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"Promise me," Jean says.
Jeremy stares down at the muzzle in his hands. Where Jean even got this thing is beyond him, but he knows damn well he's getting rid of it the second the alpha turns his back.
Maybe Jean sees that, though, or smells it on his scent, because he closes his hand over Jeremy's, over the harsh leather mouth grate, and says, "A blank check, yes?"
Jeremy stomach churns. He never should have promised Jean such an open ended offer, but never in his worst nightmares did he think Jean would use it like this.
He shakes his head, tries to push the muzzle into Jean's hands instead. "No—No, Jean. I can't."
Jean frowns at him. He pulls his hand away, and takes back the muzzle, and for a moment, Jeremy thinks he won, that Jean is seeing reason. Instead, it's much worse.
"You can," Jean says, and moves to undo the clasp. When the straps are free, he lifts the muzzle up, and positions it over his mouth, his nose, showing Jeremy how to put it on him, like that was where Jeremy took issue, and Jeremy makes a shrieking noise so loud it takes him a moment to realize it came out of him.
He lunges forward, and rips the muzzle back out of Jean's hands. Tucks it tight against his own chest so Jean can't get to it, and shakes his head over and over and over again.
"No," Jeremy repeats, and he doesn't mean to sound so mean, but his heart is in his throat, and the image of Jean, chained up and muzzled like the starving dog Jeremy compared him to back in May is never going to leave his head. "Not I can't as in I can't figure it out. I can't as in I won't. I can't as in—Jean, you don't need to do this."
"You have not been with an alpha in rut," Jean says, so desperately that Jeremy aches. "You do not know what they are like, what they're capable of. You do not—"
"I've been with alphas in rut," Jeremy interrupts, and flushes, when he realizes what he just admitted to, when he sees the way Jean goes still as stone to blink at him. "And even the nastiest ones were kinder than you think. An alpha's instincts aren't just to take and mount and bite and breed. They're also to protect. To provide.
"You haven't been off blockers long, and you've never had a rut to see it for yourself, but you're already doing exactly that, Jean. You're a good alpha. You make us feel safe, and protected. Please believe me when I say you don't need this to protect me now."
He sees Jean weigh that: Davis's advice to spend his first rut with a partner, the fear of ruts that he's known; his past versus his present, and Jeremy's words.
But Jeremy can't wait. He can't chance that Jean will ask him this again, or worse, someone else. Jean is his partner, and Jeremy wants to be the one to take care of him, to make sure he's okay, during this.
He changes tactics. Asks, "Do you trust me?"
Jean stares at him, gaze searching, expression troubled. For a moment, Jeremy thinks he won't answer, and that puts a new twang in his chest that he refuses to dwell on. But then Jean says, steady and serious, "You know I do."
It eases the tightness in Jeremy's chest only a little. He takes a breath, another, and says, "Then trust me on this. You don't need a muzzle, and you don't need chains. You wouldn't hurt any of us."
Jean still looks a little wary, so Jeremy tosses the muzzle aside, onto the floor, and crosses the space between them when Jean follows it instead of keeping his eyes on Jeremy. He puts his hands on Jean's face, and tilts it until all Jean can see is him. "Please, Jean."
Jean searches his face a minute longer, gray eyes, haunted. But eventually, he he lifts his hand, and squeezes Jeremy's wrist.
"Okay, captain," he says. "I will trust you."
In the days leading up to Jean's rut, he is…possessive. Territorial. But he's never mean without warning, and he never snaps without cause.
The cause being that someone got too close to his omega.
To Jeremy.
Quite honestly, Jeremy is torn on how to respond. He knows he should curb the behavior, knows he should tell Jean to relax, to tell the Trojans and other teams to stop getting so close or egging him on, but Jeremy's never had this before—an alpha who wants him so badly, so desperately, that he would guard him like a dog guards it's home, like a dragon guards it's hoard.
And, well, he kind of...likes it.
