won’t accept a bribe.”

There was a tension in Max’s posture now, something almost pleading. Adam lowered his defenses. “So what do you want, Max?”

For a second, Max said nothing. Then, voice soft and hesitant, refusing to meet Adam’s eyes, he mumbled, “Do what you did last time. I mean—just, you know, keep an eye on me.” It took effort for Max to get the words out, every muscle taut with reluctance.

Adam blinked, genuinely caught off guard. He searched Max’s face, unsure why his own chest tightened at the request. Still, he nodded—quick, certain, maybe more than he meant to be. “Yeah. If that’s what you want, sure.” Adam apparently would give Max anything he wanted.

He’d never given anything so easily.

Something in Max’s shoulders eased, relief—pure and raw—breaking across his features before he could smother it.

After the show, Adam followed Max’s hurried texts through the maze of the parking garage, trying to suppress a smile at how unnecessarily covert the whole operation was. Max’s car—a blacked-out luxury SUV—waited in the shadows, windows tinted so dark Adam couldn’t see inside. Max popped the door open and, with a quick, furtive look around, practically yanked Adam into the back seat before anyone else in the lot could catch a glimpse.

“Okay, you can relax,” Adam said as the door slammed shut, settling into the plush leather. “It’s late. Nobody’s around.”

“Just get in and keep your mouth shut,” Max hissed, jittery, checking the windows with a darting gaze. “You never know who’s watching.”

Adam just shrugged and went along, deciding it wasn’t worth an argument.”Fine Max.” In truth, he could tell Max’s nerves had nothing to do with the waiting car.

Still, Max snapped at him—“Stop talking, Cole! Just—just…shhh!” Adam’s eyebrows raised in amusement and surprise at Max shushing him. He sat back, silent as Lewis sped them through empty city streets.

Unloading at the hotel, Max barely gave Adam time to process the change in scenery before hustling him inside, keeping his head ducked and body language tense. They slipped through the lobby unnoticed, Max directing Adam to a private elevator at the far end of the hall. Once inside, and after a tense ride that felt much longer than the few floors they climbed, Max silently swiped his key card and ushered Adam into the suite.

Adam stepped in and stopped flat. The place was enormous—soaring ceilings, sprawling living room with modern sectional, open kitchen with a marble island, and two full bedrooms branching off down separate hallways. He whistled low, glancing around in mild awe.

Max pointed to a set of doors. “That’s my room—the big one. You can take the other.” His tone was clipped, all business. “There’s going to be—let’s get this straight, okay? No funny business. I only asked you here because it’s necessary, not because I need—” he paused, flustered, “not because I need an alpha. But as the champ, extra protection is smart. Nobody will bother us up here, but just in case.”

Adam raised his hands, trying not to grin at how over-the-top Max was being. “I get it. You want backup, not a babysitter. You’re fine, Max. I’m just here if you need me.”

Max straightened, defensive bluster rising to the surface as usual. “It’s not that I need you, it’s just—”

“It’s business. Max, I know,” Adam interrupted, gentle but firm. “Not personal.”

Max nodded sharply, ignoring the way his shoulders slumped just a little with relief. “Good. And, uh, I’ll pay you. Of course.”

Adam shook his head. “You don’t need to pay me.”

Max blinked, visibly thrown off rhythm. “Why not?”

Adam shrugged, avoiding Max’s searching look. “Because I want to help you. I mean, if I can.” He didn’t add how strong and urgent the need to protect Max actually felt, how it tugged at something primal each time he looked at him.

Max’s expression flickered from skepticism to a softer confusion, unsettled by Adam’s refusal to take money. “This is business, Cole,” Max said, voice quiet and oddly hopeful behind the stubbornness.

Adam just smiled, voice easy. “Whatever you say, Max.”

For a few moments, the tension between them softened, settling into a strange, cautious truce. Max turned away, draping his championship belt over the back of the couch, and Adam moved to unpack in the guest room.

Adam tried to keep busy, cycling through mindless routines as the sun dipped behind the city skyline outside Max’s suite. He sprawled on the couch, idly watching a sitcom, scrolling through his feeds, making an omelet he didn’t actually want—anything to anchor himself in normalcy. For a while, things felt calm. Adam was used to omegas in heat, knew how to manage himself, had the self-control to ride out the worst of it. This was just business. Max could handle himself; Adam would keep out of the way.

But gradually, that assumption started to crack. At first, Adam caught the faintest wisp of Max’s scent, muted by distance and the physical boundaries of two rooms. It flooded through the suite in soft pulses, threaded with something wild and complicated. Instinctively, Adam tensed, swallowing hard, mind drifting despite himself. He tried to drown it out—channel it into the background, mentally file it away as routine—but Max’s scent was nothing like ordinary heat.

He could name notes: rich, sweet, apple pie and autumn spice all at once, carved through with the wild edge of loneliness. It was intoxicating—better, more intense than any omega Adam had ever encountered. The need to move, to go to Max, gnawed through composure like acid. He wanted to protect him, to mark him, to claim him as his own, and the hunger was inexplicably strong. Adam didn’t know why—he barely knew Max beyond the ring and the backstage, didn’t understand why his body was attuned so exquisitely to this particular scent.

Primal instincts, Adam insisted, trying to reason with himself. It was nothing more than that. Just the raw power of pheromones, a side effect of biology, nothing personal. He tried to keep busy—jumping jacks in the living room, stretches, anything to keep adrenaline high and blood pumping somewhere other than his groin, where desire pooled heavy and sharp.

“Get a hold of yourself.” Adam mumbled to himself under his breath, going to the sink and splashing water on his face. “You don’t own him.” He reminded himself.

But Max’s scent grew heavy, growing and unfurling through the air with every passing minute, unstoppable. Adam tried stuffing toilet paper crudely up his nostrils, desperate and embarrassed at himself for even considering it. Still, the ache persisted, twisting deeper.

From behind Max’s closed door, the first real sounds broke through—breathy, pained groans, shaky at the edges and rising by degrees. Adam flinched, frozen on the couch, as the sounds shot through him like a bolt of electricity. It got worse: whines, high and needful, thin and tight, nothing like the bravado Adam was used to from Max. Each noise dragged his focus inexorably up, every cell in his body screaming to run to Max, to comfort, to claim.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut, counted out minutes in his head. He tried to catalogue the scent: fresh rain layered over burnt sugar, the tang of whisky and autumn wind, utterly unique.
The whines grew sharper, curling and slicing through Adam’s defenses until he shook, fingers digging into his knees. He could feel something primal coil in his gut, way more overwhelming than mere alpha biology. Adam looked down and saw the bulge instantly grow in his jeans. “Fuck…” he whispered, leaning back and groaning. This was just embarrassing. It was like he was in high school all over again, unable to help himself at the faintest whiff of a heat.

Finally, he heard it—cracked and pleading. “Adam?”

There was no stopping himself then. Adam ripped the toilet paper from his nose, kicked aside the coffee table, and scrambled to his feet, every ounce of restraint swept away by the raw panic and longing in Max’s voice. He sprinted for the door, instinct—and something deeper—driving him straight to Max.

Adam opened the bedroom door and was immediately engulfed by the heavy, wild scent of Max’s heat. It was unmistakable, unfiltered, so powerful it nearly made Adam dizzy. The soft lamplight revealed Max in the center of an elaborate, hastily assembled nest, all scatterings of soft blankets, pillows, and even fabric Adam didn’t recognize—luxurious scarves, worn t-shirts, things that looked far too expensive to be shredded and curled into the pile. Max, flushed and dazed, was half-naked, wrestling with the hem of his underwear, determined to rid himself of every barrier.

“Whoa, Max—” Adam’s voice, rough but steady, broke through the haze. He moved quickly, gently but firmly pressing Max’s chest back with his palm. “Lie down. Don’t—just rest, okay?”

Max whined, restless, but obeyed. The moment Adam’s hand touched him, Max’s fingers shot out, grabbing his forearm desperately. He tugged, using more strength than Adam expected, trying to pull Adam into the nest with him. “Stay,” Max slurred, nails digging in. “Need—need you here—” But when Adam actually attempted to step into the nest, Max growled and snarled his teeth. Adam just lifted his leg out, slowly.

The nest itself was a wonder—layers and textures, clothes holding the soft imprint of nights spent alone. Adam’s heart ached a little at the realization.

Max writhed, sweat dampening his brow, hips shifting restlessly, every muscle tensed between urge and shame. He let out a high groan, fighting his own body, chest heaving as he sucked in shallow breaths. When Adam slowly pressed his wrist to Max’s scent gland, just at the curve of his neck, Max stilled almost instantly, muscles unwinding in slow relief. Now Adam knew what would consistently calm Max down, that was good to know.

If he ever needed to do this again. Which he doubted. Because this was just a business exchange. Nothing more.

Max’s lashes fluttered, eyes rolling back as he melted into the contact, body curving toward Adam’s hand. Then, just as quickly, Max panicked, flinching back with wide, desperate eyes. “Don’t touch me—you can’t,” he gasped, voice shivering. “ Alphas—it’s not—safe—”

Max’s body language was a tangled contradiction, torn between raw need and fierce resistance. He gripped Adam’s forearm tighter, fingers twitching as if searching for permission to hold on, eyes darting with longing yet stubbornly fixed on the wall. It was clear that part of him craved the anchor of Adam’s touch—the comfort and safety it offered in the midst of chaos—while another part fought violently not to submit, tension coiling through his muscles as he willed himself to maintain distance. Adam watched as Max grit his teeth and pushed back, even as he physically clung to Adam, unable to fully let go nor fully let himself be cared for.

Adam blinked but stayed calm, voice gentle. “I got you. I’m not going to let anything happen.” He stroked Max’s arm, and Max, uncertain and trembling, burrowed into Adam’s wrist, clutching him tight, every cell aching for contact even as he tried to pull away. Adam moved to pet Max’s head, but Max growled, lips peeled back. Adam froze, free hand up. “Okay, okay—too much. Got it.” He watched Max for a moment, saw the fight in his eyes and the wild confusion lacing his every movement. “Max… how long’s it been since your last heat?” Adam paused, remembering a month ago. But it seemed then that the blockers managed to stop it before it fully got started. “I mean, a full heat.”

Max gritted his teeth, a long deep breath coming from him as if the air had been punched out of his gut, eyes glossy with pain. “A year and a half,” he admitted, voice thick. “Blockers—the dose worked so well, I didn’t have to—But they cut me off. ‘it’s not good for you, Max,’” He spat, voice bitter, mocking the words that had left him like this.

Adam’s brows drew together in worry. “That’s not good for your body, Max. You shouldn’t have had to suppress yourself that long.” His voice held more concern than judgment.

Max whimpered, nails digging into Adam’s forearm. Needing something to ground him, to vent the wild energy, he bit down—hard—on Adam’s arm, teeth gritted against a needy whine. Adam sucked in a sharp breath at the pain, but allowed it, giving Max the outlet he needed.

Max licked at the bead of blood from where his teeth had drawn skin. The look in his eyes bordered on feral—wanting, aching, desperate for relief—and he worked at getting closer still, nuzzling and pressing every inch he could get against Adam’s body. Adam, stunned, let Max have his way; whenever Adam tried to take even the smallest degree of control—moving his hand, shifting his grip—Max would snarl, a sharp animal sound, and Adam would yield, keeping still.

So Adam simply sat, letting Max bite and lick and cling to his arm as much as he needed, letting the sounds and touches wash over him. Max’s need was palpable, almost tangible—he was whimpering and writhing, half out of his mind. At one point, Max fumbled at his underwear again, trying to push it down, voice cracking: “I—can’t do this. Can’t. Adam—”

Adam put a firm hand over Max’s hip to stop him, gentle but unyielding, this time the touch made Max let out a loud moan instead of a growl.

Holy Fuck.

Adam shook his head, clearing it before lifting his hand off Max, making him whine and shift his hips. “It'll be okay, Max. It’s hell, but you can ride it out.”

Max shook his head, tears welling as his body trembled with the urge. “No—I can’t! Need you…please!”

Adam took a deep shaky breath at just how desperate and broken Max sounded. “I’m not going to mate you,” Adam said softly, trying to reassure without igniting a new wave of panic. Max let out a high, broken howl, all frustration and need. The raw sound went straight to Adam’s core, and for a moment he almost lost his own self-control, hands twitching to touch more, to comfort deeper. Adam could feel himself harden again. But he stayed firm, voice rough but gentle: “You’re strong, Max. You don’t need that.”

But Max was past reason, pleading with every word, every shift of his body. And he sure as hell didn’t miss Adam’s bulge growing in his face, right near his nose. Max’s eyes widened as he reached to fumble for Adam’s button on his jeans. Adam gripped his hand, stopping Max from going any further (even though Adam desperately wanted Max to keep going), and felt how it trembled in his touch. “Please, please, Adam. I need it, I’m dying, I can’t—” He twisted onto his stomach, offering himself up to Adam in a way he’d never experienced before.

Oh. My. God.

It took everything Adam had to resist, heart thundering as he turned Max gently back onto his back, holding him down with an anchoring touch. “Max, listen to me. You’ve gotten through heats on your own before, this is no different.”

Max stared up at him with wild, desperate eyes. “Never—mate—please—” Adam paused, breath caught in his chest, stunned by the admission and the raw ache behind it. Max whimpered, “I need it. Please. I want it, want you.”

Adam hesitated, then leaned closer, pressing his finger—gentle, tentative—against the soft skin of Max’s scent gland, wordlessly asking for permission. Max nodded violently, almost sobbing with the movement—and Adam bent in and bit, not hard enough to break skin, just enough to mark and trigger the release.

Max’s body arched, climaxing from Adam’s bite, an overwhelming wave of relief washing over him as Adam held him through it. They both froze,attempting to catch their breath. Why was Adam out of breath? Max staring at the ceiling and Adam staring at the bite mark. Max just purred.

He purred.

Adam slowly got up, watching Max as he turned and curled on his side, not even bothering to take off his underwear, almost relishing in the fact that he’d cum in them and slowly falling asleep, content for now.

Chapter Text

Adam lingered at the edge of Max’s nest, watching the omega finally fall into a deep, exhausted sleep. Max’s breathing evened, his body slack and peaceful for the first time in hours. Adam eased himself away, careful not to disturb the bundle of blankets and tangled shirts, quietly closing the bedroom door behind him.

He walked to his own room, every nerve humming with the aftershock of what had happened. As soon as the door shut and he was alone, Adam caught sight of himself in the mirror—face flushed, pupils blown, body aching with pent-up need and the hard press of his erection. He considered waiting it out, but the scent of Max was everywhere—on his clothes, skin, in his hair. If Max caught even a whiff of alpha arousal, especially during the intensity of his heat, he knew it would set Max off again, maybe make things worse. Adam resigned himself, stripping off quickly and stepping into the shower.

He hesitated, inhaling deeply. The water steamed, but even as he tried to scrub himself clean, Max’s scent clung to his skin, making every thought slippery and wild. Adam bit his lip, shutting his eyes, not allowing himself to think about anything but the relief he needed to get it out of his system and to protect Max from the consequences.

As the water ran, Adam tried to rationalize the puzzle that haunted him now. Max has never been mated. Never—in 26 years. The confusion, the aching shock of it, gnawed at him. How could any alpha resist him? He started sorting through possibilities, making mental lists:

Reasons any alpha would want Max:

• His strength, both physical and emotional.
• His ferocity and vulnerability, making him magnetic.
• The confidence—arrogant but razor-bright.
• His wit and cleverness. The fire in his spirit.

Reasons an alpha might not want Max:

• His pride—refusing to show weakness.
• His reputation—prone to being abrasive or distant.
• His stubbornness

Definitely his stubbornness. 

But the positives overwhelmed the negatives. Adam found himself more puzzled than ever—more than that, he realized just how much he wanted Max, had wanted without meaning to. That was heat-induced, instinct and biology, nothing more, he told himself—as much to calm his own heart as to honor Max’s boundaries.

Adam slowly reached down, biting back a moan as he began to stroke himself, his mind spinning helplessly through memories and fantasies of Max. No matter how hard he tried to shut out the ache, images of Max in the nest—vulnerable, desperate, presenting himself with utter need—played behind Adam’s eyes, each one more potent than the last. His mind wandered further, imagining Max soft and exhausted after a claiming, body marked and glowing with contentment. His mind even flashed to the image of Max with Adam’s pups, his belly swollen. How beautiful Max would be like that. That was just the omega’s heat talking—nothing Max would truly want. Max wouldn’t allow himself that. Adam had to respect it, had to stop before he let the need swallow him whole again.

Adam pumped himself with a steadily increasing urgency, the pleasure tangled up in visions of Max surrendering completely—letting Adam care for him, wanting the future Adam never thought to crave. Images of Max pliant for him, moaning and whining Adam’s name, and the clear mark at Max’s throat all spiraled and crashed in Adam’s head, making his release shudder through him with an intensity that left him gasping, unsure if he could ever let himself want anyone else this much.

He cleared his head as best he could, got out of the shower, and dressed in soft pajamas. He picked up a cloth and antiseptic, gently cleaning the bite marks where Max had clung to his wrist, trying to focus on practical details and ignore the ache that lingered behind his ribs.

A deep, desperate knock at Adam’s door jolted him from a restless sleep. Groggy and disoriented, he checked the clock—3:04 a.m.—then sat up fast as the unmistakable scent of Max’s heat washed in, stronger and more pleading than ever. Adam wasted no time, flinging open the door to find Max standing barefoot in the hallway, eyes wild, cheeks flushed.

“Adam—can I—can I have one of your shirts?” Max’s voice was raw with need, a trembling whine layered beneath each word.

Adam blinked, caught somewhere between sleep and something far deeper. “Y-yeah, yeah, of course.” Reaching for the edge of his suitcase, he fished out one of the soft, scent-heavy shirts he’d just worn. Max took it eagerly, his hands trembling, but his gaze darted past Adam and down at the half-unzipped bag, hungry eyes cataloging every piece of clothing.

He didn’t ask again—just barged in, dropped to his knees, and started rifling through Adam’s suitcase. He began tugging out shirts, a pair of sweatpants, a hoodie, even a set of boxers. Adam watched, stunned, as Max pressed each item to his face, breathing in deep before clutching them to his chest, as if they were lifelines.

