I'm not doing great. I'm falling apart in my best friend's bed, my body betraying me in the most humiliating way possible. Every touch of the sheets against my skin feels like sandpaper. Every breath fills my lungs with Nick's alpha scent, making the cramping twist tighter. And the slick—God, the slick is the most mortifying part of all.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, not for the first time. "This is so embarrassing."
"Stop apologizing," Nick says firmly. He places a fresh cool cloth on my forehead, and the temporary relief makes me sigh. "This isn't your fault."
But it is, isn't it? My body decided Nick was compatible. My body forced this situation. Years of carefully maintained friendship, ruined because my omega biology couldn't keep its opinions to itself.
A fresh wave of heat crashes through me, more intense than the last. I curl into myself, a groan escaping before I can stop it. The cramping is getting worse, radiating outward from my core to my lower back, down my thighs. It's like the worst menstrual cramps imaginable, multiplied by ten and paired with a fever that makes my thoughts swim.
"What can I do?" Nick asks, his voice tight with concern. "Tell me how to help."
"Just...keep doing what you're doing," I manage. "The cool cloths help."
Nick nods and refreshes the cloth, his movements efficient and careful. He's being so good about this, so calm and supportive despite the bombshell I dropped on him. He's beautiful in a way I've always tried not to notice too openly. Strong jaw, blue eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles, dark hair that's just starting to show the first signs of silver at his temples. Premature grey, but it's sexy as hell.
My best friend. The straight alpha I've been in love with for longer than I care to admit.
And now he's seeing me like this—sweaty, needy, slowly losing control.
"Your temperature's still climbing," he says, his palm resting briefly against my cheek. "This is more intense than the heats you've described before, isn't it?"
I try to focus on the question, fighting through the haze of fever and need.
"Yes," I say, my voice strained. "A breakthrough heat is...it's nothing like the managed ones. Everything's amplified." I lose my train of thought as another cramp seizes me, stronger than before. "Fuck," I gasp, curling tighter.
Nick's hand finds my back, rubbing gentle circles that both soothe and inflame. "Breathe through it," he says. "That's it."
I follow his instruction, focusing on my breathing until the worst of the cramp passes.
"I'm going to make you something to eat," Nick says after a moment. "You need to keep your strength up."
The thought of food makes my stomach turn, but I know he's right. Heat takes a massive toll on the body's resources. Without proper nutrition and hydration, things could get dangerous.
"Something light," I suggest. "Toast maybe? Or soup?"
Nick nods. "I've got chicken noodle in the pantry. Will that work?"
"Perfect," I say, though I doubt I'll be able to eat much. "Thank you."
He hesitates, like he doesn't want to leave me alone, then stands. "I'll be quick. Call if you need anything, okay? I'll hear you."
I nod, relieved for a moment alone to collect myself. As soon as the bedroom door closes behind him, I let out a shaky breath and press my face into his pillow, inhaling deeply. Nick's scent is strongest here, and it both soothes and inflames the heat symptoms. A double-edged sword.
Another cramp rolls through me, and I bite the pillow to keep from crying out. They're coming faster now, more intense. The early stage is ending. Soon, very soon, I'll be in full heat, and the non-sexual comfort measures won't be enough anymore.
What happens then? Will Nick still want to help when "help" means something much more intimate?
The questions swirl in my fever-addled brain as I shift uncomfortably on the bed. My clothes feel wrong. Too rough, too confining. Acting on instinct, I pull off my t-shirt, sighing at the momentary relief of cool air against my overheated skin.
Better, but not enough. I need...I need...
My gaze falls on Nick's closet, partially open. Before I can question what I'm doing, I'm on my feet, swaying slightly as I make my way across the room. Nick's scent gets stronger as I open the closet door fully. Rows of neatly hung shirts, a laundry basket in the corner with worn clothes waiting to be washed.
I reach for one of the shirts—a soft flannel he wears on weekends—and bring it to my face, inhaling deeply. The effect is immediate and powerful. The tension in my body eases, replaced by a warm, floaty feeling that dulls the edge of the cramps. My omega brain recognizes his scent as safe, as right.
Without conscious thought, I gather the flannel and a few more items from his closet: a hoodie he wears to the gym, a t-shirt from the laundry basket that smells strongly of him. I carry my bounty back to the bed, arranging the items around the edges of the mattress.
Not enough. I need more.