He likes Jean sitting thigh to thigh with him on the bench during breaks at practice, or at the home game they play that Friday night; likes the way he pulls Jeremy into his lap or slings an arm around his shoulders when they're back at the Lofts.
He likes the way Jean keeps pulling him aside to scent him, even when unnecessary, face in Jeremy's neck, and wrists all over. He likes the way Jean growls at any alpha who gets too close to him, or when Jeremy's phone goes off with a ping for another hookup. He likes the way Jean gets between him and the player that sends him crashing into the plexiglass, reeking of righteous anger and protection, and looking ten feet tall, even though the coaches have to pull him a moment later.
And he feels terrible about it. Because sure, he's heard the saying that drunken actions are sober thoughts, but Jeremy doesn't like to think anything he did or said while high was anything like himself sober. And he's not sure the saying can apply to pre-rut.
Still, though. There's nothing he can do but let it happen. Nothing he can do to stop it or change it. Not unless there's reason to. And so far, there isn't, despite what the Trojans may think about this snarling, six-five alpha that follows Jeremy around like a shadow.
Jeremy knows Jean. And he meant what he told Jean: Jean would never hurt him. Jeremy knows that, believes it, with everything he has.
"Are you sure about this?" Laila asks.
It's early, but Jeremy's wide awake, freshly showered and dressed, and handing over his and Jean's phones, in case anyone needs to reach them. He feels a little more anxious than he thought he would, but he has the idea that that has less to do with spending a rut with Jean, and more to do with Jean.
"He needs me," Jeremy says. And when Laila levels a look at him to say, that's not what I meant and you know it, adds, "I'm sure."
"So sure he got up to preen a little," Cat says from the table. She sips her coffee and waggles her eyebrows over the top of the mug, and when Jeremy flushes, grins at him.
"It's his first rut," Jeremy says, "sue me for wanting to make it good for him."
"You're trying to kill him is what you're trying to do," Cat says. "I heard those wax strips."
Laila flushes pink. "Cat."
"What?" Cat says. "I did! And he's been waiting to climb this man like a tree for months now. Sue me for being ecstatic that it's finally happening!"
Jeremy flushes deeper. "Okay," he says, "I should go. He was still sleeping when I got up, but by my count, he's due to pounce any minute now."
He turns, and heads for the room again, but before he can get there, Laila snags him by the arm. "If you need us, at any point—"
"I won't," Jeremy tells her, and reaches to squeeze her hand once. "He's not like the rest."
"No," Laila agrees. "But be safe anyway."
"And don't get pregnant!" Cat calls.
Jeremy laughs a little. Laila lets him go in favor of turning to yell at her girlfriend again, and Jeremy heads for his and Jean's room.
He opens the door carefully, steps in quietly, but it hardly matters, the moment he gets the door closed, he's being pressed up against it, and pinned there.
Jeremy gasps—he can't help it—and gasps again as something smooth and wet runs up his cheek, his neck.
Jean pulls back, then, scent reeking of alpha in rut, and face lit up in a way Jeremy's never seen it. And it's so—it's so pleasantly surprising. Because gone is the territorial, aggressive guard dog from the past couple days, and here is this giant puppy who wants to love and play and breed. Jeremy imagines that—Jean with ears and a tail, the former perked up, the latter wagging like crazy.
But maybe Jean interprets Jeremy's delight differently, because he pulls away, and back, retreating from Jeremy and toward his bed with his metaphorical tail between his legs.
"Wait," Jeremy calls after him. He snags Jean by the shirt collar, and draws him to a stop. "Wait, puppy, no—"
And that gets a reaction.
Again, Jean's imaginary ears perk. His eyes light up, his tail wags. He pounces again, like Jabberwocky on his shark toy, and picks up where he left off. Over and over, he licks Jeremy's cheek, his neck, starting with broad stripes and moving to little laps over Jeremy's scent gland, and Jeremy squirms and squeals.