“Go ahead, take what you need,” Adam said softly, bemused and unexpectedly touched.

Out of nowhere, Max surged up, burying his face in Adam’s neck, inhaling long and needy. Adam’s arms came up instinctively to steady him, a soft growl rising in his throat—a pleased, grounding sound. They stood there for a moment, just breathing each other in, Adam’s alpha aura settling protectively around them both. Adam’s eyes fluttered closed as he felt a strain against his pajama pants.

The next moment, Max’s hand slipped down, palm rubbing insistently at Adam’s growing erection. Adam sucked in a sharp breath and gently caught Max’s hand in his own, drawing it away with a whispered, “No. Not now, Max. Not like this.” His tone was gentle, protective—careful not to embarrass Max in his vulnerable, sleep-drunk state.

Max’s cheeks burned hot, but he didn’t fight as Adam tugged him—half-guiding, half-cuddling—back toward the other bedroom. Adam paused by the nest, but instead of simply dropping the clothes in, he climbed in himself. Max growled possessively, bristling at the invasion—but Adam met his gaze and rumbled, “Calm down, I’m just helping.”

Adam rolled around in the mound of tangled shirts and blankets, pressing his scent everywhere. He heard Max’s growl slowly turn into a moan. When he finally slid back out, Max dove in almost greedily—curling up with Adam’s clothing, inhaling so deeply he shuddered. The tension that had haunted Max’s face all night melted away, replaced by a rare, soft peace as he gathered all of Adam’s things close and finally settled, calm and safe at last in the cocoon of Adam’s scent. Nobody had ever had this reaction before. Nobody had ever wanted him like this before.

Adam watched, a small, proud smile breaking his usual mask, and shut the door behind him. In the quiet that followed, he let himself hope that—for tonight—he’d given Max exactly what he needed.

Adam woke the next  morning to find Max gone from the hotel suite—no sign of him except a neat envelope stuffed with cash and a handwritten note on hotel stationery. The message was brief: “Thanks. —Max.” Adam stared at it for a long time, the money untouched, feeling strangely unsettled by the transaction.

Days passed. Adam returned to routine—shows, workouts, meetings—but ever since that night in Max’s nest, nothing felt normal. He’d marked Max. Just a small bite,  or even enough to break skin. But the lingering need and the sharpened senses wouldn’t let him forget. Every time he closed his eyes, he could smell Max—could imagine the sight of Max curled around Adam’s shirts, the vulnerable edge in that whimper, the way Max’s body had seemed to fit against his, like some secret had clicked into place.

Late one evening, Adam’s phone buzzed. It was Max.

‘You want your shirts back?’

Adam read the message twice before replying. ‘You can keep them.’

Max was quick to answer, more insistent than Adam expected. ‘I don’t need them.’

Adam smiled at the screen, remembering the way Max had hugged his clothes to his chest like lifelines. ‘I know you don’t need them, but they’re yours now. I’m giving them to you.’

There was a pause—a long one. Adam could almost imagine Max pacing, bristling, searching for the right retort.

‘This doesn’t mean anything’, Max finally replied.

‘I never said it did’, Adam wrote back.

Another silence stretched out, heavy and strange. Adam’s mind wandered, turning over everything that had happened. Why did Max feel so strong to him? Why wasn’t he able to move on? Ever since that first scent had caught him, everything had changed. All Adam could picture was Max—marked, claimed, his omega for everyone to see, the proof in the bruise at his neck. Adam had never felt that surge of possessiveness, of pride, for any omega before. It made him ache in ways he couldn’t name, twisting him up, filling his head with impossible images.

Finally, a new text: ‘Thank you.’

Adam stared at it, heart pounding. He typed, slower and more careful now: ‘Anytime you need an alpha for your heats, or just… a scent, I’ll be there. Really.’

Max responded almost immediately, the words clipped and vulnerable. ‘Why are you so nice to me?’

Adam had no answer, and the little blinking bubble showed for a while before he sent: ‘I don’t know, Max. I just am.’

He put the phone aside, unsettled and hopeful all at once. 

Chapter Text

Adam had never known his alpha instincts could run so deep, or so wild. Sitting in catering that afternoon, he didn’t even register the punchlines from Roddy and Kyle; everything was drowned out by that sudden pulse of longing, that sweet, electric scent that wound its way into his chest and cinched tight. He was used to the persistent background hum of his nature, that steady need to protect, to comfort, to anchor omegas and claim what was his—but Max shattered every expectation. Max, with his biting wit and stubborn pride, refused to let anyone see him as vulnerable, refused to need anyone, even when nature itself was screaming for surrender.

Adam’s mind kept circling the last time Max had gone into heat—how the aggression had flared instead of submission, how Max had snapped and snarled and fought the urge to give in until his body physically collapsed. It was so different from what Adam had seen before: omegas who yielded trustingly, who sought out comfort, who let him guide them through the worst of it. With Max, there was fire instead of fear—rage and defiance that made Adam’s instincts twitch in ways he couldn’t always interpret. The complexity of emotion left Adam shaken; every protective urge sharpened to a knife’s edge, every flash of possessiveness warring with guilt.

He couldn’t forget what happened in that hotel suite. The mark on Max’s neck was proof—a bond made raw in the haze of heat, one Adam had sworn he’d never take without explicit, unambiguous consent. But the way Max’s body had begged him for it, the way Adam felt compelled to answer, haunted him. Shouldn’t he have fought harder, taken more control than instinct? Was loving Max ever truly as simple as giving in together, or was it all just a case of Adam failing to be the kind of alpha he wanted to be?

It gnawed at him in the quiet moments—when he replayed that night, or wondered how many times Max had fought alone, teeth bared and walls up high, simply because nobody ever offered to stand beside him. Adam had never seen an omega who could resist so powerfully, who could push back hard against instinct when it became unbearable. Something about Max made Adam’s alpha instincts not just stronger, but sharper: an ache that mingled guilt and pride, something primal and unfamiliar, a need he had never felt for anyone else.

The shift in the atmosphere was almost chemical—one moment, Adam was only half-listening as Roddy and Kyle bantered across the table, the hum of catering a constant background noise, the smell of coffee and fried food overlaying his thoughts. The next, everything dropped away. The air grew dense, saturated with a scent so potent it felt like it carved a path straight into Adam’s instincts. It was impossible to mistake: sweet and sharp, wild and uniquely Max.

Underneath the din of wrestlers coming and going, the signature bite of apple and vanilla threaded through, too primal to ignore. His skin prickled. Adam’s entire body went rigid, posture snapping from casual slump to alertness. He drew in a sharp inhale, nostrils flaring, every sense narrowing to the single purpose of identification and pursuit. Max. That was Max—his omega. 

No, not his.

The rest of the world dissolved to a blur. Roddy nudged him, Kyle’s voice ricocheted off the edges of Adam’s awareness—“Cole? Yo, Adam, you hearing this?”—but Adam didn’t even turn his head. Conversation meant nothing. Social cues were obliterated, outclassed by the relentless drum of instinct that ordered: Go, now.

He surged up from his seat—not excusing himself, not glancing back, not listening as Roddy called his name with friendly confusion. Adam’s focus was laser-sharp, the magnetic draw of Max’s scent overwhelming even the deep muscle memory that usually kept him polite, chill, and discreet backstage. He strode out of catering with a predator’s grace, weaving through clusters of production staff and wrestlers, barely registering the obstacles in his path. A stray shoulder bumped him; he didn’t flinch. Gabby from lighting tried to catch his eye; he barreled past, eyes locked on the invisible thread leading him forward.

Each step, Adam fine-tuned his senses—heat signature, movement, his body unconsciously angling toward where the scent was strongest, heart pounding faster with every breath. He didn’t bother checking his phone or slowing down as he brushed past the curtain separating catering from the main hall, letting the scent drive him. It wasn’t just a hunt; it was a need, an imperative stitched into the deepest part of him, one that had only intensified since Max’s heat. 

He bypassed the tech area, brushed aside a curtain, ducked through a narrow corridor, every fiber humming until he found it—the pulse, the source, the center. 

Max

Standing at gorilla position, shoulders tense yet confident, Max was watching the match going on at the monitor closely, studying methodically. Light arced across his profile, but Adam wasn’t looking for cues or checking schedules. He was homing in on the scent, the subtle quiver of nerves beneath Max’s bravado, the heat-driven edge only Adam could sense now. For the first time in minutes, Adam could breathe again. All that mattered was Max, and getting close enough for his presence to do what scent alone could not: anchor, protect, claim.

Adam’s entire body thrummed with the barely-contained force of his instincts screaming to take, to touch, to claim Max—right here, right now. But he held himself back, fingers curling into his own palms as he watched Max from across the hall. Max was vibrant, magnetic, and Adam was surprised that nobody else was as enthralled with Max as he was. Adam’s senses caught the first flicker of heat that clung to Max’s skin like static.

He could barely breathe, the urge bordering on pain, but he didn’t move until the moment was right. Adam waited, biding his time, forcing his body into stillness as he saw Max break away, heading toward the arena’s shadowed side passage. In that instant, Adam acted—quick, precise, but as gentle as he could manage. He seized Max’s wrist and steered them both into a cramped, barely-used corner, the air thick with tension and the distant rumble of backstage business.

Max spun on his heel, startled, glowering with practiced bravado. “What’re you doing?” he shot, voice edged and defensive. Still, Adam didn’t miss the subtle uncertainty in Max’s eyes.

Adam fought the urge to grab—every muscle taut with restraint.

He drew close, but kept his hands to himself, voice pitched low to keep the moment private. “I can smell you,” Adam growled, guttural but quiet—his heart pounding so hard he thought it might give him away.

Max’s bravado faltered for a split second. “What? You—what are you even talking about?” He moved to yank his arm out of Adam’s grasp, indignant, lips twisted in denial. Adam let go instantly, careful not to betray the war in his own body—he knew if he touched Max again, he’d lose control.

Adam held his ground, jaw clenched. “You’re about to go into heat. It’s all over you—I can smell it everywhere, it smells good.”

Max scoffed, eyebrows drawn tight. “No I’m not. I’m supposed to have another week—I haven’t even felt—” He stopped mid-sentence, brow creasing as a wave of realization flickered behind his eyes.

Adam saw the doubt, the pride, the vulnerability coiling beneath the surface. He steadied himself, voice firm and unwavering, but gentle. “Suppressing it for that long? It wrecked your cycle.” Adam didn’t reach out; he simply anchored all his focus in the connection between their eyes, refusing his own urges for Max’s sake.

Adam found himself tangled in confusion he couldn’t shake. He was so attuned to Max, so ravenous for him now, yet oddly, when he’d been confronting the oncoming tidal wave of Max’s heat, he’d managed a level of self-control that he hadn’t had to use since his high school boyfriend, when they’d just had the first “have sex, get pregnant” talk in health class. He’d expected to lose himself in need, let instinct override every rational thought, but instead, some invisible leash had held him back. 

Now, standing with Max under the bright, sterile hallway lights, Adam’s hands itched with unrest. He couldn’t stop looking at the faint, almost ghostly imprint of his bite on Max’s neck—just a whisper of a claim, subtle enough not to draw suspicion, but lingering, grounding him. That mark, Adam thought, must be the reason he was able to tether himself when all his instincts screamed to take and protect.

Max, for his part, was locked in his own denial. The defiance in his posture hadn’t fully faded, but the wariness under his skin was palpable. He bristled at Adam’s concern, irritation sharpening his gaze—an instinctive pushback against Adam’s growing possessiveness. “And you know this because…?” Max snapped, trying to regain some control, his tone dripping with skepticism.

Adam, caught a little off guard, shifted his weight, suddenly shy. “Dated a girl in college who was studying nursing,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Learned more about omega cycles than I ever thought I would.” He offered a crooked, sheepish smile, trying to lighten the tension—but between them, the air thrummed with an unspoken need, heavy and electric.

Max huffed, turning his head as if he resented the information. But beneath the bravado, Adam caught something fragile—a flicker of vulnerability in Max’s expression, the tiniest tremor riding under his voice. Apprehension warred with relief; Max was scared, but on some level, he wanted to trust Adam. “Okay, Cole. What do you want me to do about it?”

Adam felt the alpha draw inside him, the drive to anchor and shelter Max sharpening with every breath. He stepped in, closing the distance, his gaze gentle but voice low—a subtle invitation and promise. Adam lowered his face, pressing his nose to the hollow of Max’s throat and inhaling deeply, letting Max’s scent wash over him in waves. The sound that escaped Adam was raw, needy—a low, possessive growl. It slipped past his restraint, and Max’s reaction was instant and visceral: he stiffened, a whimper trembling out, his hands gripping Adam’s biceps fiercely, seeking comfort and certainty.

Adam fought the urge to claim, forcing slow breaths to steady himself, letting the responsibility of the ghosted mark remind him of the trust between them. After a moment, he straightened, voice gentled and sure. “Book a hotel,” Adam murmured. “I’ll come with you. We’ll do what we did before—make sure you’re safe through it.” 

Max’s mask slipped just a fraction as he stilled, eyes searching Adam’s for a warning, a reassurance, a place to surrender. The stubborn edge wilted, replaced with a quick, grateful nod—the surrender of pride to need. Max’s posture softened, and for the first time, the chasm between them felt traversable. “Yeah. Okay,” Max whispered, almost too quietly, but the relief in his voice was clear.

The hotel suite was noticeably smaller than their last, cozy but cluttered with Adam’s suitcase and Max’s numerous bags. Max sprawled across the couch in the living area, his legs taking up more space than strictly necessary, one hand flicking impatiently between TV channels while the other absently pushed a handful of chips past his mouth. Adam had never seen Max eat anything other than carrots and hummus when it wasn’t a full meal—a habit Adam assumed was a sign Max was more unsettled than he let on. The nearly empty chip bag rested between his knees, crinkling every time Max shifted, adding another layer of restless energy to the air.

Adam watched him for a moment, unable to suppress a smile at how Max’s annoyance made him look almost endearing: jaw set, lips pursed, his stubbornness on full display. Every so often, Max shot a sideways glare at Adam, as if daring him to comment, and Adam found the challenge irresistible, though he was determined to keep things light.

Adam worked at the kitchenette, chopping vegetables for dinner with practiced motions, though his focus kept drifting. Adam didn’t understand how the suite was already stocked with vegetables, chicken, and food all ready to cook (yet no snacks, except for the loan bag of chips). Maybe Max had a much bigger pull everywhere he went than anybody actually knew. 

The tension that hung between them now was familiar but sharper—a nervous edge that came from the knowledge that Max was close to his heat, from the way Max’s scent seemed to saturate the air despite the smallness of the suite. Max flipped the remote with a sharp, irritated snap, voice rising as he broke the silence. “I don’t even think I’m close to heat,” he declared, every syllable loaded with defiance.

Adam wiped his hands on a towel, leaning against the counter and tilting his head. “Trust me. I can smell you, Max. You’re close,” he replied, quietly amused by Max’s stubbornness.

Max rolled his eyes, cocking his chin in Adam’s direction. “Maybe your nose is broken, Cole,” he retorted, giving Adam a glare that was half-dare, half-defense.

Adam arched an eyebrow, stepping out from behind the kitchen island. His posture was relaxed, but his body betrayed him—a hard line visible in his gym shorts, evidence of the effect Max’s scent had on him. “Doesn’t seem broken to me. I’ve been sporting this since I caught your scent in catering this afternoon,” he said, unable to help a teasing smile.

Max froze, chips halfway to his mouth, annoyance flickering and giving way to a curious uncertainty. His sharp gaze softened for a heartbeat, calculating. “If I’m close, then why am I not feeling anything yet?” His voice was quieter, reluctant to admit any vulnerability.

Adam shrugged, honest and gentle. “Wish I knew, Max.” He answered, empathy in every word.

Max leaned into his comfort zone—the banter—and pursed his lips, trying to mask concern with his usual sass. “Thought you dated the nursing major,” he quipped, a half-smirk pushing at his lips as he tossed another chip in his mouth, eyes never leaving Adam.

Adam chuckled, sensing Max’s attempts to regain control. “I did. But I didn’t take her finals for her.” His tone was easy, but his eyes lingered on Max, studying the complex mix of pride, uncertainty, and stubbornness that made Max utterly captivating—even when he was snappy and defensive.

Max barely looked up as Adam placed a plate in front of him, his fingers twitching restlessly against the fork. He ate with fast, mechanical movements, shoveling bites into his mouth as if he was chasing back a hunger he couldn’t name. Adam settled onto the couch close but not too close, fighting the urge to watch Max too closely. But his eyes drifted regardless—tracking the subtle tremors in Max’s hands, the way he shifted his weight, stretching and curling as though his own skin was too tight.

With every bite, Max seemed to fray further at the edges: his knee bounced wildly beneath the table, the flush climbing his sharp cheekbones deepened, and beads of sweat started gathering at his temple. The air around them grew heavier, saturated with a sweetness that was unmistakably Max, his omega scent growing so strong it tasted like electricity on Adam’s tongue.

Adam leaned forward, concern carving lines into his forehead, his voice hushed but threaded with protectiveness. “Are you feeling anything yet?”

Max prodded a chunk of food around his plate, jaw tensed, refusing to meet Adam’s eyes. “A little,” he muttered, wincing as he swallowed. “Just—scratchy.”

The answer did nothing to calm Adam’s nerves. He rose, gathering the empty plates, careful to move slowly so he wouldn’t agitate Max’s already fragile composure. Instincts prickled inside him, urging him to do more, to anchor whatever storm was brewing beneath Max’s skin. “I’ll handle the dishes,” Adam murmured gently, offering a steady reassurance.

As he stacked the plates, Adam glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice to something impossibly soft. “Do you still have those shirts I gave you?”

Max’s fork paused mid-air, his features momentarily clouded with uncertainty before he nodded, stoic and stubborn. “Yeah.”

Adam caught the stubborn pride in Max’s reply, but pressed on with gentle encouragement. “You can start your nest in the bedroom, if you want. I can bring you a few more shirts if it’ll help.”

Max shot him a look—half grumpy, half defiant. “I know how to handle a heat, Cole. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Adam offered a small, reassuring nod, holding back the urge to intervene. He knew Max was capable, but he wanted Max to feel—if not comforted—at least not alone. In the silence that followed, Adam’s gaze lingered just a little longer on Max, watching as he disappeared to the bedroom. 

Adam lingered at the sink, drying the final plate with slow, methodical strokes, pretending he could busy away the simmering tension clawing at his insides. Each measured movement was a silent plea for self-control—The temptation to ease his own frustration was a physical ache, pulsing against the front of his gym shorts with every suppressed thought. But Adam clenched his jaw and resisted, acutely aware of what even the faintest whiff of his release would do to Max—throwing him into an unrestrained frenzy, breaking what little control Max still clung to.

He slipped into soft pajamas, gulped down a mouthful of water, toothbrush scrubbing away the taste of nerves. He was supposed to be winding down, letting the evening fade into sleep, but the restless coil in his stomach refused to settle. Max’s silence from the bedroom gnawed at him. Adam respected the slow-burn stubbornness—if Max wanted him, wanted the anchor of an alpha, he’d call.

The suite hung in a taut hush until Max’s voice sliced through, raw and demanding, wrecked by need: “Adam!”

Adam froze, pulse stuttering violently. He forced himself to move—deliberate, measured—hiding how every step quickened with anticipation and dread. He pushed open the door and felt a wall of heat slam into him. Max was tangled in his nest, pale limbs twisting against a ruined pile of blankets, flushed and naked, jaw clenched in stubborn defiance even as his hips rolled with frantic need.

The rush of scent hit Adam with brutal precision, primal instincts roaring for him to go, to claim, to comfort. He nearly lost himself to it, eyes glazing, but gripped the doorframe for composure. When he reached out automatically to shield Max’s vulnerability—cover him, soothe his skin—Max lashed out, snarling, baring his teeth in a warning that was almost a plea. Stubborn, always. Adam jerked his hands back, lips parted in apology.

“Sorry, Max,” he murmured, keeping his voice soft, letting Max choose the next move.

Max’s eyes were wild with hunger and resistance—the perfect mix of pride and desperation. His fingers trembled as he reached out, clutching for Adam’s hand. 

The omega’s control cracked, and a broken howl spilled out, need pressed against pride until both were exposed together. “I need you,” Max rasped, chest heaving, his grip possessive and demanding. “Missed you—need you here. Please…”

Adam moved toward the nest, every instinct inside him tense with the charged need to be close—protect, comfort, claim—but Max’s low, feral growl stopped him in his tracks. There was a wild edge in Max’s eyes, the kind that told Adam to tread carefully: this wasn’t about surrender, but about choice. Max needed to decide, to feel control in every moment, especially when instinct tried to rob him of it. Adam caught on, withdrawing slightly, and instead stretched his hand out—open, steady, offering rather than taking. The gesture was plain, but the trust behind it wasn’t; he was giving Max space to reach back only if he wanted.

Adam started to slowly realize Max’s pattern in heats. He was very stubborn at first, fighting every instinct, yet yearning for an alpha. And that alpha happened to be Adam. Max would fight and snarl and at the same time beg and plead for Adam to stay, because he needed him. And, as it wore on, Max would slowly allow Adam some sort of control. He’d let Adam in. 

Max’s resolve faltered. His fingers trembled before finally grabbing Adam’s hand, dragging it close, clutching it to his collarbone as though anchoring himself to Adam’s presence alone. His body melted into the contact, lips brushing Adam’s wrist, whimpers leaking through layers of pride and desperation. “I missed you, Adam,” he whispered, voice rough, body arching and twisting, rolling onto his side—each movement a transparent plea for comfort and connection, yet refusing to be passive, still working for every ounce of closeness.

The need in Max’s posture cut deep—a true want, but also a battle. Adam’s heartbeat drummed loud against his ribs, but he kept his voice gentle, measured. “No, Max. Not like this. You’re in heat. This isn’t what you really want.” He watched Max’s face contort, tears shining as his lips parted in a wordless, pleading gasp.

“I do want it. I want you. Please, Adam. Please, mark me.” The honesty in Max’s voice was a crack in all his bravado—the sound of someone desperate for love and proof but terrified of what it might mean.

Adam just shook his head, sorrowful but unwavering. Max let out a guttural, aching howl that sounded torn from the depths of him, the kind of pain that couldn’t be hidden. Adam moved closer, carefully, quietly, pressing his wrist to Max’s neck scent gland—a way for Adam to let Max know he was safe. Max’s breathing stuttered, the wild trembling in his limbs barely easing, still shaking with force.

The heat wasn’t gone; desire sharpened every line of Max’s body, but the frantic edge was dulled. Max’s hand wandered, frantically tracing down, finding Adam’s erection through the soft barrier of pajama pants. His grip was possessive.  Adam’s breath stuttered, allowing it for a moment—then took Max’s hand, threading their fingers together, holding tight.

“Adam…please” Max sobbed, pressing his neck harder into Adam’s wrist as if trying to will it to work. 

Adam’s confusion was mounting, tangled with genuine fear. All his usual ways of soothing a distressed omega—gentle touches, grounding words, offering the comfort of his scent—kept falling short. Max was restless, overwrought; the ache of his need seemed to eclipse every calming attempt. Adam felt helpless, and increasingly haunted by the realization that nothing was bringing Max back from the edge—nothing but the promise of something far deeper, more permanent.

Max’s pleas shredded Adam’s restraint, the desperation in his rough, quivering voice stirring a storm beneath Adam’s ribs. Each time Max begged—“Mark me, Adam. Please. Please mark me.”—there was a note of vulnerability and blind faith Adam had never encountered before. He found himself searching Max’s eyes, wanting to be certain, needing more than physical submission. It wasn’t enough to let instinct guide him; Adam needed to know Max truly wanted him.

“Max, is this really what you want? I need you to say it,” Adam whispered, his hands trembling, gripping Max’s arms as if he could anchor them both. He expected hesitation, doubt. 

Instead, Max’s answer was immediate, nearly broken with need: “Yes. Yes, please. I want it. I need you—please.”

Adam hesitated, the weight of the moment threatening to crush him. He pressed his mouth to Max’s neck, teeth grazing softly at first, barely breaking the skin—testing, not claiming. Max’s reaction was visceral—his back arched in want, but frustration quickly replaced relief. He whined, throaty and high, hips twisting beneath Adam’s hands.

Max’s composure fractured. Eyes burning with intensity, he snapped, “That’s not enough!” and the command was wild, desperate, as though some dam inside him had burst. “Do it harder, Adam!”

Adam’s instincts screamed at him to claim, to bite, to possess. His self-control frayed, nearly overtaken by the primal urge to make Max his in the most undeniable way. “I don’t…Max.” Adam’s voice trembled, sweating with the effort of restringing himself. Max’s scent was so strong, that it was all Adam could smell, all Adam could think about. 

“Please! Alpha!” Max almost screamed. All breath left Adam. With a shaky breath, he pressed in again, jaw clenching, this time letting his teeth dig deep—skin giving way beneath him as the bond truly formed.

Max was relentless in his need, grabbing Adam’s head, forcing him closer, demanding the full measure of what Adam could offer. Adam surrendered, sinking his teeth until the bond mark ran hot and sharp beneath his lips. Max’s body arched violently, a guttural cry breaking from his throat as his climax crashed through him in perfect sync with Adam’s, whose senses reeled from the deluge of Max’s scent—the sweetest, richest, most intoxicating burst he’d ever tasted. For a heartbeat, Adam felt drunk, high on the raw intensity of what they were creating.

They laid together, trembling, Max clutching Adam’s arm, fingers digging hard as the world shifted—pain, want, and finally an echoing sense of peace that left both men hushed and vulnerable.

As the haze faded, Adam found himself staring at Max with wide, stunned eyes—his own body still vibrating from the depth of the moment and the sudden, overwhelming reality of the bond. Max’s gaze was bright and wet, full of gratitude and pride, as he whispered, “Thank you, Adam. Thank you.”

Shock painted Adam’s features as he struggled for words, his voice barely more than a breath. “Max… do you even realize what we just did?”

Max smiled, soft and exhausted, one hand tracing the new bond mark on his neck—pride flickering in his eyes even as they glazed with the aftershocks. “I know,” he whispered. “I know exactly what happened.”

Adam’s protectiveness resurged, panic swirling beneath the tenderness. “You’ll care, Max. You’ll be upset when the heat fades. You’ll regret it.”

Max’s smile barely grew wider, gaze unwavering and honest, not a shadow of bravado left. “Maybe.” He whispered. “We’ll see in the morning.” 

Chapter Text

Morning light filtered through the hotel suite’s heavy curtains, dappling the kitchen counter where Adam was setting out mismatched plates and carefully flipping scrambled eggs in the pan. He moved around the kitchen with a practiced ease, something he’d always done for his partners—were they really partners—a little ritual of care, but now with a deeper sense of purpose. The events of last night replayed in his mind, mingling pride and uncertainty as he tried not to read too much into every sound that drifted down the hallway.

Max emerged from his bedroom quietly, wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants, eyes half-lidded and hair mussed. He paused in the doorway, surveying Adam with a neutral expression, the bond mark on his neck on full display. Adam offered a soft smile, gesturing with the spatula. “Good morning,” he said, keeping his voice light.

“Morning,” Max replied, settling at the table and reaching for the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup. He didn’t look Adam in the eye right away—his presence was full of tension and guarded energy, shoulders a bit stiffer than usual.

They moved through the motions of breakfast in an uneasy quiet, the kind that hung between them like static. Adam tried to spark conversation, offering easy comments about last night’s show and the shaky sound system, or mentioning their upcoming travel plans. Max responded in short bursts, sharp and efficient, never giving more than was required. Even when he lobbed a clever remark about the hotel’s terrible coffee or poked fun at the thinning buffet options, his humor carried an edge—as if every joke was meant to keep Adam from pushing too close.

The moments of silence between their exchanges stretched too long, awkward in ways that Adam felt deep in his chest. He kept glancing at Max, waiting for some flicker of warmth, some trace of vulnerability from the night before, but Max’s expression gave nothing away. His eyes were fixed on his plate or the chipped tabletop, his shoulders bent inward as if to barricade himself behind invisible walls. 

Adam found himself grateful for whatever scraps of normalcy Max offered—for the wit, for the banter, however hollow it felt—but that gratitude was tempered with disappointment. The openness Max had shown yesterday, the rare flash of honesty that had made Adam feel closer than ever, was already gone, locked away before Adam had the chance to fully appreciate it. It was as though Max had woken up, remembered himself, and rebuilt the barrier brick by brick across the breakfast table.

“How’re you feeling about…” Adam hesitated, not wanting to push too hard and risk Max retreating further, “…the bite?” The words came out more delicate than he intended.

Max shrugged, brushing a crumb from the table. “It’s fine,” he replied, voice too casual. “No worse than a tattoo, really.” His eyes flicked up, barely any emotion behind them. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Adam raised his eyebrows. 

Max pressed his lips together, jaw tight, and shot Adam an impatient look. “Adam, I said it’s fine. Can we not—”

Adam didn’t back down, his tone gentle but insistent. “Max, we’re mates now. That’s not nothing.”

Max rolled his eyes. “I know that. You don’t need to keep reminding me.” His fingers drummed the table, shoulders hunched and tense.

Adam studied Max, searching his face for any hint of real emotion beneath the casual mask. “How are you so calm?” Adam pressed, voice low. Max didn’t answer at first, just stared out the window, stubborn. Adam’s patience finally snapped. “Max, react. Scream, throw something, say something. This is a big deal—so do something!”

Before Adam could blink, Max surged forward, grabbing Adam’s shirt and crushing their lips together in a hungry, demanding kiss. Adam’s eyes flew wide, the surprise flooding through his body before quickly melting into the urgent heat between them. Max kissed him with all the frustration he’d bottled up, teeth scraping at Adam’s lip, fingers knotted tight. The force of it left Adam breathless, his sense of reality spinning.

When Max finally broke away, he sat down hard, almost glaring at his plate. Adam struggled to catch his breath. They finished breakfast in a nearly charged silence, the air thick with everything they were both holding back until Adam ventured, quieter now. 

Months slipped by, and with each turn of the calendar, Max shed layers of his armor—a process so incremental and raw that Adam sometimes didn’t notice the changes until he looked back and realized how far they’d come. That first tentative trust became habit: Max started to linger near Adam more and more, finding excuses to share a coffee during long stretches on the road, his eyes tracking Adam backstage with a new kind of urgency whenever his body began to warn of an oncoming heat. At first, Max was shy and almost embarrassed to seek Adam out, but over time, the need transformed from reluctant necessity to a quietly fierce longing. By the third month, Adam no longer had to read the signs or chase him down—Max would come to him, shoulders tense and eyes soft, wordlessly asking for safety and comfort, the wall between them crumbled by instinct and affection.

Physical closeness grew too, subtle as the shifting tide: Max’s kisses, once tentative and almost clinical, grew lingering and needy, sometimes grounding, sometimes greedy. He’d find Adam at the close of a show and, without asking, pull him into a service corridor, their lips meeting in hurried, breathless touches that said what words couldn’t. Each month seemed to chip away at Max’s barriers, and with each heat—each night spent tangled together in secrecy—Max learned how to want and be wanted, letting Adam see the yearning he’d hidden away for so long.

Their secret wasn’t a burden; it was a kind of sanctuary. Onstage, their rivalry burned bright for the cameras—fiery promos,  antagonism, and all the tension that drove their careers. But the show they put on was just camouflage now for something far deeper. Adam wore the truth openly in private moments—a casual hand at Max’s hip, a lingering glance in the locker room—while Max made concealment an art form: scarves draped just so, make-up expertly blending the fading hints of Adam’s bond mark, new rounds of prescribed blockers that dulled his scent and forced his cycle into something bearable but never quite regular.

Even with blockers, Max could never fully escape the aftermath of suppression. He’d sit quietly with Adam during downtime, eyes shadowed from the unpredictable swings of his body, voice softer when he admitted his fears. And the moment he thought someone was watching, he’d shoot up, say something snarky that totally differed from the vulnerability he was just sharing, and stalk away with his shoulders back and nose in the air. 

But as months passed, all their stolen moments—private texts lit up at midnight, whispered jokes swapped in passing, electric glances held across the ring—became the quiet tether holding Max together when everything else threatened to come undone. The mark Adam left on Max’s neck was never visible to the world, covered by silk and secrecy, but it grew into a private talisman: a silent promise that Max belonged to Adam, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. 

Adam stood with his fellow wrestlers, half-listening to last-minute strategy talk, but as soon as Max entered the building, Adam’s senses locked on. Max’s scent—troubled, layered with expensive cologne and the anxious tang of sweat—cut through the din like a signal only Adam could hear. Adam’s body tensed, gut fluttering with protective instinct. He didn’t move; he respected every boundary Max had insisted on since they’d bonded.

But Adam didn’t have to wait long, after Adam excused himself from the conversation, Adam could smell Max’s scent get stronger as he slowly got closer. Max crossed the crowded backstage, eyes flicking side to side, determined not to show vulnerability. He found Adam in a quiet pocket by the tech crates, his voice pitched low and urgent. “Cole. I need you.”

Adam caught the tremor in Max’s tone, the bravado barely masking need. For a moment, Adam saw through the mask—Max’s posture braced, shoulders high, but eyes full of something raw: trust, fear, and a determined kind of longing.

Without waiting for Adam’s response, Max tugged him away from the sights and sounds of backstage, deeper into the shadows of a deserted corridor. They stopped in a patch of silence, where Max pressed Adam’s hand to his scarf-covered throat, breath hitching. Adam hesitated, letting Max set the pace, but when Max finally pulled back the scarf just enough to reveal the mark, Adam instinctively leaned in and inhaled deeply at Max’s neck, the scent and bond driving a possessive growl up from his chest he could barely suppress.

Max shuddered, lips parted, the tension in his body melting under Adam’s touch. He didn’t flinch—he leaned in, letting Adam’s presence anchor him through the storm of heat. His voice, usually edged in defiance, was rough with vulnerability now: “Already took care of the hotel,” he said softly, pride laced with relief as he passed Adam a folded key card. “I—I figured you’d want to handle it with me.”

Adam grinned, wild warmth and ferocity mixing in his gaze. “That’s my omega,” he murmured, and for a fleeting second Max nearly sank fully into that claim, his resistance worn down not by heat alone, but by years of loneliness and Adam’s unwavering support.

But Max, stubborn as ever, found his edge. He pressed a steady hand against Adam’s chest, reminding him, “Your match comes first. Go win.”

Adam’s eyes smoldered, jaw clenched as he fought down instinct. “I’ll win,” he promised, voice dark and hungry. “And when I get back, I expect my good omega waiting in the car—ready for whatever I need.” His words were dirty, deliberate, and Max’s eyes fluttered at the sound, pleasure burning alongside pride.

A pulse of connection surged between them. Max pulled Adam into a fierce, desperate kiss—the kind that wasn’t about submission, but about claiming back. He pressed the mark, reminding Adam they were bonded, whispering against Adam’s mouth, “Win your match, Cole. I’ll be waiting.”

Adam left for the ring with every cell on fire, thunderstorm-bright and alive, knowing that for all their secrecy, Max was his—his omega, his match, the best secret in his world—and tonight, victory meant much more than a championship. It meant going home to the person who chose him, over and over, even when it was hardest to ask.

Adam burst out of the stadium, riding a wave of adrenaline from his match—a successful high that pulsed through his muscles and burned in his chest. He barely acknowledged the passing crowd, all nerves alight, single-minded in his urgency to reach Max. His hands still shook with the aftereffects of the fight, knuckles scraped and sweat drying on his brow, but he felt invincible. Adam quickly packed all his things up in the locker room, taking a five minute shower and basically darting out of the locker room. As he made his way to the car Max had promised would be waiting, he braced himself for the usual image: Max swaddled in layers, scarf protectively around his neck, tailored jacket buttoned up tight against the world. Max was always so careful outside the ring—every line of his body telegraphing pride and untouchability. When Adam would tell Max he’d be waiting for him, he was expecting Max ready and willing to blow him, to give him something quick enough for the ride back to the hotel. 

But tonight, when Adam opened the door to the back seat, he was caught off guard by something starkly different. Max lay sprawled across the plush leather, stripped of all pretense and all clothing, every inch of him exposed to the dim light bleeding through the tinted windows. His legs were parted instinctively, hips drawn up in open invitation; his skin was flushed pink from his heat, moonlight painting highlights across trembling muscles. Vulnerability radiated from him—gone was the cocky mask, replaced with anxious anticipation and raw need. Adam felt his own heart stutter, the transformation so startling that he could only stare for a moment, rendered speechless by Max’s trust.