It tickles, at first, and Jeremy giggles, short and breathless. But as Jean continues, Jeremy can feel the alpha's arousal pressing into his hip, and suddenly, nothing is funny anymore. Because Jeremy has seen Jean, in quick glances in the locker room showers, and knows firsthand that his recent off blockers growth spurt contributed to more than just his height.
The thought is dizzying, and for a moment, Jeremy wonders how that size will feel inside him, what that means for Jean's knot, and the next, Jean's hips are rocking into his, starting slow but quickening their pace, and all Jeremy's thoughts go flying out of his head.
He bares his throat to Jean unconsciously, giving himself over to the pleasure, the scent, his alpha, and when he feels his legs start to give way beneath him, gets jerked back to reality. He pulls his head to the side, and away from Jean's ministrations, unwilling to let Jean's first rut be against a door,
But Jean pulls back too, and whines at the rejection. Jeremy turns back toward him with wonder in his eyes, and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. "It's alright, puppy," he says. "You have me. I'm yours."
Apparently, it's all Jean is waiting for.
In the blink of an eye, Jeremy's in the air, and over Jean's shoulder. He blinks around a moment later, laid out in what looks like the middle of a nest, and feels his heart pick up again. Had Jean made this for him? He sees the mixture of their clothes, their bedding; smells the mixture of their scents.
But he doesn't get to ask.
Weight on the bed warns that Jean has joined him, and Jeremy shifts his gaze accordingly, and braces instinctively, preparing to be manhandled and mounted. Instead, Jean perches between his legs, and…stays there. Sat back on his haunches, like he's waiting for—permission.
And that's…well, that's new. As considerate as alphas could be during their cycle, Jeremy's never had an alpha wait on his word to start. He props himself up on his elbows, and reaches out to catch Jean by the chin, gently, cautiously. "You really are a sweet boy," he says. "Aren't you?"
Jean responds with a low noise that almost sounds like a bark, and then turns, and licks a stripe up Jeremy's palm. Jeremy laughs again, and spreads his legs a little wider. Feels slick soak his boxers that much more. "Well, I think you've been very sweet. And that you've waited long enough. Go ahead, now. Take what you need."
Jean doesn't waste a second. He dives in, hands tugging at Jeremy's boxers and shorts first, before throwing them across the room. Jeremy feels only a little self conscious about the noise his soaked underwear make when they hit the floor, because before he can so much as cringe, Jean is reaching for the hem of his shirt, and tugging that off, too.
When Jeremy's naked and bare before him, Jean gives himself a second to rove his eyes over Jeremy hungrily, and then reaches clumsily to rid himself of his own clothing. His pajama pants come off easily enough, but the shirt gets stuck on his arms, his head, and Jeremy finds himself helplessly endeared as he has to reach to help Jean out of them.
But the moment Jean's as bare as Jeremy, he doesn't waste any time. He dives down again, and in, and throws both of Jeremy's legs over either of his shoulders.
At this point, the press of Jean's tongue is by no means new, but Jeremy isn't expecting the heat of it against his soaked hole. He jerks a little, and feels Jean's hold grow tighter as a result, fingerprints pressing into his thighs so hard Jeremy knows he'll have marks there later.
He bites his lip, and then is forced to let it go again as Jean fucks his tongue past Jeremy's rim, and laps up the rush of slick that came out of Jeremy at the thought. Another gasp rips out of him; a high pitched whine. He tosses his head back against the pillows, and flails his hands out to hold onto anything he can reach. What he lands on are the sides of the nest, and as he grips them, they come crashing toward him, the way his orgasm starts crashing over him as Jean fucks him faster and faster, moaning and gasping himself as he tries to gather up every drop he can reach.
A starving dog indeed, Jeremy thinks as Jean's nose presses against his taint, the underside of his balls; as Jean bites at the space where Jeremy's ass meets his thigh, and sends him tumbling over that peak, and his orgasm into full swing.