Sliding inside, Adam closed the door behind him, cocooning them both in solitude. Even so, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Max, from the anxiety fluttering beneath the surface of his parted lips, the uncertainty in his wide eyes. Some fragile part of Max was naked here—physically and emotionally—laid bare for Adam alone. And Adam felt a surge of pride, fierce protectiveness mixing with desire as he murmured, “Good omega.”

Max responded like he’d been waiting for those words, a shiver running through him—not with fear, but relief. His body arched, reaching for Adam, fingertips trembling as they brushed over Adam’s forearm. The naked need in Max’s eyes was unguarded, nothing like the sharp, defiant stare he leveled at everyone else. Only Adam ever saw him like this, and the contrast was almost overwhelming—the champion yielding, wanting to be claimed, trusting Adam enough to let himself fall apart. Adam had never been so thankful he was a patient man, because he was sure anybody else would’ve given up on Max a month in. 

How could anybody do such a thing to a beautiful omega? 

Max’s voice broke, desperate and small. “Please, Adam. Please take me. Need you—need all of you.” His shoulders shaking with nervous intensity, fighting between pride and instinct. Adam, seeing the vulnerability and the faith. Slowly over the months, Adam had come to realize that Max used “Adam” when he was in full throws of heat, as if saying the name was something only meant for his most vulnerable moments. Any other time, he was “Cole”. When he heard his name come out of Max’s mouth, his knees always went weak. 

The car’s engine rumbled to life, fading into the background as Adam’s focus narrowed absolutely onto Max. The tinted windows offered only illusionary privacy; in this moment, Adam didn’t care who might witness or suspect. As the city rolled past in blurred streaks, Adam settled between Max’s trembling thighs, careful hands smoothing down over sensitive skin with a mix of gentleness and barely restrained hunger.

Max’s breath hitched, anxiety flickering in his gaze despite how many times they’d found themselves in this secret space together. Even now, with Adam looming above him—body solid, gaze burning—Max’s nerves sparked through his frame. The vulnerability of it, the exposure, always threatened to close in, but Adam’s touch was grounding. Adam could see every nuance: the way Max’s fingers gripped the seat, the way his gaze darted to Adam’s face, half fearful, half yearning. Max was confident, cocky, stubborn, an overall jerk. But with Adam, Max was his true self, and Adam knew it. 

No matter how hard Max  tried to deny it. 

Adam let a possessive snarl build in his throat, voice carved deep with ownership that left no room for doubt. He leaned in, lips brushing morning-soft against Max’s ear. “You’re mine, Max,” he whispered, teeth grazing the old, healing bite mark at Max’s neck—the indelible sign of their bond, still hidden from the world but so real between them. “Good omega. Show me—open up, needy for me.” Adam’s hand slowly moved down, feeling Max’s slick coat his fingers. “God you’re fucking soaked.” He mumbled, pressing a light kiss to Max’s lips, causing a whimper to escape Max. “You want to be claimed, you want me to fill you. Tell me, little omega, you want my knot, don’t you?”

Max’s body arched, nerves giving way to frantic need—the instincts underlying every whimper and plea. His voice was just above a whisper, desperate and raw: “Yes, Adam.” Max clung to Adam’s arms, teeth sinking into Adam’s shoulder, needing the anchor of touch and taste to quiet his skittish fear. Every time, Max’s body submitted—the omega pulse in him demanding to be treasured and marked, yet his heart thrummed with anxious doubt.

Adam inserted a finger inside Max, making him gasp. Adam’s mouth hung open, Max’s doing the same thing. Their eyes never left each other’s gaze. He felt Max’s hole clench down around him. Max gasped and stuttered in the dim light, thigh muscles taut, but he tipped his head back as Adam stroked in gentle circles, searching for the slickest, most sensitive spot. 

Adam’s mouth parted in awe as Max’s eyes widened, never losing Max’s gaze. He swept his thumb over the swell of Max’s hip, grounding him. Adam added another finger, watching as Max but his lip, attempting to be quiet. Adam shook his head quickly, kissing Max’s jaw before pulling away, his pupils blown.

“Don’t hold back, baby.” Adam commanded. Adam added a third finger. Max’s lips parted—a high, trembling whimper just barely escaping before it curled into the edge of a purr. “God, I love when you purr for me,” Adam murmured, voice thick and rough, the sound full of honest adoration. The compliment made Max shiver, flush deepening across his chest as he wriggled against Adam’s touch—a silent plea for more.

“Faster,” Max whispered, voice desperate and hoarse, fingers scrabbling at Adam’s forearm. “Please, Adam, please—”

Adam didn’t hesitate now, pumping his fingers quicker, curling them just right until Max arched, biting down on Adam’s shoulder for purchase. The urge to comfort and claim surged in Adam’s blood—he bent forward, moaning softly, letting rumbling growls spill from his throat, praise spilling out. “So wet for me, Max. You want my knot—don’t you?”

Max nodded, breath shivering, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. His climax rippled through him silently, cum coating Max’s belly. 

He slowly sat up, wrapping his legs around Adam’s waist and his arms desperately clinging around Adam’s neck. The aftermath of pleasure trembled through Max’s body, yet his hunger was near ravenous—he couldn’t help but whine softly, pressing desperate kisses to Adam’s neck. “Adam, please… more,” Max begged, voice torn between command and supplication, his hips rolling helplessly for friction.

Adam’s touch was confident, reassuring as he tangled both arms around Max’s waist and pulled him closer. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll get more,” Adam murmured, lips curling with a teasing grin. One hand slid down Max’s thigh, stroking up and over the sensitive skin, nails grazing lightly as he teased, “So needy—look at you, all wrapped around me.”

Max flushed, but the humiliation melted beneath the vertigo of pleasure as Adam’s hand found him, stroking him slowly. Each pass pulled a shiver from Max’s lips; Adam’s thumb circled the tip, then brushed down the length and back again, deliberately torturing Max with slow, feather-light touches. Max was soon writhing, clutching at Adam’s shoulders, his voice cracking with every gasp. “Please don’t tease.” Max whimpered. 

Adam leaned in, voice lowered and playful: “You get shameless when you beg, Max. Is that what my good omega wants?”

Max bit his lip, clinging tighter—his body couldn’t help but react, pleasure spiraling again, so when the second orgasm tipped through him from Adam’s feather touch, it hit all at once. His legs seized around Adam’s waist, nails digging into the back of Adam’s neck, everything in him crying out for belonging, for safety. He buried his face in Adam’s shoulder, panting and shuddering, whimpering into the fabric of Adam’s shirt.

Adam let his hand linger, gentle and possessive. “Again?” he murmured, voice thick. Max whined in response, unable to form words, only nodding frantically. To make his point clear, Max nipped at Adam’s shoulder, pressing a hard bite as he whined aloud, desperate for more.

Adam responded instinctively, breathing in Max’s scent as it bloomed—rich, wild, tangled with adrenaline and trust. He nuzzled Max’s neck, finding the bond mark and stroking his thumb over it, then pressing a deep, rolling scent against Max’s gland. The familiar alpha reassurance soaked through Max, anchoring him even as the pleasure built with dizzying speed.

It took only a few strokes—Adam’s touch matched perfectly to Max’s body—for Max to lose control again. He tipped into climax, whimpering and shuddering, pressed so tightly against Adam he was nearly shaking. Each whimper was a song of need and belonging, echoing around the room as Adam held Max close, murmuring gentle praise until Max finally melted into his arms and every wave of need was soothed by his mate’s embrace.

Max shivered, finally sated, boneless and soft, but the aftermath always lingered. He writhed underneath Adam, hunger resurfacing in sharp bites and hoarse pleas. “I need it. I need you…”

Adam gripped Max’s hair, gently pulling him from Adam’s shoulder. He tipped Max’s head up with a finger and pressed a slow, grounding kiss to Max’s lips, voice low as he murmured, “Not yet. We have all night. Let me keep you close, baby. Let me hold you while it’s just you and me.”

Max whined softly, still shifting, kissing at Adam’s jaw and neck with involuntary, needy snaps. Adam let out a deep satisfied sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. “Max…sweetheart.” He mumbled. 

Max moaned against Adam’s collar. “Alpha…” he whined, broken and needy. 

Adam responded by tightening his embrace, wrapping himself around Max with protective certainty—gently tracing his fingers over Max’s back, the omega relaxing immediately. 

Chapter Text

The car glided to a stop in the private lane of the hotel, city lights glinting off the chrome as Adam gently straightened Max’s rumpled clothing. Max was flushed and needy, his body still quivering from the waves of pleasure Adam had coaxed from him, but Adam focused on buttoning Max’s shirt, smoothing his hair, and making sure Max looked as put together as possible. Every touch was gentle, grounding, his thumb brushing over Max’s wrist in silent reassurance.

Inside the lobby, Adam did all the talking, handling the check-in while Max stood a step behind him, fidgeting nervously. Max’s eyes darted to every guest and staffer, his foot tapping an anxious rhythm on the tiles. Adam reached back and grabbed Max’s wrist, catching Max’s attention. He leaned in, voice low, almost a growl in Max’s ear. “Calm down. Our hotel is far enough away—nobody’s going to find us, okay?”

But Max shook his head, swallowing hard. “That’s not it,” he whispered, still twitchy, jaw clenched as he wrestled with the need surging in his blood.

Adam glanced at him, catching that fragile edge. With a reassuring squeeze to Max’s hand, he murmured, “You’ll get what you need, Max. Don’t worry.” The words were a promise—and nearly made Max whimper aloud in anticipation.

Adam smiled at the lady at the front desk as she glanced at Max once, her nostrils flaring and chest puffing. Adam’s smile fell and he did the same, both locking eyes. It was a challenge. Adam hadn’t encountered one with Max, in fact, he hadn’t encountered one since he was in college. And he’d never thought that some lady at a random Holiday Inn front desk would be challenging him for his omega. “Stop.” Adam growled, quiet enough that Max didn’t hear, but loud enough that the lady did. She slowly snarled her teeth, Adam quickly doing the same. “He’s in heat.” He mumbled, and the woman gave a small quick nod. “And he’s mine.” 

The woman glared, eyes flicking to Max again and again. He still hadn’t noticed what was going on, unable to lock onto the scents in the slow build up of his heat. The woman broke first with a huff. She slid Adam their key cards and with a forced smile and a strained “Enjoy your stay!”

Adam thanked her under his breath, his eyes never leaving hers until Max forcibly turned Adam around to walk away, shoving him quickly to the elevator.

As soon as the doors slid shut, Max pounced—no pretense, no patience, just raw, desperate need. His hands fisted in Adam’s shirt as he surged up, mouth colliding with Adam’s in a kiss that was all teeth and want and hunger. Max kissed like he was drinking from some vital spring, and Adam drowned willingly, clutching Max’s waist and letting their bodies align.

For once, Adam let himself drift—Max was so rarely vulnerable, rarely so unrestrained, and Adam’s chest ached at the trust crackling between them. Max's hands moved, greedy and certain, sliding down Adam’s chest, tracing the ridges of muscle with reverence. When his fingers found the button of Adam’s jeans he hesitated, glancing up for the briefest sliver of permission, then undid it with fumbling urgency, tugging the zipper down.

Adam’s breath snagged when Max nuzzled against his swollen bulge through his underwear, the heat of Max’s breath scalding even through fabric. This intimate gesture, the open worship, the hungry surrender, but also the control Max was seizing sent a ripple of fear and desire through Adam’s core. He felt the conflict in himself: the urge to let Max have what he wanted, warred with the primal alpha need to lead and shelter. Adam squeezed his eyes shut, shuddered at the fluttering vulnerability on Max’s face—a need to be allowed, to be chosen.

That was the moment Adam’s resolve snapped back into place. He cupped Max’s jaw gently, stopping the desperate nuzzling, and when Max tried to fight it, whimpering and writhing, as stubborn as ever. Adam steadied him, thumb brushing over cheekbone.

“No. Not here,” Adam murmured, voice rough but anchoring. “You don’t need to prove anything to me, baby.”

Max let out a frustrated growl, clawing at Adam’s hips, but Adam simply pulled him upright, holding Max close, forehead pressed to temple, anchoring them both. He whispered, a low promise, “Wait until we’re in the room. Just a minute longer, and I’ll give you everything.”

Max leaned heavily into Adam, trembling with restraint, surrendering not just his body but the last bit of fight—the gesture of trust, of yielding, sending pride and yearning coursing through Adam. 

When the elevator door opened with a ding, Max grabbed Adam by the wrist, practically dragging him down the hallway. He overshot the room, and Adam had to dig his feet into the carpet to stop Max. Adam silently pointed to the door and grabbed the key out of his pocket. Max’s nails dug into Adam’s wrist  “Go faster!” Max demanded. 

Adam raised an eyebrow. “I’m going as fast as I can, Max. Be patient.” A disgruntled murmur of words Adam couldn’t make out was all he got in return. When Adam opened the door, Max shot inside, yanking Adam in with him.

The door to the suite clicked shut, muffling the noise of the hallway, and instantly the atmosphere between them shifted—charged, private, trembling with expectation. Max surged forward, crowding Adam with his entire body, so intent and urgent that Adam found himself pressed back against the wall. There was a frantic energy to Max, a nervous, electric focus that made his hands tremble as he grabbed handfuls of Adam’s jacket, shoving off the last remnants of composure. His eyes were wild beneath messy hair, lips bitten raw with want.

Adam braced himself, locking his knees as if preparing for impact. The sweet, unmistakable scent of Max—omega desperate and unguarded—rolled through the space, making Adam dizzy with the urge to claim, to hold, to reassure. He caught Max by the hips with steady, grounding hands, pulling Max flush against his chest, meeting wildness with calm, rooted presence. With a low, teasing rumble, he sank his fingers into Max’s hair and tilted his head to force eye contact, sharpening his focus so Max couldn’t hide. “Tell me what you want, Max,” Adam coaxed, his voice velvet and steel all at once, at once gentle encouragement and an unyielding demand for honesty.

Max rocked urgently against him, breath hot as it fanned Adam’s throat. His fingers clawed at Adam’s back, looking for purchase, grounding himself in skin and muscle, no space between them. The intimacy was almost overwhelming, Max’s pride stripped away, his need as fierce as hunger. “I want you,” he gasped, the words torn from somewhere deep, left raw and nearly uncertain in their stark honesty.

Adam’s lips quirked into a crooked, knowing smile as he leaned closer, voice lowering. “Be clear, Max. What do you want me to do?”

A flush spread high across Max’s cheeks, his eyes sliding shut as he burrowed needily against Adam’s jaw. The question forced him past innuendo into the truth. “I want you to fill me up,” Max whispered, vulnerability breaking through the edge in his voice. His body trembled as he gave up all pretense, his next words even softer, yet soaked in longing. “I want your knot, Adam. I want you. I need you to fuck me.” 

That confession; vulnerable, explicit, stripped of all bravado—cracked something open inside Adam. He surged forward, crashing his mouth against Max’s with a hunger that made his whole body tremble. His kiss was wild and unrestrained, equal parts yearning and claim, his hands framing Max’s jaw and threading into his hair, holding him close as if afraid Max might disappear. 

When Adam caught Max’s lower lip between his teeth, it wasn’t just a bite—it was a silent promise, both a possession and a plea to be needed just as fiercely. Every sound Max made: a whimper, a growl, the shaky inhalations between their kisses, fueled Adam’s own desperate need; it was as if all the walls between them had come tumbling down, urgency and vulnerability burning in equal measure.

As the heat built and their bodies pressed closer, Adam forced himself to pull away, breath heaving. He searched Max’s eyes, deep, wanting, full of uncertainty and trust. “Who am I?” Adam asked, his voice strained, raw with hope and authority.

Max’s lashes fluttered, cheeks flushed, breath shallow. There was no hesitation, only certainty in his answer: “You’re my alpha.” The way Max spoke it, like it was a secret he’d finally allowed himself to tell, seared into Adam’s chest.

Adam’s grip unconsciously tightened, his thumb stroking the side of Max’s neck. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice laced with a tremor that revealed how deeply he needed to hear it.

Max’s head fell back, baring his throat in submission, trust mingling with the primal pulse of his need. His voice shook, but the words were clear, full of surrender and pride: “You’re my alpha.”

In that moment, Adam’s eyes went dark with a feral joy—a satisfaction not just of dominance, but connection. A deep, animal growl rolled up from Adam’s chest as he nuzzled into the curve of Max’s neck, murmuring fiercely, “Damn right, and you’re my omega.”

A visible shudder went through Max at the words. His mouth parted, lips trembling as emotion flooded him—pride, relief, devotion. “I’m your omega,” Max whispered, the ownership and want in his tone making Adam’s pulse thunder, both of them feeling something elemental shift.

It was electric, sparking between them, and this time as they kissed again, Adam’s dominance threaded through every motion—his mouth bruising, his hands assured. He marked a trail down Max’s angular jaw, over sensitive lips, across the pulse point of his throat, leaving soft bites and harder kisses, staking his claim anew. When Adam’s lips brushed the old bond mark, he paused—softened just enough to murmur, “Say it again, Max.”

Max let out a whine, desperate and sure, arching into Adam’s mouth as he repeated, “I’m your omega. Only yours.”

Adam pulled back just far enough to hold Max’s gaze, their foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the narrow space between them. His eyes glittered with fierce intent—not just lust but devotion, the kind of protective hunger that Max had only ever dreamed of being worthy of. Adam’s voice dropped to a low, gravelly whisper that vibrated straight through Max’s chest. “I’m going to give you everything you need tonight, Max. Because that’s what a good alpha does, right?” There was a vulnerability in the question—even through the dominance, Adam was seeking reassurance, needing to know he filled that role for Max.

Max’s response came without hesitation, the words trembling out of him as if he’d been waiting his whole life to release them. “Yes.” His voice was soft but reverent, brimming with trust and awe, like he was placing a precious thing into Adam’s hands and daring him to believe he could keep it safe.

Adam’s control slipped as that devotion washed over him, possessiveness rising like a tide. He surged forward, kissing Max hard and deep, pouring all that pride and gratitude and aching want into Max’s parted lips. When they parted, Adam caught Max’s jaw tight in his broad palm, forcing him to hold Adam’s gaze. “Say it,” Adam commanded, rough and gentle at once. “I need to hear you say I’m a good alpha.”

Max’s lips parted in a shivery gasp, his voice earnest and filled with longing. “You’re such a good alpha, Adam. You’re the best I could’ve asked for. You’re all I ever dreamed of.”

Adam’s answering growl was raw and instinctive, pleasure and pride twisting in the sound. He tightened his grip on Max’s hips and lifted him off his feet, their mouths never truly parting as Max wrapped his legs round Adam’s waist and Adam guided them through the suite. Max clung tighter, his earlier bravado melting into vulnerability in the circle of Adam’s arms. They spilled onto the bed together, Adam’s mouth worshipping every line of Max’s exposed skin. 

His hands roved down Max’s body—worshipful, slow—but hesitated in the boldest of places, his palm cupping Max’s bulge over thin fabric. Adam let himself linger there, thumb tracing lazy circles, all while his lips mapped devotion along Max’s jaw, collarbone, sternum.

Max shuddered at the contact, hips trembling toward Adam’s hand. The first sound was a low moan, spilling unbidden from Max’s lips, but Adam only smirked, as if denying any intention of teasing him. “Is something wrong?” he cooed, voice playful, letting his hand drift away just as Max was getting desperate. Max let out a trio of small quick huffs of breath out of nose, glaring at the ceiling. “Nothing, I guess.” Adam teased, brushing over Max’s length again, this time firmer, but breaking contact the second moans built in Max’s throat. 

He kissed a trail down Max’s chest, tongue flicking over a nipple, then nipped at his ribs, all while keeping that tantalizing hand maddeningly inconsistent.

Max whined, his whole body strung tight with need, panting and squirming as Adam continued, patient and precise. Sweat broke along Max’s hairline, his breathing growing jagged. “Adam—please,” he panted, “I need—need it, it hurts—”

But Adam stayed soft and merciless, stroking just enough to keep Max teetering on the edge, never letting him fall. The whimpers built, growing more desperate by the minute: every time Adam’s hand left him, every time Adam’s mouth painted a new line of heat somewhere else, Max’s control frayed further. He finally let out a full-blown howl, frustration tumbling into demand. “Stop teasing! I need—”

In a burst of strength, Max’s legs clamped around Adam’s waist, heels digging into his kidney’s, nails digging hard into his shoulder—enough to make Adam flinch and bare his teeth, eyes flashing.

Adam’s growl rumbled up, low and dangerous, but when Max dared to meet his eyes, there was no threat in their depths—only unwavering devotion and a promise that ran deeper than instinct. In that shared silence, Adam gently but without hesitation reached for Max’s wrists, strong hands enveloping them. “Enough.” Adam said. Max’s breath caught, the fleeting thought of fighting back surfacing—but Adam’s steady, affectionate grip dissolved the resistance before it could become real. He pressed Max’s hands against the bed at his sides, entwining their fingers.

Adam moved, settling between Max’s thighs, his voice softened but lost none of its command—a velvet murmur lined with unyielding steel. “I know what you need, baby.” There was nothing mocking or punishing in Adam’s tone—just that particular brand of sternness Max had come to crave, a boundary that offered safety, not humiliation.

Max’s bravado—always so loud and sharp—wilted in the circle of Adam’s arms. His cockiness gave way to raw anticipation; he let vulnerability show, lips parting, lashes fluttering. He trembled beneath his alpha. 

His alpha.

Adam’s gaze lingered, searching Max’s face for any hint of fear or hesitation–knowing he’d find none–just readiness and need. He slowly lowered his head, eyes never leaving Max’s, and bit down, firm and deliberate, into the softened scar at Max’s neck.

Everything stopped: the world shrank to the sharpness of Adam’s claim, the heat and pain and pleasure crashing through Max like a bolt of lightning. He arched violently, hands curling tight in Adam’s grip, his voice stilled by the shuddering force of sensation. For a heartbeat, Max was lost, undone—speechless under the weight of being seen and wanted and owned.

Adam’s hand pressed into Max’s hip. For a moment, their eyes met in the half-light, Max’s pupils blown wide and dark, lips parted as if confession or defiance might tumble out. But Adam just reached for him—slow, deliberate, the gentleness of his touch belying the possessive hunger in his eyes.

Adam leaned in, kissing Max with an intensity that left them both gasping, hands skimming the lines of Max’s body, mapping every curve as if re-learning territory he already owned. “You’re mine,” Adam breathed against Max’s lips, the words a low, dangerous promise that made Max shiver and arch closer, baring his throat in invitation and trust.

Adam’s hands lingered, reverent and sure, as he reached for the hem of Max’s shirt, letting his eyes flick upward, seeking permission in every subtle line of Max’s face. Max’s breath hitched, heat coloring his cheeks. The world fell quiet around them, each motion measured. Adam slipped the fabric away, fingers brushing over ribs and flanks, over old scars and new tremors.

Max shivered, watching Adam with an expression both wary and raw, eyes the color of storm-swept earth: nervous, hungry, fiercely trusting. Adam had never been looked at like that before. 

He’d never been trusted like that before.

When at last they were stripped down—clothes discarded in a haphazard tangle at the foot of the bed—Adam settled his weight above Max but didn’t rush. Instead, he paused, studying him as if seeing him for the first time. Max’s chest heaved as anticipation coiled through his body, the air between them crackling with tension not just physical but emotional, old wounds and new longing simmering together.

Adam’s thumb traced the sharp line of Max’s jaw; grounding, a question asked in silence. Max looked up, meeting Adam’s gaze with wide eyes. For a moment, he didn’t trust himself to speak, breath caught between fear and need. But then Max managed to nod—just once—his voice a shaking whisper that vibrated with truth: “Please.”

That was all Adam needed. He shifted, movements careful and deliberate as he positioned himself, giving Max every chance to withdraw, to set boundaries. But Max just pressed closer, body arching into every point of contact.

When Adam finally entered him, there was a moment—a heartbeat—where the world collapsed into a single, blinding line of sensation. Max’s gasp punched the quiet, sharp and full-throated, raw and unguarded. His hands flew up, seeking something solid to hold on to, fingers fisting in the sheets. Adam leaned forward, gently pinning Max’s wrists, which he still had a hold of, above his head as their eyes locked. Adam searched Max’s face for…anything. Any hint that Max wouldn’t want this anymore. That he didn’t want Adam to be his alpha anymore. A fear that would slowly engulf him in times like these.

What he found was want—want so thick it bordered on awe. Max surrendered beneath him, every nerve singing with pleasure and pain and the shuddering thrill of being truly seen. Right now the claim was real, not just in scent or mark or whispered confession, but in every heated inch, every ragged breath.

Adam started slow, establishing a rhythm that felt like worship—steady, careful, each movement pressing Max further into the mattress, into the safety and fire of being wanted. Max writhed under him, body restless, hungry, chasing the sensation.

“Harder,” Max choked out, voice splintering at the edges. Desperation lived in the single word, in the way he reached for Adam, tugging insistently. “Please.” His plea was naked, and Adam’s resolve shattered with it, giving in to the wild, honest need that lived only here, only now, only with Max.

Adam’s body gave way, every muscle tensing as his rhythm unraveled, growing rougher, sharper—hips driving deep, grinding Max into the mattress with an urgency that was more than physical. Each thrust was a declaration, a furious reassurance in motion, but Adam never looked away from Max’s face, needing to witness every flinch, every gasp, every flicker of yielding in those wide, hungry eyes.

He leaned in, his breath hot against Max’s ear, letting instinct and fierce adoration flood into words that slipped out low, dangerous, and impossibly gentle for all their filth. “So greedy, omega—look at you.” His voice was a caress and a taunt, pride and want both trembling at the edges. “You want to be filled, don’t you? Want me to knot you, give you my pups, get you so wet and desperate the world never forgets you belong to me.”

The words ripped through Max like a wire pulled taut and set humming. His whole body bucked, arching off the sheets. His need turning to white-hot ache, longing twisting into something that felt like devotion. He answered in staccato, every syllable wrenched from a place beyond shame or bravado: “Yes—God, yes, Adam, fuck.” Max would have given up anything in that moment to keep Adam over him, inside him, spinning every raw truth into something sacred.

Adam’s mouth found its way to Max’s neck, hovering over the bond mark, licking the bruised bite with a reverent hunger. Possessive words fell in a fevered litany, breaking between panting breaths and low, ragged kisses. “You’re perfect. You’re mine. Gonna fill you, Max—wanna watch you take every last drop, want you so full and marked and wrecked that you never, ever want any other alpha. Nobody else gets you. You were made for me—weren’t you?”

The possessiveness, the worship in every rough thrust and rougher promise, blanketed Max until he was trembling—shattered under the onslaught, hands clawing for Adam’s shoulders as pleasure blotted out thought. Adam held him steady, anchoring him as Max broke with a cry, pleasure hitting hard enough to blot out the world.

The moment Adam’s hands released Max’s wrists, they were everywhere; gripping, kneading, guiding, his voice a half-groan, half-worship. The room filled with sound: Max’s choked sobs and desperate pleas, Adam’s growls and declarations spilling out, fierce and unfiltered. 

He could feel Max’s desperation cresting—a shudder running through his whole body, every breath a prayer for release. Adam ducked down, mouth brushing across Max’s jaw, his grip tightening at Max’s hips so hard he was sure it was going to leave a bruise, keeping him anchored right where Adam wanted him.

Max trembled, his voice splintering apart on every hitch of breath, “Adam, I—I’m gonna—” His fingers scrabbled at the sheets, then latched onto Adam’s arms, grounding himself in the reality of the alpha above him.

Adam’s voice was a constant counterpoint in Max’s ear, low and commanding and impossibly gentle. “Oh yeah, Max. That’s it, baby, let it go.” His rhythm never stuttered; instead, Adam leaned in, catching every sound Max made, eating up each gasp and whimper. “Cum for me. Show me no one’s ever going to make you feel like this but me.”

His words tore the last thread holding Max together. Max’s body arched, a ragged, helpless sound bursting from him as he climaxed, vision washing white as pleasure wracked him. Adam held him steady, murmuring praises.

When Max sagged back, spent and shuddering, Adam’s hips slowed to the point where they were barely moving, just twitching inside Max. He loosened his grip just enough, hands roving, stroking need back up under Max’s skin. His mouth was hot against Max’s neck, trailing to his ear as he rumbled, “You want more?” Adam asked. Max nodded furiously as he choked out a sob. “Yeah? You wanna cum again for me?” His voice growled. Max nodded again, all his breath leaving him as Adam’s hand slowly worked its way from Max’s hip to his dick. 

Adam’s hand wrapped around Max—steady, confident, possessive. The touch wasn’t gentle, but it was attentive, every twist and squeeze calibrated to Max’s every gasp. “Oh my god…” Max’s eyes rolled in the back of his head, shame and pride warping into something breathless as he watched Adam’s hand work him, saw his own release from before glistening on his belly. Max shuddered visibly, so undone by the sight he nearly arched off the bed. 

Max nearly screamed as Adam started to thrust into him again. 

And he almost bit Adam’s nose off at how slow he was going.

“Look at you,” Adam murmured, eyes fixed to where his hand fisted Max’s length—messy, lewd, every slick move a claim in itself. “So greedy for it, omega. Your cum all over you, can you feel it? All over your belly, your skin—smell nothing but yourself.” Adam’s voice was a dark lull, his mouth tracing the shell of Max’s ear, never letting up. “Want you to remember this every time you touch yourself. Want you ruined by how good it feels to belong to me.”

Max whimpered, his hips rolling needily into Adam’s palm, the slick friction sending sparks up his spine. There was vulnerability here, but also trust—a trust that was slowly built enough to let Max come apart so openly, let those high, urgent sounds slip free without shame. Adam’s other hand cradled Max’s jaw, coaxing him to meet his gaze, and Max saw himself reflected there: wanted, cherished, laid bare beneath all the rough talk and rougher hands.

Every stroke was a promise. “That’s it, Max. Just let go for me—let everyone see how good I make you feel. I want you messy, want you sobbing for it. All for me. Mine, every last drop.”

The possessive cadence, the physical worship, undid Max piece by piece. His body tensed, then shattered apart again, climax washing over him so hard he choked on a moan—twitching, pumping into Adam’s hand until he spilled over Adam’s knuckles, the heat of it making everything slick and holy and desperately intimate.

Adam’s hand never faltered, smearing Max’s cum across Max’s belly, painting him in proof of ownership, in evidence of care. Adam pressed his lips to Max’s brow, murmuring quietly, fiercely, “That’s it, beautiful. All mine.”

Max’s eyes fluttered, lashes damp, breath coming in short bursts as Adam’s words settled over him like a brand. The need didn’t ebb—it just shifted, simmering beneath the surface as Adam kept moving, kept touching, kept claiming.

Adam tilted his head, voice husky and teasing as he slowly halted his hips, making Max groan. “You want my knot, Max?” He drew out the words, letting them hang heavy, just above a whisper.

Max whimpered, desperation tinging his reply. “Please, yes—please, I want it. Need it.”

Adam narrowed his eyes, letting one slow, deep thrust roll through Max’s body, his smirk wicked. “Are you sure?” Adam’s hand found Max’s jaw, tilting his face to meet his gaze. “You know what happens when I knot you, right? You’ll be so full, so wrecked—mine for hours, not a soul in the world could mistake it.”

Max snapped, voice sharp and needy. “I want it—just fuck me, Adam!” His words were half-growl, half-plea, stripped of all composure.

Adam chuckled, low and soft. “There he is. That’s my boy.” Without another warning, he bucked his hips hard, slamming into Max with the full force of possession and affection, thrusts fast and deep. Each movement was punctuated by filthy promises—Adam’s voice a litany of ownership and want:

“That’s right, take it. Take me deeper. You were made for this, for me—look at how perfect you are, Max. You want to be locked up, stuffed full of me, marked on the inside and the outside, don’t you?” Adam’s dirty words tumbled out between rough thrusts, voice growing ragged as he drove Max higher, propelled by everything he felt and everything Max deserved to hear.

Max writhed in a mess of want, wrapping his legs around Adam and matching his pace, cries lost beneath Adam’s possessive murmurs and reverent growls. Adam didn’t let up, didn’t falter; he just kept going. And he would do so for as long as Max needed him to. “Max, baby, I’m gonna cum.” Adam murmured against Max’s lips.

Max moaned and gripped the back of Adam’s neck, his hold tight and firm. “Please cum in me, please fill me up.” Max’s head lulled back before snapping back up, his eyes blazing. “My alpha.”

Adam growled and bit into Max’s neck, the overwhelming need washing over him at the sound of Max’s voice breaking. 

Max needed him, Max wanted him, Max begged for him. 

Adam’s gaze locked onto Max’s as his face contorted in pleasure. Max watched every twitch of Adam’s face as he chased his orgasm, every single gasp and moan that would flow out of his mouth at the steady rhythm. Adam felt like he was in heaven. 

Adam had no doubt that no matter how many times they’d do this. No matter how many times they’d be together. No matter how many times Adam would cum inside Max, Adam would swear it was heaven. 

Every. Single. Time.  

Adam’s thrust grew more frantic as he got closer and closer to orgasm. “C’mon Adam, come on.” Max urged on in squeaks, his eyes focused on Adam’s icy blue eyes, the warmth pooling in his belly quicker than Max could realize. 

Adam let out a long groan as he thrust once, twice and finally spilled inside Max, the satisfaction in his words was both benediction and brand. “Take it, Max. All of me—take it, baby.” Max shattered suddenly beneath him, coming apart under Adam at the sudden rush of him filling him up. His nails raked down Adam’s back as his toes curled and he let out a strained cry.

Adam’s hips slowed as held Max close, their breaths mingling in the hush of the darkened hotel room, sweat dampening their skin. Their bodies were still joined, Adam’s knot keeping them together, and Max clung tighter, burying his face in Adam’s chest with instinctive need. Adam wrapped his arms around his omega, reveling in how warm Max felt—how safe, how home. Every little whimper, every rigid clutch of Max's hands at Adam’s back only fueled that sense of claim, of cherished possession.

Finally, Adam felt his knot easing, the primal ache subsiding. He eased away gently, careful not to rush, feeling the slick warmth between them as he separated. Max whimpered at the loss but didn’t let go, holding Adam’s wrist as though he might disappear if released.

“Hang on,” Adam murmured softly. He padded across the room to the bathroom, retrieved a warm, wet rag, and returned. Adam knelt beside Max, tenderly beginning to clean him off, strokes gentle over sensitive skin.

Max watched, a slow smile blooming on his face. “I’ll never get used to that,” he whispered, voice thick in the quiet.

Adam glanced up, smiling right back. “Any decent—”

Max cut in, his tone soft, almost reverent: “Don’t down play it.” Adam quirked an eyebrow. “Every time you do something nice, you downplay it, saying ‘any decent alpha would do the same thing’.” Max sat up on his elbows, studying Adam’s face. His voice soft as he hummed, “I think you’re the only truly decent alpha.”

Adam paused, completely taken aback, searching Max’s face for the tease he half-expected—and found none. “What do you mean?”

Max’s gaze darted away for a moment. “You’re the only person I’ve had sex with who’s cleaned me up after.” The words slipped out awkward and honest. “No other alpha I’ve been with would’ve ever dreamed of doing what you do for me.”

Adam blinked, memories of their conversations surfacing. “But I thought you hadn’t been mated?”

Max met Adam’s eyes now, rolling his shoulders in a shy shrug. “Mated and sex… not really the same thing.”

Adam just stared, the significance landing heavy—a new layer to Max unraveling before him. He finished cleaning Max with gentle precision, tracing lines of warmth down flushed skin and anchoring them both in the present.

Once Max was fresh and comforted, Adam didn’t head for his usual bed across the suite. Instead, he slid beneath the nest of blankets next to Max, settling on the mattress at his side. Max was startled, wide eyes searching Adam’s face as he realized this comfort—this after—was more than a fleeting kindness.

“You coming in?” Max asked, uncertain and hopeful.

Adam nodded, settling close and resting his palm over Max’s heart. “You’re mine, Max,” he whispered, voice cracked open with devotion.