Jean fucks him through it, seemingly content to keep eating and eating, even after Jeremy's trembling has long since subsided. And Jeremy marvels at this, too, an alpha who eats for his own pleasure as much as his omega's, but then Jean's hips keep rock rock rocking against the bed, moving the mattress in time with his tongue's thrusts, and Jeremy’s thoughts go from wonder to anger.
Because that knot should be his. His, and his only.
He pushes himself up, and reaches for Jean. Catches the alpha by the shoulders, the armpits, and hauls him up, up, until Jean gets the hint and crawls to hover over Jeremy's face instead.
His eyes are wide as saucers, his mouth is covered in slick. Jeremy feels that heat pool in his stomach again at the sight, and tugs Jean down for a kiss.
But if the sight kindled something inside of him, the taste burns the world.
Jeremy loses himself to this, too, letting Jean kiss the breath from his lungs, licking every drop of himself off Jean's mouth, his jaw, his tongue. He hears himself moan, hears Jean's resounding noise, and then feels Jean rock again, instinctually chasing his pleasure once more.
But this time, it isn't against the bed, it's against Jeremy's already swollen and puffy hole, and Jeremy feels each press of the alpha like a spark to every nerve in his body.
He gasps and mewls with each touch, hands coming up to grasp at Jean's shoulders, his back; tangling into the curls at the base of Jean's skull. Already, Jeremy can feel the sweat soaking into it, the warmth radiating off the alpha in waves, and he moans again at the feel of it against him, feels himself leak more and more slick with every thrust.
"Jean," he says, and when Jean growls, corrects, "Alpha, won't you be a good puppy and breed me?"
It's a mistake—Jeremy had forgotten how quickly, how well Jean had responded to permission the last time around, and this time, he's even quicker. He pulls back, away, and runs a hand over Jeremy's hole, collecting enough slick to cover his palm, and then shifts back further, and uses that slick to slick himself up.
Jeremy watches him, biting his lip again as he follows the movement of Jean's hand, the twist of his wrist, and then brings his own hands back up to pull Jean back down as Jean pushes in in one, long, slow stride.
It's too much to take all at once. Jeremy gasps into the kiss as Jean bottoms out, and Jean takes control, peppering little closed mouthed kisses all over Jeremy's mouth, his jaw. He switches to licking when Jeremy starts deepening his breathing and trying to get his body to adjust, and throws out his scent even more strongly than before.
And that's too much, too. Jeremy feels dizzy with it, drunk, and moves to wrap his arms around Jean's shoulders, holding on for dear life as he tries to remember which way is up. But Jean's scent keeps coming, and between that, and the fullness of Jean's cock, Jeremy slowly stops caring.
His mouth starts moving. He can hear it. Endless, barely coherent mumbles of good puppy and so full and so big; mewls and moans and gasps and whines. Each noise, each praise gets Jean rocking, grinding harder and faster against Jeremy's prostate, and Jeremy feels that building heat in his stomach again, in his heavy cock and balls; feels a low rumbling start up in his chest.
And, well, that's new, too.
Jeremy sees Jean perk up at it, sees his invisible ears stand at attention, and then his invisible tail wag when Jeremy tells him to be a good boy and move.
Jean does this instinctually too, finding his pace and keeping it for as long as he can. But he doesn't last long. Within a minute or so, Jeremy feels it, the tensing of Jean's body, the swelling of his knot, and somehow that impossible, delicious fullness from before grows and grows, and his purring grows with it, until Jeremy feels like he might burst with it.
Jean's tongue comes back then, up the side of Jeremy's face, and up his neck, licking fat, broad strokes over Jeremy's mating gland. He shivers at the touch, at the feel, and then moans as Jean keeps moving his hips, fucking his knot into Jeremy even though he should be satisfied, even though he should be momentarily sated, like he needs to be sure he fucked his seed into Jeremy properly, like he needs to make sure there's no chance Jeremy comes out of this without being pupped.