Max’s reply was soft, unguarded. “Yours.”

They lay together, breaking the old habits, letting the bond anchor them in each other. Adam watched Max—watched his walls fall, the way he melted into safety and touch, the way the mask dissolved when they were alone. He traced the arc of Max’s cheekbone, the soft hair at his temple, the bite mark on his neck still reddened and proud.

Chapter Text

It had been nearly a year since Adam and Max’s bond was sealed, their intimacy woven through every stolen glance and secret call, their connection hidden from the world’s eyes and rumors. For months, Adam and Max perfected the art of secrecy: navigating backstage corridors side by side with practiced distance, leaning into each other’s touches only behind shut hotel doors. The bond between them was visceral—an anchor in a world that expected strength above vulnerability, especially with Max holding the championship and Adam shadowing him with unwavering loyalty.

But in the last stretch, things had shifted. Adam’s injury—a sharp, wicked twist in training that shattered his ankle—left him benched, sequestered at home with physical therapy and frustration gnashing at his nerves. He was restless, guilt-laden, and helpless; Max was left to shoulder his own burdens in the often hostile locker room, alone for the first time since their lives had intertwined so tightly.

Max had always prided himself on being untouchable, woven so tightly in brash confidence he almost believed it was real. But as his heat approached—the first one he’d face alone as a mated omega—Max found his defenses unraveling in ways that terrified him. After his match that night, Max could barely muster the swagger. He moved through the halls with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head, hands clumsy as he fumbled with zippers, gripping the handle of his overnight bag so hard his knuckles went pale.

His private suite was clinical and quiet, and with each step inside, his anxiety built like a pounding drum. The second the door locked, Max threw himself onto the bed, blankets and pillows becoming a barricade, his body curled inward against the mounting pressure of his heat. His breathing was shallow; he felt so small, the ache of loneliness biting deep.

He dialed Adam, heart racing, voice nearly cracking as soon as Adam picked up. “Hey,” Adam said, warmth threading through the line. Usually, just hearing Adam’s voice was enough to ground him.

Not tonight. Max’s words tumbled out. “I’m feeling it already,” he confessed, nerves ragged. “Adam… I don’t know, I—I’m scared. I haven’t done this without you since… since we were mated.”

Adam’s voice softened, clear concern in every syllable. “You’re going to be okay, babe. I promise. Remember what we talked about? I’m not leaving you, no matter what.”

Max nodded faintly, wiping his eyes, but he couldn’t quiet the panic thrumming through him. “What if—what if my body makes me want another alpha?” The words slipped out before he could swallow them. “You’re not here. I’m going to want to—to be fucked. You know my heats can get so strong, Adam, what if I lose control and… I don’t know. What if I betray us, without even meaning to?”

Adam listened, old insecurities rising beneath Max’s spiraling words. His own heart twisted; he hated being gone, hated not being able to scent Max, to blanket him in alpha reassurance. But his voice was steady, fiercely protective even from miles away. “Max. Listen to me. That’s not going to happen. I know you—your body’s bonded to me. It’s not going to forget or turn on us, even when your heat gets bad.”

Max sucked in a shaky breath, the panic mounting. “How do you know? I just—I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m alone, Adam. I don’t trust myself. What if I do something I can’t take back?”

Adam’s voice, low and utterly sure, cut through Max’s anxious spiral like a lifeline. “Max, feel your neck,” he murmured, softer than command, gentle enough to reach the trembling heart beneath Max’s bravado. “Now. Please.”

Max hesitated, pulse jumping in the hush of his hotel suite, hand shaking as he pulled his hood down and pressed trembling fingers to the hidden spot just under his jaw. The ridged scar was faded but palpable—Adam’s bite, the unmistakable mark of their bond. Underneath so many layers of routine and armor, it was the one piece of absolute truth Max kept for himself.

Adam waited, letting silence thread between them, his breath steady and reassuring over the phone. When Max finally spoke, his voice was quieter, edged with something close to awe. “I feel… your bite.” He lingered on it, thumb tracing the familiar scar, grounding himself in memory.

Adam’s reply came like a balm, soothing and possessive. “That’s it. Even when I’m not there, Max, your body remembers—you remember. You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. That’s never gonna change, no matter where I am.”

Something inside Max loosened. The panic that had knotted his chest slowly began to unwind. He curled up tighter beneath his blankets, clutching the phone, letting Adam’s breathing and words wash through the heavy quiet. Every shameful doubt faded behind the ache of belonging, the safety of one undeniable truth.

“Thanks,” Max murmured, voice nearly a sigh. The harsh edge of anxiety was gone now—replaced by a fragile, hopeful peace as Adam’s presence anchored him, even across the miles.

Adam’s warmth came through the line, rich and steady. “Put on a movie,” he suggested. “Let’s watch and wait together, just like always. I’m right here for you, Max. I’m staying.”

Max nodded against the pillow, feeling the bond more deeply than ever before, letting himself rest in the comfort of being seen, claimed, and never alone.

The movie flickered quietly on both their screens, casting blue light over Max’s empty hotel suite. Adam, confined to his own apartment with his injury, had propped up his phone beside his water bottle, doing his best to act like things were normal—like he could reach across the distance and make all of it easier for Max just by being on the other end of the call.

For the first half of the movie, Max was quiet but present, making snarky comments about the plot and rolling his eyes at Adam’s bad jokes. But as the minutes ticked by, Adam noticed a change: Max’s quips slowed, his breathing grew shallower, sounding more hollow and hitched with each passing minute. The silence grew heavier, punctuated only by Max shifting restlessly under his sheets, the sound of fabric catching and releasing beneath him.

“Max?” Adam asked softly, worry underlying the gentleness. “Are you okay?”

A shaky little breath, then Max’s voice, thin and breathless: “It’s…getting worse. I can feel it.”

Adam’s heart clenched in helpless empathy. “It’s okay, I’m right here.” he murmured, voice a lifeline threading through the distance.

Max whimpered, “Adam” his name escaping his lips like a prayer, broken up by the anxious rustling of fabric and the occasional choked gasp as his body tensed. Adam’s chest ached at the need and distress in that single word, the helpless way Max squirmed, writhing with need and frustration against the sheets.

“You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you,” Adam soothed, wishing desperately to reach through the phone and ground Max with scent and touch. “Did you… make your nest yet?” Adam asked gently, trying to anchor Max in the familiar ritual.

“Kinda,” Max gasped, breath catching as another cramp hit. “Didn’t finish. Couldn’t get… everything right.”

Adam’s voice went lower, soothing but with a hint of firm encouragement. “Let’s finish it now. Walk me through what you’re using, Max—tell me every little thing, just like we always do.”

There was a pause, punctuated with breathy, cramped whines. Max’s phone jostled as he reached, fumbling with the blankets around him. “Um… Your black t-shirt. The one from that pay-per-view weekend,” Max began, his voice shaky but growing steadier as he focused. “Your grey joggers. That plaid shirt you left behind in Atlanta—”

“Good,” Adam murmured, trying to keep his own voice level even as he clenched the phone, pushing aside the urge to go to Max in person.

“I got your jeans—you know, the ripped ones—” Max continued, almost bashful. “And...your underwear. The blue ones. They still smell like you,” Max added, voice trailing off as if embarrassed, but Adam heard the comfort in his tone.

Max’s movements grew halting with cramps, and each sharp breath hit Adam like a gut punch. “You’re doing great, Max. Slow down if you need to. I’m not going anywhere,” Adam reassured, listening as Max whined and curled tighter with his handful of Adam-scented clothing.

Max wrapped himself in the pile, nuzzling into the shirt and pressing the waistband of joggers to his nose, breathing in deep and shuddering. “Hurts,” he admitted in a whisper, holding one of Adam’s old tees in a fist so tight his knuckles whitened.

Adam’s voice turned even softer, protective. “I know it does, sweetheart. But I’m so proud of you. Good job making the nest. That’s my omega. Can you feel me beside you?” he asked, closing his own eyes and willing every ounce of love and reassurance across the line.

Max whimpered again, curling tighter into the nest. “Yeah… I can. Wish you were really here.”

“I’m there, Max. Right there in your nest. Keep holding my shirt—pretend I’ve got my arms around you, breathing you in, whispering how perfect you are for me. I’m not letting go, okay?”

Max’s breathing eased a little, the ritual calming him as Adam kept his voice low and steady, listening to Max’s every shaky breath through the phone. The sound of the hotel sheets rustling, the stuttered rhythm of Max’s breathing, and the way Max whispered his name were as intimate to Adam as any touch. They weren’t just holding out through the ache of distance—they were, in their way, baring something new and raw together.

“You’re doing good, Max,” Adam murmured, feeling the ache of separation, the throb of his own need dulled only by the force of his focus on Max. “Tell me, baby, what are you doing now?”

There was a pause, then a shaky answer. “Touching myself. Jerking off.” Max’s voice was thin, but there was a small thrill underneath, genuine and tentative.

Adam swallowed, breath catching. “Because you miss me?”

Max’s voice vibrated, as if the words themselves were confession. “Yeah. Because I really, really miss you, Adam.” His next words were a whine, every syllable thick with longing and heat.

Adam had to steel himself, fist pressed to his thigh to keep steady. If he let himself go, Max would know instantly—he could never hide something like that in heat. Resisting the urge, he coaxed gently, “Walk me through it. What does it feel like?”

Max’s breath hitched again. “It’s good, but—it’d feel better if it was you. Your hands… you touching me, talking to me. I keep thinking about it—your mouth, your scent, the way you pin me down.” There was no bravado, only the tremor of desire, the way Max’s words crumpled around the edges. “Tell me what you’d do to me…please.” 

Adam nearly growled, the urge to be there overwhelming. “If I was there,” Adam began, voice low, “I’d lay you out in the nest. I’d touch you everywhere, Max. I’d kiss your thighs, lick you clean, spread you open and make you beg. I’d tell you how perfect you are—all mine. I’d bite your mark, make sure you remember who you belong to.”

The words drew a keen from Max, the sound shivering through the phone. Adam ached, but stayed strong, his own need second to Max’s comfort. “Touch yourself for me, Max. Slide your hand—no, wait… finger yourself. Slowly. Just for me.”

Max whimpered, then Adam could hear the slick sound, the way Max’s breath stuttered and caught as his fingers sank inside himself. “Adam—” Max’s voice rang with a raw, open need, every part of him offering up this vulnerability, this trust. “God, I miss you—I want you to fill me, I wish you were here, want your knot, want to know I’m yours—none of it’s enough—”

Adam felt his own restraint shatter and mend a thousand times, holding himself together for Max’s sake alone. His voice stayed through the line, anchoring, dirty and soft. “You are mine. Pretend my hands are there inside you.”

Max whimpered, his rhythm erratic, voice full of longing. “Want you. Need you so bad. Want you to fuck me, claim me, fill me up with you… Your omega. Tell me—tell me you want me too…”

Adam was half-broken, half-whole in that moment, every word a thread across the miles, binding them tighter. “More than anything, Max. Only you. Always.” He forced his breathing to match Max’s, every word trembling along the line, holding them together across the distance.

Max gasped, the sound breaking between them. “Adam, I miss you, wish it was your cock inside me right now. I’m yours, only ever yours. I don’t want anyone else—without you, I wouldn’t even know what to do.” The words were unguarded, raw, desperate confessions he could never give anyone but Adam.

Adam’s grip tightened, desperation in every syllable. “Max, you keep talking like that—”

“Don’t control it,” Max pleaded, rutting down harder on the sheets. “I want you to cum, Adam, please, please—think about me with you. I want you so bad. Do it for me…” Adam cursed softly, caving in to the ache in his body, shoving the phone to speaker and fisting himself as his mind gave way completely to the reality of Max’s voice. “Are you touching yourself for me?” Max pressed, panting, need pulsing in every line of sound.

“Yeah, baby, I am,” Adam whispered, stroking slowly to the rhythm of Max’s breathy gasps. “Wish I was inside you—wish I could fuck you until you screamed my name, want to feel your body squeeze my knot, want to mark you over and over so everyone knows you’re mine. That’s what I’m thinking about, Max.”

Max’s moans pitched higher, torment and devotion swirling together. “It’s yours, Adam, all of me. I want to be so full, want you to breed me. You’re the only one I—” he broke off with a gasp, “Adam, I’m so close—please—”

Adam’s words grew filthier, voice shaking. “Keep going, just like that. Imagine my hands on your hips, holding you in place while I fuck you, mouth on your neck, biting down. Would you let me give you pups, Max? Is that what you want?”

Max whimpered, urgency spilling out in every movement. “Yes, please, Adam, want it so bad—do anything you want—just, please, come see me, I need you—”

Adam’s hand sped up, his voice low and fevered, carrying the promise across the line. “I’ll do anything for you, Max. Anything you want. I’ll come see you as soon as I possibly can. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Max whispered, a litany tumbling out with every pant, “Thank you, thank you, Adam—” Max’s breath stuttered and he came, writhing with Adam’s name on his lips, the sound sweet agony in Adam’s ear.

Adam was lost in him, chasing after every broken moan, every plea for more. “I’m close—shit, Max, hearing you like this—” and then he was undone, coming hard with Max’s name tangled in his own moans, vision sparking behind his eyes.

They rode the wave down together, breath mingling over the connection until there was only comfort, only the bone-deep truth of the bond holding them fast.

After a few minutes, Max’s voice returned, softer, winded. “Did you mean it? Will you come see me?”

Adam smiled through the exhaustion, voice thick with surety and devotion. “Of course, Max.”

Adam had never felt more ridiculous in his life. He’d gone through parking in the back lot two blocks away, ducked around the side of the building like he was in some spy movie, and then spent a good twenty minutes fumbling with coded directions Max had rattled off earlier: which hotel, what to say to the person at the front desk (a fucking codeword just to get his damn room key), which hallway to cut down, and exactly what time to show up in order to avoid any traffic of anybody who might recognize them. Max had practically built a labyrinth just to keep Adam hidden, and Adam—begrudgingly—had agreed to every step.

And the whole ordeal was topped off by the fact that Adam was on fucking crutches which made it ten times harder and added on about fifteen minuets of Max's allotted "sneak time" . 

Adam cursed how Max could be sometimes.

Now, he sat sprawled in the middle of the plain hotel room, one leg stretched out awkwardly in front of him, his ankle bound by the heavy black brace. He’d been waiting so long that he’d cycled through three terrible distractions: flicking through cable channels, scrolling through his phone until his eyes hurt, and trying to bounce a pen off the far wall into an empty paper cup. The pen was on the floor now; the cup was still empty.

He leaned back with a sigh, rolling his shoulders, restless. The quiet had weight to it. He kept pulling himself forward at every little hallway sound, convinced it was Max. It wasn’t. Until—finally—it was.

The door clicked open with deliberate slowness. Adam straightened, pulse leaping, and then froze altogether when Max stepped inside.

Max wasn’t in casual travel sweats or the hoodie Adam half-expected. No—Max was immaculate. A dark, sharp jacket, crisp shirt, polished shoes that clicked with each step in. His hair done just so, face clean and composed, as if he were showing up to some gala instead of a private hotel room rendezvous.

Adam’s chest went tight. 

His omega.

His omega was standing just a few feet away, in full glory.

He wanted to stand, to meet him halfway, to close the ridiculous distance between them—only to jolt with pain when his boot caught the edge of the chair leg. His ankle twinged in protest, dragging him back down before he could even half-rise.

They locked eyes. Whatever smooth, controlled entrance Max had prepared shifted the moment Adam moved like that.

“Don’t,” Max said, voice steady, gentle, but with a thread of gravity that carried command.

Adam exhaled through his teeth. “No.” He braced his palms against the armrests, ready to shove himself up anyway, jaw tight with stubborn need. He wasn’t about to sit here like an invalid waiting to be handled. Max was his. And Adam was going to prove it, with or without the cooperation of his ankle.

In a blur of long strides, Max was at his side. His hand pressed flat against Adam’s chest, firm, insistent, pushing him back down into the chair before he could rise. For once, his strength—usually quiet, always contained—snapped into focus.

“Sit,” Max said again, this time low, not a suggestion.

Adam’s heart pounded at the reversal—Max holding him in place. 

He forgot how strong his omega was. 

But as soon as Max leaned close, Adam tipped toward him, catching that familiar scent, inhaling like he’d been starved of it. He buried his face near Max’s collar letting himself drink it in. Max whimpered, leaning his neck to the side, offering it up for Adam. 

“You don’t know how much I’ve missed you,” Adam murmured, raw honesty slipping out despite himself.

Max’s hand was still against his chest, but it moved upward, fingers brushing against his jaw, tender now. “I’ve missed you too.” Adam growled deep from his chest, getting himself a bit worked up at the fact that he wasn’t able to grab Max, his omega, and take ownership of him. Adam looked up at him, the difference in height suddenly coming to Adam’s attention. Max’s eyes were soft, completely different from the stubborn, needy and intense look he was used to when Max was pouncing on him during a heat. 

And he was shocked that wasn't actively happening.

Adam, unwilling to stay still, turned his mouth against Max’s skin. He kissed along the line where jaw met throat, leaving soft trails upward, claiming what he couldn’t stand to leave unclaimed. Each kiss was both devotion and defiance, the unspoken demand that Max remember exactly who he belonged to.

Max’s breath hitched, bold enough for Adam to notice. His fingers tightened against Adam’s jaw. Then his voice came, low against the edge of restraint. “You need to relax.”

Adam ignored it at first—angled another kiss, hot against the column of Max’s throat—before Max caught his face in both hands and forced him still, their foreheads touching.

“Adam.” His voice dropped. “Relax.”

Adam blinked at him—this reversal, Max holding him in place, tempers reversed—and for once, he yielded. He let out a long exhale, chuckling even as he tipped back to let Max’s presence loom over him.

“Look at you,” Adam laughed softly, breath still uneven. “You. Making me relax. Taking care of me instead of the other way around.”

Max gave the faintest half-smile, a glimmer at the corner of his mouth, the closest thing to playful he’d shown in weeks. “It’s been two months. I’ve grown.”

The line was dry, deliberate, but Adam barked out a real laugh at that, shaking his head until pain sparked in his ankle again, grounding him. “You’re unbelievable,” Adam muttered, tugging Max into him.

And Max let him.

Adam wrapped his arms around him, pulling him down until Max’s chest pressed against his. Max braced himself carefully so as not to jar Adam’s bad ankle, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he folded closer, leaning into the hug, chin resting against Adam’s shoulder.

For a long time, they held each other there—Adam sunk back in the chair, Max halfway in his lap, both of them finally still. The world outside the room, the elaborate secrecy, the injuries and months apart—none of it mattered. Not in that moment.

Adam burrowed in tighter, breath evening out. Max’s hand stayed at the back of his neck, quiet, steady, patient.

Adam watched Max in the lamplight-dappled quiet of their hotel room, the air thick with secret need. Max had created his nest, showing off every piece of clothing of Adam's he had brought with him on the road. He even grinned in pride at "how good" the nest was. No matter how hard making angst for Max was when Adam wasn't there, Max would thrive in the act whenever Adam was around. As if his presence made Max a million times stronger. 

And maybe Adam's warmth, his energy alone, did.

"You ever had an omega make a nest this good?" Max asked, clearly trying to fight the cramps that were slowly coming and going.

Adam shook his head, fighting a smirk as he indulged him. "No, Max. This is the best nest I've ever seen."

Max gave a curt nod. "Damn right." He huffed, his eyebrows furrowing as he studied the mess of blankets and clothes. "I sometimes surprise myself at how good I can do things during my heats, when most omegas-" Adam let him ramble, not willing to point out how vulnerable and anxious his omega actually became.

Max was stubborn, Max was bold, Max was aggressive, Max was shy, Max was afraid, Max was needy.

All these things would be listed if someone someday asked Adam specifically how his omega was in heat. And Adam would be brimming in pride as he did so. He continued to watch as Max would shift certain things and then shift them back. His finger tapped at his chin before a cramp washed over him, slowly making Max bend over and clutch his stomach. "Maybe you should sit down. The nest is good." Adam said softly, his eyes studying Max as sweat beaded on his forehead and his skin slowly turned red. His heat clearly starting to get further and further in.

Max snarled, "Good isn't enough. You're here now, the nest needs to be great."

Adam held his hands up at Max's bared teeth. "Okay, okay. I'm just saying, the sooner you make the nest, the sooner we can lay down together."

Max's eyebrows raised and he straightened up. "I think the nest is fine." He mumbled before walking over to Adam and helping him up. "careful." Max would whisper occasionally as Adam hobbled over to the bed. And as always, Max would involuntarily growl at Adam as he stepped into the nest. "Sorry." He said quietly as he propped Adam up some pillows.

"It's fine baby, I get it. I've already told you that." Max shrugged.

"I know, but I still feel bad." Adam replied, gripping Max's arm as he laid back on the pillows. Max soon entered the nest, laying his head on Adam's thigh as he started scrolling through his phone, Adam watching over Max's shoulder who tipped it up enough that Adam could see. His ankle pulsed with dull pain, a reminder of his vulnerability, but it was a distant echo compared to the fierce ache in his chest—a relentless yearning that deepened each time Max whimpered or shifted against the tangled nest of blankets. Every sound, every twitch of Max’s restless limbs, tugged at Adam’s instincts, demanding comfort, demanding closeness, pushing his restraint to the edge.

Adam's nerves frayed with desire as he ran his hand through Max's hair, making his omega purr. The ache in his body almost unbearable as the heat between them grew. He shifted lower, raising Max's head so they were looking at each other. He started pressing a trail of kisses down Max's jaw and neck, his hand wandering over Max's hip—every movement unmistakably hungry. Adam nipped at the edge of Max's collarbone, whispered filth just under his breath, desperate to coax Max into giving in, to turn the quiet comfort of their nest into something purely physical.

Yet every time Adam pushed for more—a firmer kiss, a wandering hand, a whispered suggestion for Max to turn over—Max tensed and drew back, brow furrowed with concern rather than rejection. "Adam, you're still healing," Max murmured, voice thick with conflicting longing. "You should rest—it's not safe for you to push it. You could hurt yourself again."

Adam groaned, frustration and need warring inside him. "I don't care about my ankle, Max. What I care about is you—taking care of you." He tried again, lips capturing Max's with aching insistence, only for Max's gentle hands to slow him, grounding him with cautious affection.

Still, Adam could see the truth behind Max's restraint: the hunger in his eyes, the way his breath shuddered when Adam's mouth found his pulse, the soft whimper each time Adam's hand brushed across sensitive skin. Max wanted him desperately; Adam was sure of that. But every advance was met with careful resistance, Max's self-control somehow greater even in the throes of need, all for Adam's sake.

It wasn't lost on Adam how much the roles had shifted. Max had always been the aggressor during sex. He'd always seek Adam out, told him a heat was coming and that he'd "better take care of it."

Adam was always happy to oblige.

Adam was always the caretaker, the one telling Max to slow down, to try and wait because they had all night. Adam always held Max, telling him what to do, to take it easy, to slow down. And this time, for some reason unknown to himself, Max was the one doing these things to Adam.

Maybe it was because he hadn't seen his omega in so long, and the sweet scent he had longed for was right there, teasing him. Adam was grateful in a way, because it gave him more time to relish in every but of Max's body. He could smell, touch and feel every single part of Max that drove him crazy. It had been two months without this beautiful omega in front of him. Two months of reassuring Max that everything would be alright and that once Adam was healthy again he'd see him. Two months of comforting Max, saying Adam still wanted to be his alpha, no matter how far away he was and how long they were apart. Adam finally had the intoxicating sight of Max writhing and whimpering during a heat right next to him, something he'd been jerking off to desperately to over and over again. And Adam could hardly stand it.

He quickly realized that Max had never shown restraint like this before, and all because his alpha was hurt.

His alpha was in pain. 

His alpha.

It only made Adam want him more—made every touch more electric, every denial more painful. He tried again, a whispered promise of “I’ll be careful,” that Max could “have me any way you wanted.” Max bit his lip, squeezed Adam's hand, and finally, after another long moment of hesitation and longing, let Adam lead him into the next, inevitable step.

He reached out, running his fingers gently through the sweat-damp strands of Max’s hair in long, soothing strokes. Adam watched Max’s breathing catch and hiccup, saw how his body trembled beneath another cresting wave of heat—so brave, so stubborn even now. Max, pressed one of Adam’s old shirts to his face, clutching it with white-knuckled intensity. "Just need to sleep, Adam," Max insisted, voice wavering with exhaustion and pride. It was Max’s armor: a promise to himself that he could weather this alone, just as he always had before. Just like when Adam was gone.

Even though they'd been torture so far without Adam. 

His alpha.

Adam felt the instinct to claim roar louder in him, nearly overwhelming his injured caution. He wanted to pull Max beneath him, to mark his skin and soothe every fraying edge of need. The bond between them felt alive—hungry, primal. Yet he held himself back, honoring the defiant pride that made Max who he was. Adam respected the fight in Max, even as every part of him wanted to end it.

But the moment lingered, tense and unresolved. Max was slowly writhing against Adam's chest, slowly palming himself through his pajama pants. Adam bit his lip, starting to sweat, until he couldn't stand it anymore. He slid his hand shakily along Max’s hip, letting warmth and intention speak for him before his words did. His voice dipped, threaded through longing and gentle command. "Max, I’m gonna finger you," he said, softly but with certainty. Max opened his mouth to retort but Adam shook his head, cutting him off. "No more fighting, okay? You need relief. Let me help—you’re not straining anything, I promise."

Max shuddered, then gave a reluctant sigh, tension in his shoulders finally loosening. "Fine," he whispered, the word heavy with surrender. Adam laid on his side, opening his arms to invite Max. Max rolled onto his side facing Adam. He curled into the space between Adam’s arms and chest, the lines of their bodies fitting together—safe and vulnerable. Adam felt Max’s arm snake around his waist, and for the first time in hours, the wall of stoic pride dropped just enough to let comfort in.

Adam’s mouth met Max’s with infinite patience, his lips moving slow and deliberate, each kiss and brush of tongue a gentle coaxing. He lingered at the corner of Max’s mouth, savoring the way Max shuddered beneath the gentleness, their breaths blending in heated waves. Max’s hands, so often used for bravado, trembled now where they gripped Adam’s shirt, holding tight as if the fabric alone could anchor him. With every soft, desperate kiss, Max melted, his defiance slipping into vulnerability; his mouth parted, a gasp exiting him as Adam licked the bite mark, yielding everything to Adam with silent, wordless trust.

Shifting carefully, Adam propped himself up on one elbow so he could watch every change in Max’s face—the need and shyness, the way his lashes fluttered as Adam’s hand slipped down, trailing over sweat-slicked skin. When Adam’s fingers found the heat between Max’s parted thighs, he paused, letting the sensation draw a full-body shiver from him. The air went thick, ripe with need. Adam’s breath caught in his throat, voice coming out cracked and hungry as he whispered, “God, baby. You’re so wet for me…”

Max’s body arched as Adam slipped one finger in him, the involuntary movement proof of just how exposed he felt. He clung harder to Adam, knuckles whitening around cotton, making himself smaller and closer all at once. “Feels good…” Max whispered, his words trembling out on a sigh. Max let out a choked groan as Adam pressed another finger in.

Adam’s lips trailed across fevered skin, pausing at the curve of Max’s neck—a place he’d claimed, where the bite mark lingered as proof of belonging. He pressed a kiss to the faded scar, words thick and low as he murmured, “Missed this, huh?” The words fell from him like velvet and gravel, dirty talk spun out for comfort—“Missed having my hands on you, hearing you whimper, making you come undone for me…”

Max’s hips moved restlessly, a pleading whimper escaping. All the bravado and sharp wit dropped away—left only the pure, aching need for Adam. “I did…” The confession was a trembling gasp. “I love you, Adam. I love you—”

“Good boy.” The reply was a groan, ragged with devotion and possessive tenderness. Adam’s fingers slipped deeper, his rhythm suddenly urgent, hungry to erase all the loneliness etched in Max’s bones. Max clung to Adam desperately, arms and legs locked around him, one hand fisting Adam’s shirt while the other sought his shoulder for grounding. The intensity peaked—Adam biting and licking at the mating mark, murmuring “Mine” over and over, staking his claim in flesh and sound.

Max’s body trembled, tears slipping down his cheeks. Each touch steadily undoing him, each word unmaking every wall he’d ever built to keep the world out. And Adam, steady and fierce, gave Max all of himself, refusing to let him feel anything but chosen, cherished, utterly claimed. "Yours." He mumbled back against Adam's shoulder.

Adam’s voice dropped to a molten whisper, every word heavy with devotion and need, "I told you I'd come see you, didn't I?" Max nodded quickly, biting into Adam's shoulder, making Adam groan and tense. "You close baby?"

"Y-Yeah..." Max hummed, his body shaking as he tried to hold back.

Adam's grip against Max's waist grew tighter. "Let go for me. Cum for me, Max. I’m here. Always, right here." The command wasn’t just physical; it was a promise, a grounding force in the tumult of Max’s heat. “I love you.”

Max’s whole body seized up, muscles pulled taut, legs flexing around Adam’s waist as he tried to hold onto his dignity and pride, even as they slipped away. His eyes glazed, lips parted, drawing air in quivering sobs, the vulnerability in his expression rawer than Adam had ever seen. It was as if every emotion he’d been fighting was forced out in that one moment—fear, longing, gratitude, and the deep craving to be seen, needed, cherished.

Adam kept whispering encouragement, his hand moving with relentless, intuitive confidence until Max finally shattered—his body locking, bowing, then collapsing into a series of broken, high-pitched cries. His climax hit him with a force that left his limbs trembling, and in the aftermath, Max clung desperately to Adam’s chest, anchoring himself against the only constant he’d ever known.

Adam adjusted, ignoring the ache in his leg, pulling Max as close as possible until he was nearly breathing Max’s air. He ran gentle fingers through Max’s hair, stroking from scalp to nape without pause, grounding Max in a waterfall of softness and whispered truth. “I love you,” Adam murmured, voice trembling and relentless between every press of his lips to Max’s forehead. “Always. So good for me. So perfect, Max. I love you. I love you…”

Max’s chest heaved, breath ragged, clothing tossed aside with the careful mask of pride he’d clung to for years. In the quiet, Adam saw a new glow of vulnerability in Max’s eyes—not weakness, but the kind of fragile strength that whispered: I trust you. Max’s fingers cupped Adam’s face, pressing soft, reverent kisses to his temple, his cheek, his mouth; each touch lingered, grounding the truth of their confessions and their bond.

Adam’s own defenses cracked, his arms wrapping around Max with a ferocity that dismissed physical pain, determined only to hold Max together. It didn’t matter that his ankle ached, or that the world outside was full of people who’d never understand. In this nest, Max belonged to him and Adam belonged to Max, inseparable in need and love.

Max melted into Adam’s embrace, pliant but not diminished, and if anything, that surrender shimmered with a newfound strength. His grip on Adam’s shoulders was sturdy and sure, the way he murmured, “Always yours, baby. Always,” ringing with the conviction of someone who'd finally chosen where—and whom—he belonged.

Chapter Text

Adam blinked slowly awake, feeling the cottony warmth of early morning light drifting through the cracks in the blackout curtains. The nest around him was a tangle of old shirts, sweatpants, soft flannel, and a haze of Max’s scent so thick it braided into Adam’s every inhale. Adam shifted slightly, instinctively cradling the shape pressed into his side—Max, still asleep, limbs curled protectively into the contours of Adam’s body.

For a long while, Adam just watched Max sleep. Over the year of them being mates, of doing…whatever they had, Adam always found one of his favorite things was to watch Max whenever Adam knew he would be relaxed. Sleeping was the easiest way to do that. 

There was something different in the way the morning settled over Max’s face compared to all the hours when Max was in motion, brash, smirking, always halfway to biting someone’s head off. Here—shadowed by the calm after a storm—Max’s features softened, all the sharpness in his jaw and around his eyes dissolving. Adam traced those details quietly with his gaze: the way Max’s nose twitched occasionally, as if still scenting the world in his dreams. The infinitesimal flicker of Max’s eyebrows—furrowing ever so subtly whenever his sleep bounded into dreamland, his breathing picking up, every emotion laid bare instead of hidden behind that elegant, cutting mask.

Max’s mouth was open just a sliver, breath warm on Adam’s skin, a pillow-mark decorating his cheek. Adam couldn’t help a private grin at the sight, resisting the urge to smooth back the mess of brown curls falling over Max’s eyes. He studied all of it with the reverence of someone who knows he’s glimpsing something secret—Max at his most unguarded, vulnerable, truly his.

His gaze drifted further—over Max's smooth brow and stubborn chin, the delicate motion of his throat as he swallowed in sleep, the freckle at the edge of his jaw that Adam swore grew darker every month. There were other things he noticed, details that would never make sense to anyone but him: scars Max never spoke about, the old bruise near his shoulder that never quite faded, the way the bond bite—Adam’s mark, now faintly raised, red and shining—looked almost artful against Max’s pale skin. Beautiful, Adam thought, in a way he’d never imagined possible.

He never would have believed that Maxwell Jacob Friedman—the unrepentant, sarcastic, mean-spirited, and almost exhaustingly cocky champion—would someday be in his arms, marked and tangled up in Max’s nest, still breathing easy in the aftermath of surrender. But here they were, and it felt natural. Unlikely, perhaps, but true—a kind of miracle that made Adam ache with gratitude each time he thought about it.

Adam’s thoughts wandered, as they often did these mornings, to Max’s stubbornness—the way Max fought him at every turn and then, without even meaning to, always let Adam in. It didn’t matter if they were bickering or if Max was trying to take control; sooner or later Max would land in Adam’s arms, soaking up every bit of praise Adam could give, desperate for words like “good job” or “that’s my omega.” It made Adam’s chest feel too full, to see someone famous for their walls let them fall, if only for Adam.

He suspected it was because Max had genuinely never had an alpha before Adam—and Adam felt the weight and the responsibility of being first. He saw it in the way Max responded to every touch, every scrap of affection, every reassurance. Max lived for the possessive little comments and loving approval that he’d trained himself, all these years, never to expect. Adam’s own heart tightened every time Max’s hand would slip into his, searching for comfort in the smallest, clumsiest ways.

But Adam knew—though he’d never admit it to Max—this was new to him, too. He’d had one other serious relationship, a girl during his early twenties, but nothing that made him feel like this. Adam kept that piece of the past to himself, not because he was hiding, but because the present with Max was so different, so much deeper, that it almost made his previous life irrelevant. There was nothing in his memories that could compare to waking up like this: wanted, trusted, needed, loved.

Max stirred in his arms, face burrowing against Adam’s chest with a tiny sigh. Adam pressed a slow, reverent kiss to Max’s hair, feeling the other man’s warmth anchor him to the moment. He whispered, more to himself than anything, “My omega.” And he knew Max would have smiled if he’d been awake, because Max always wanted to hear it.

Almost on cue, Max’s eyes fluttered open, lashes catching the early light, nose wrinkling slightly as he inhaled Adam’s scent layered through the nest. For a second, he looked disoriented—like he almost couldn’t believe waking up in Adam’s arms wasn’t just another too-good-to-be-true dream. Then his gaze found Adam’s, and the faintest smile ghosted Max’s lips.

“Good morning,” Max mumbled, still sounding half-dream-dazed as he nuzzled into Adam’s shoulder. He sat up a little, eyes falling immediately to Adam’s ankle under the covers. “How’s your ankle?”

Adam stretched lazily, content to keep Max pressed against his chest. “It’s fine, babe—swelling’s almost gone. I’ll survive.” His grin was soft, teasing, and Max looked at him unimpressed.

Max huffed, glancing at the sun leaking through the curtains. “Whatever. I need to work out, get the blood moving. Then maybe I’ll get a smoothie.” He said it like a dare, already trying to wriggle out from under Adam.

Adam wasn’t having it. “Nope. You’re staying in the nest. We’ll order room service—blueberry pancakes, maybe that lemon ricotta toast you secretly love? Call it a little healing time for both of us.” Adam’s smirk grew as he watched Max bristle.

Max rolled his eyes, voice shooting up half an octave. “I can’t just lounge around here all morning like some—”

“Exactly why you should.” Adam’s voice was light but brooking no argument. “You earned it, champ.”

Max made an exasperated sound. “I have a routine. I need to sweat,” he insisted, squirming to reach for the shirt Adam was using as a pillow.