Jeremy shivers at that, too, and hears himself purr louder, louder, so happy and content to stay under Jean's attention. To just lie here and let Jean take care of him. To float, to drift, to the sound of his purrs and Jean's softer chuffing.
He must drift off at some point, though, because next thing he knows, Jean's weight and warmth are moving off him, and out of him, and Jean's hands are on his waist, flipping him over and manhandling him around, onto his hands and knees, and Jeremy goes easily.
A moment later, he feels Jean's weight on his back, Jean's mouth at his shoulder; Jean's cock at his hole. It's an easier slide home this time, and Jeremy moans as Jean fits to him like he was made to be there, and starts up a pace again.
He goes slow, at first, unwilling to separate his mouth from Jeremy's skin, unwilling to give up on the prospect of kissing him wherever he can reach, but then instinct must take over again, because he pulls back, and grabs Jeremy's hips instead, and starts slamming into Jeremy properly. Jeremy fists his hands in the sheets to hold his ground, but after two rounds under his belt and and alpha of Jean's size in rut at his back, there's not much he can do to stay upright.
His arms tremble as Jean keeps driving into him, as the sound of skin against skin and the squelch of his slick echoes around the room, as that sweet, delicious scent of blackberries and sea salt clouds the air, his mind, his senses, and then they collapse out from under him, and Jeremy finds himself face down in the pillow.
And this turns him on impossibly more—the idea of presenting for his alpha, chest pressed into the bed and hips being held up by Jean alone. That heat pools in his stomach again, but before Jeremy can so much as get words of a warning, of praise to form, it's boiling over, hot and thick and all over his chest. At the same time, Jean's knot swells inside him, and Jeremy mewls and purrs again, until Jean stills, and maneuvers them to lay on their sides.
But still, Jean isn't finished. Jeremy has half a thought to marvel at his stamina, and then his leg is being hiked up by the underside of his thigh, the backside of his knee, to give Jean more access, and Jean is getting a hand on his chin to turn his face, and kiss him properly.
Jeremy goes easily this time, too. He feels exhausted. He feels like a rag doll, made to be tossed around for his alpha's pleasure, and that turns him on even more. He moans into Jean's mouth as he feels Jean continue to fuck into him, hitting against his prostate with each and every shallow thrust of his knot, and loses himself once more, trusting his alpha to take care of him, to make this good for them both.
And Jean does make this good for them, fucking right through the deflating of his knot and to the swelling of another, his free hand roaming to Jeremy's nipples, his untouched cock, and Jeremy feels himself marvel at this too, the amount of times Jean can knot in one go, the amount of seed he can pump into Jeremy's body, the way he plugs Jeremy up properly, trapping everything inside: his slick, Jean's cum.
Jean, however, is far from satisfied. He rocks his hips again, and licks back at Jeremy's throat, into his mouth, trying to coax him into a fifth round, but Jeremy can't take anymore. Not now, not for a little. His hair is soaked, and his shoulders and jaw and mouth are covered in Jean's saliva; his thighs and ass and cock and chest are covered in slick and come, and he's exhausted.
He laughs a little, happy and pleased, and overtired, into Jean's mouth; presses a hand to Jean's chest to push him away. Jean whines.
"You did so good, puppy," Jeremy praises in consolation. "Filled me up so nice. But now it's time to sleep. You can pup me again later."
He doesn't expect it to work, at least not the first time around, but at the words, Jean obliges instantly, licking one final stripe up Jeremy's neck before curling around him, chest to Jeremy's back, knees to the backs of Jeremy's, and closing his eyes. His breaths come fast and short, the way Jabberwocky’s do when the dog first lays down to sleep, and then slowly, even out. Jeremy laughs a little at this too, and shifts as much as he can with Jean still inside of him, to see that Jean is, in fact, already out cold.
He runs his hand through Jean's hair again, studies his slackened, peaceful features, and then clenches once around Jean's still very swollen knot, to memorize the feel, the moment.
"Good dog," he says, deliriously, and then closes his eyes, and passes out himself.