“No,” Adam repeated, rolling onto his good side and caging Max with his arm. “You’re staying with me.” He gripped Max’s wrist—gentle but firm—locking eyes with a stare that was all Alpha: not cruel, but grounding, reminding Max who was in control here. It was equal parts reassurance and devotion, a promise as much as a claim.

Max glared defiantly, jaw set, but under Adam’s gaze the tension flickered and faded. He slumped in defeat, muttering, “Fine. But if I get soft, I’m blaming you.”

Adam preened at his victory, releasing Max’s wrist and tugging him closer. Max huffed, then set to fidgeting with Adam’s ankle wrap in retaliation—fussing over it, fingers probing as if he could will it to heal faster. “You’re stubborn,” Max grumbled.

“Says the king of stubbornness,” Adam retorted, right before Max rolled his eyes dramatically and pressed a slow line of soft kisses up Adam’s ribcage and chest. A quiet worship, each touch a confession Max found easier to make with his lips than with words. Adam sighed, sinking into the nest, letting his head fall back on the pillow, eyes fluttering shut in contentment.

“Ever think you’d end up here?” Adam asked, voice a lazy rumble.

Max paused, lips at Adam’s collarbone. His expression softened—an old, bruised honesty breaking through the playfulness. “Never,” he breathed, trailing his fingers lightly across Adam’s sternum. He met Adam’s gaze, and for a moment, all the armor slipped. “Not just here. I never thought—I never thought I could be worthy of having an alpha. Not a good one, anyway.” The admission hung between them, surprisingly raw.

Adam’s brows drew together, concern clear in every line of his face. He brushed his thumb slowly along Max’s cheekbone, anchoring Max with the simple touch. “Not a good one, anyway.” Adam tried to read the lines in Max’s face, the faint lines of memory and self-defense that he usually kept so tightly locked down.

“What do you mean?” Adam asked quietly, searching Max’s eyes for the truth he’d felt but never fully understood.

“I just…” Max sucked in a breath, voice rough. “Not all alphas are like you.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed, running his thumb over Max’s jaw. “What happened to you?” His voice was quiet, careful, but underneath was a trembling tension Adam couldn’t hide. Max stiffened under Adam’s touch, eyes flickering away. For a moment he looked like he might say nothing, jaw grinding as he weighed how much of himself to give away. Adam waited, quietly patient, but when he realized Max was retreating back into his resolve he gripped Max’s chin tightly and tipped his face up to meet Adam’s eyes. “Talk to me. I’m your alpha, Max. I need to know if someone ever—if something happened to you, I want to protect you, always.”

Max’s mouth twisted. He held Adam’s gaze for a moment, and then the words began—slow at first, then tumbling as the dam broke.

“I—when I was a kid, they all thought I’d show alpha. My dad was…all the men in my family had been. And I just… I thought that was what I had to be. But then I presented omega, and it…” Max shook his head, like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “I was so humiliated. My parents, they—said it was fine. Tried to make me believe it was fine. I never believed them.”

Adam squeezed Max’s hand, silent, listening.

“And when everyone at school found out, the other alphas—guys I played ball and hung out with since we were little kids—they…they made it hell. Called me names. Mocked me. Beat me up just for being ‘soft.’ Spit on me during lunch, tripped me in the hallways. Some nights,” Max's breath hitched, “I’d just go home bloody,” Max narrowed his eyes, as if he was trying his hardest to remember something he had buried deep down. “One time Jackson Matthews and his friend Eddie Conrad, I played football with them, stopped me after practice. They pushed me against a wall, pointed to the banner that had all of the team members' photos on it, found mine and wrote “omega slut” on it.” Max looked down. “They beat me up after pretty bad. Kicking and calling me names until I was a bloody, teary, bruised mess.” Adam bit back a growl. “I came home, and my mom freaked out. Dad told me I should be proud to be myself. But I wasn’t.”

Adam swallowed, grief and fury competing in his heart. “Max…”

Max’s eyes were distant now, fixed not on Adam but on something far away. “It was worse with the heats. When I started getting them, it got… ugly. The alpha guys said it was my fault. Always the same excuse—they ‘couldn’t help themselves.’ That I smelled so good, it was my fault. “Some of them would corner me, force themselves on me, or just get hands on me. Even the ones who didn't go all the way—they’d leer or touch, try to see if I’d break. It never mattered if I fought. They’d say I was a tease, or dirty, or that I was desperate for it. Like all omegas must be.”

Adam was silent for a moment, letting the truth settle. All the early clues snapped into place—the way Max had panicked when Adam touched him at first, warning Adam not to get too close, not to trust himself; Max’s half-joking, half-desperate comments about Adam being “the only decent alpha”; the way he clung to every little kindness but always seemed half-afraid to trust it.

Max’s voice, coarse and low, was almost like an apology. “So, yeah. All alphas just seemed… disgusting. Mocking perverts. Every one of them. Except…” Max paused, voice caught in his chest as he glanced up at Adam, gaze naked and vulnerable. “Except you.”

Adam didn’t move, didn’t rush to kiss away the pain or drown it out with nonsense. After a year of hiding that from Adam, he let Max have the space. After a moment, he gently pressed his forehead to Max’s, fierce promise in his voice. “Never again, Max. No one gets to hurt you. You never have to prove anything to anyone—You’re mine. And I mean it.” Max closed his eyes, a soft sigh stealing out, some hidden knot finally loosening in his chest as he let Adam hold everything—the pain, the history, and all the things Adam could never fix but would always fight for. He nodded slowly, dipping his head forward just a bit as a silent cue for Adam to kiss Max's forehead. Adam pulled away, offering Max a small smile and kissing him quickly. “So…blueberry pancakes or lemon ricotta toast?” He asked. 

Max blinked at him before smirking, slapping Adam’s chest lightly before mumbling “lemon ricotta”. 

Adam adjusted his duffel bag as he glanced at the hotel clock, heart already quickening with the familiar nervousness that came with slipping out ahead of Max—always alone, always first, so nobody would suspect what they truly were to each other. He paused at the door, just for a moment, watching Max gather himself in the tangle of their hastily remade bed.

Adam lingered there, tongue caught by the weight of the day. He watched as Max popped a few light blue pills in his mouth and swallowing them dry. His blockers. Finally, almost despite himself, he spoke. “I wish—” Adam stopped, voice dropping to a murmur, heavy with longing. “I wish we could just be seen together, you know? Out in the open. No hiding.”

Max looked up, messy hair still falling into his eyes. For a second his face was almost soft, but it shuttered again, the old defenses slamming back into place. “I know, but we can’t,” he said flatly.

Adam let out a sigh, trying to keep the sting out of his voice. “But what would it hurt, Max? Really? What’s the worst if people know?”

Max’s jaw tightened, eyes flashing. “It’d hurt everything. I can’t look weak, Adam. I can’t let anybody know I’m an omega—never mind one with a mate.” His voice grew hot, brittle. “You say you understand—”

Adam frowned, genuinely taken off guard by the edge in Max’s voice. “Whoa, Max, hey—”

But Max wasn’t finished. “Do you really? Do you even—” he snapped, hands fisting in the sheets.

Adam stepped in before Max could pull away, catching him gently but firmly—his palm landing at the junction of Max’s neck, thumb resting over the bond mark. “Hey. Calm down,” Adam said low, a touch of alpha command layered under the warmth. Max tried to jerk away, resisting, but Adam’s hand just held, never hurting—just anchoring him. “Look at me, Max.” Adam waited until Max’s bruised gaze met his own. “What you told me yesterday? That took strength. Real strength. Letting someone inside, showing what hurt you… that takes more guts than anything you do in the ring. I meant what I said: I’m proud of you, and I’m not going anywhere. But just because you’re dealing with all that doesn’t mean you get to bite my head off because I care.”

Max trembled with residual fight, but the anger broke and slipped into something else—shame, maybe, or just exhaustion. He growled once more, voice falling away. “I just… don’t want to be weak.”

Adam stopped arguing and just wrapped him in an embrace—full bodied, all-encompassing, careful not to jostle his bad ankle but not skimping on strength. Max resisted a second, then melted, face pressed into Adam’s collarbone, clinging as tightly as he dared. Adam rubbed gentle circles down Max’s shoulders and back, letting the seconds settle them both.

Max finally drew back when Adam’s phone buzzed—a notification that his Uber was waiting downstairs. “Message me when you get there, yeah?” Max said, voice more even now, business layered over longing. “So I can tell Lewis when to head out too.”

Adam nodded, tucking a stray lock of Max’s hair behind his ear. “I will.”

Max finally gave Adam a searching look, concern flickering in his eyes. “And you’re sure your ankle’s good? I know you say it’s fine but—if it acts up—”

Adam snorted, giving Max a quick, dimpled grin. “Max, I made it here, even with all your convoluted instructions. I can make it to a car. Promise.” He squeezed Max’s chin gently, letting warmth bleed into his words.

Before Adam could move for the door, Max grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in for a kiss—deep, fierce, leaving no room for argument about what he felt. Adam let the surprise wash through him and then kissed Max back, slow and sure, the promise of everything waiting for them when the world went quiet again.

“I’ll see you there,” Adam murmured, breaking the kiss and letting his thumb trace Max’s jaw—anchored, steady, and as present as always, no matter how far apart the day made them. Then Adam slipped out, glancing back just once, memorizing the sight of his omega in late afternoon light.

Adam arrived at the arena just as the sun was starting to lose its battle with the city skyline, the buzz of show night vibrating through the backstage corridors. By the time he made it to the locker room, Roddy and Kyle were already there, trading stories and slinging inside jokes about “bad arena coffee” and some ill-fated karaoke at the last pay-per-view.

Adam grinned as their faces lit up at the sight of him. He was met with a chorus of: 

“We didn’t know you were coming!” 

“How's your ankle?” 

“Do you need anything?” 

“We’ve missed you man!”

Adam responded to each question, small yes', good's, and no's before he let himself drift into their easy banter—the camaraderie was grounding, almost comforting, a taste of the world before everything changed. He was listening to Kyle recount an exaggerated version of a road trip gone wrong when Max strode by, gear bag bounced over one shoulder, hoodie drawn up to hide the mark on his neck. For a moment, his eyes flicked to Adam, sharp and searching—then he gave a curt nod, lips curling in a thin, smirking line.

“Don’t blow your other ankle, Cole,” Max quipped, his voice echoing with that hard edge it wore whenever the world was watching. “Wouldn’t want you on commentary. You’re boring enough to put Tony to sleep.” The hint of a smile was gone in an instant, replaced by the familiar sneer.

Roddy bristled, straightening in his chair. “Funny, Friedman. Shouldn’t you worry about your own damn joints for once?”

Max didn’t miss a beat. “That’s rich coming from a guy whose only claim to fame is getting submitted by everyone north of 200 pounds. How’s that neck holding up, Strong?” His words were barbed, polished with years of defense.

The tension in the locker room thickened. Adam reached for his old role—leader, peacemaker, the calm at the center of the storm. He touched Roddy’s arm, voice low and even. “Let it go, Roddy. It’s not worth it.”

Kyle snorted, folding his arms. “You mean he’s not worth it,” he shot, nodding at Max. There was an edge beneath the words—a collective judgment that bounced off Max’s skin but didn’t quite miss. Adam’s jaw tightened as he watched Max’s face, saw the faint flash of something raw and hurt before it vanished behind a wall of practiced arrogance. That was something Adam was sure only came with being his mate and seeing the persistent practice Max put in to hiding his true emotions.

Max lingered just a second too long, eyes locking with Adam’s. There, Adam saw everything: the questions, the need, the old pain from the night before—all swallowed a heartbeat later by the armor that Max wore so expertly. Max turned away from the acceptance he’d allowed in their bed just a night before, pulling the old persona tight about himself.

He swung a glance back at Roddy and Kyle, voice like a knife sheathed in a smirk. “You two gonna spend all night running your mouths, or are you finally going to pick up a win for once? If I have to watch another one of your matches, I’m bringing a pillow this time.”

Adam tried to keep his expression neutral, but his hands were fists in his lap, every instinct screaming to step in, to take the pain away, to tell them all how little they understood. Instead, he watched as Max strutted off, shoulders squared, every inch of him bluster and venom for their benefit.

Adam knew it for what it was—the mask, the front, the defense mechanism honed by years of surviving alphas who didn’t care and people who didn’t understand. It was always easier for Max to be cruel, to control the story, than to risk the vulnerability that was only allowed in sporadic bursts for Adam. That person, the one who’d let Adam in, who’d let himself be soothed and loved and treasured, was a secret Adam held close—a piece of Max that belonged only to him.

Roddy punched Adam’s arm, trying to tug him back into the rhythms of the night. “Forget him, man. Some people just aren’t worth your time.”

Kyle nodded, muttering, “He’s probably pissy because Jericho got to him again.”

Adam’s head snapped up at Kyle’s offhand comment, eyes sharp. “What do you mean—got to him again?”

Kyle shrugged, glancing at Roddy for backup. “I dunno. Jericho, Sammy, and Wardlow have been targeting Max for maybe...around three weeks now.” He looked up at Roddy for confirmation, who gave a curt nod in agreement.

Adam’s jaw tightened, heart pounding, but he kept his tone light. “Targeting him for what?”

Roddy rolled his eyes, leaning back against the monitor desk. “Nobody actually knows. Jericho’s lips are sealed, same with Sammy and Wardlow. And honestly, nobody wants to push too hard. You know how stuff gets when Chris is involved—everyone just kinda watches and waits for the blow-up.”

Adam flashed a tight, uncomfortable smile. Every instinct screamed for more details, but he forced his body to relax, arms folded loosely. “And what’s Max doing about it?”

Kyle frowned. “That’s what’s kind of weird. He usually snarks his way through everything, right?" He looked expectantly at Adam who nodded after a moment. Kyle leaned in close, placing his forearms on his knees. "But lately? He just takes it. Doesn’t say much at all.”

Roddy gave a short laugh. “Probably scared. Wouldn’t you be?” Kyle snorted, and both doubled up, joking about Max’s legendary mouth running out of steam for once. Adam forced himself to join in, a low chuckle that hurt his throat.

The laughter faded, the topic shifting. Adam tried a less desperate angle, waiting until Roddy and Kyle started to get distracted by the card for the night. “So, what do they actually do? Is it just, like, shit talking or—?” He asked, careful to sound more curious than invested.

Kyle opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Roddy arched a brow. “Why the sudden interest in Max?” There was an obvious note of suspicion, but Adam kept his face impassive.

“Just trying to get every detail. I’ve been gone for a while, I wanna get all caught up.” He tacked on a careless laugh. “Besides, I’d love to see Chris actually make Max cry for once.” Adam would kill Chris if he ever did that.

Kyle accepted Adam’s answer with a shrug; Roddy grinned, the topic slipping away as the pair started bickering about entrance music. As they turned to head to gorilla for Kyle’s upcoming match, Adam promised, “I’ll catch up in a second—gotta grab something from catering.”

Once they vanished around the corner, Adam’s casual demeanor dropped instantly. He darted down the hall, pulse hammering with anger and worry. Each step was measured, but inside, Adam was feverish, scanning every shadow for Max—every conversation, every quick glance from crew. Mas was all that mattered; he needed to see Max, to confirm for himself what was really happening.

He worked his way through the backstage maze on his crutches, nodding to anyone who greeted him but never pausing. With each question, each casual exchange—“You see Max lately?” or “Which way did Friedman go?”—Adam calibrated his voice, fighting back the edge, making it sound like idle curiosity when inwardly, he was burning. He demanded details without seeming demanding.

Adam’s worry twisted with frustration as he finally tracked down and watched Max, distant from the crowds, jaw clenched into a wall of bravado that couldn’t hide the shadow in his eyes. With careful precision, Adam drifted closer, letting a subtle gesture—a flick of his wrist, a pointed glance—signal Max to follow without a word.

Max raised an eyebrow and smirked, amused and irreverent, but he didn’t question; he waited a few beats before slipping off down the corridor to the storage closet Adam had indicated. He entered with a swagger, shutting the door behind him and crowding Adam close, one arm already reaching around Adam’s waist, other hand steadying Adam’s crutches and setting them gently aside.

“Well, if you needed sneaky sex you could’ve just asked,” Max purred, voice syrupy and dangerous. His arms locked around Adam’s hips, shifting all Adam’s weight easily. “I think you proved to me last night how bad I really need it.” Max pressed tight, grinding just enough to make Adam’s heart pound, needy whines and possessive touches melting into Adam’s neck like a secret promise. “You’re my alpha, right?” Max purred. “My alpha…”

“Max…wait—” Adam swallowed hard, fighting the tidal wave of instinct urging him to claim, mark, and mate. Max rubbed shamelessly, nipping Adam’s jaw and making content, purring noises as he melted into the embrace. 

Max nodded, thinking he understood what Adam was trying to say. “Let me grab a chair, you can sit, rest your ankle while I ride you.” Max whined and Adam felt his restraint fraying under every needy sound, but he managed to gently push Max’s shoulders back, planting them against the wall.

“Wait—hold on, Max. I mean it,” Adam said, voice rough as he fought to stay focused. Max blinked, pouty and petulant, hands still planted possessively on Adam’s hips.

Max tried a teasing smirk. “Come on, Adam, don’t make me beg. You know this gets you off.”

Adam’s jaw locked. He pressed his forehead against Max’s, voice dropping into something stern—commanding, not cruel. “Kyle and Roddy—they told me Jericho’s been messing with you. Three weeks. What’s that about?”

Max scoffed, eyes darting away too quickly. “I don’t know what they’re talking about.” he mumbled. 

“Max…” Adam growled, a warning.

Max shrugged before finally locking his eyes on a loose tile on the floor. “Jericho just likes to run his mouth. You know how it is. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Adam’s patience snapped. He grabbed Max’s face in both hands—gentle but unyielding, eyes blazing with alpha fire. “Don’t dodge me, Max. Tell me, right now. I’m your alpha and I want the truth.”

Max stiffened, caught by the authority in Adam’s voice and the protectiveness in his touch. For a moment, he looked like he might lie anyway, but Adam’s grip and gaze held him fast. The closet was small, close, the air thick with the scent of their tension and bond.

Max’s eyes suddenly widened as his confession tumbled out of his mouth in a breath.

“Chris knows I’m an omega.”