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Duncan and Aerion were divorced for a reason. The court papers had been signed in a flurry of ink and hatred, a formal conclusion to years of screaming matches that shook the walls of their former shared home. Aerion’s temper was a wildfire, unpredictable and scorching while Duncan was a brick wall, stubborn to a fault and possessing a unique talent for saying exactly the wrong thing at the worst possible moment. They were fundamentally incompatible, two jagged pieces of glass that only cut each other when they tried to fit together.
But their bodies didn't give a damn about legal documents or the bitter silence that usually defined their interactions.
Duncan emerged from the bathroom, a white towel slung carelessly over one broad shoulder, droplets of water still clinging to the dense hair of his chest and his stomach. His frame filled the doorway, imposing and his eyes narrowed as he looked at Aerion, who was currently draped across the living room sofa, looking like a disaster.
Duncan’s nostrils flared, catching the scent. It was thick, cloying, and unmistakable. The scent of a heat in full bloom—sweet, heavy, and demanding.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Duncan grumbled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in Aerion’s chest. "It's my night off."
"Maegor is at a sleepover," Aerion said lazily.
Duncan scoffed, but he didn't move to push him out. He knew. He knew because he’d been the one to coordinate the sleepover with the cousins, a tactical move they both agreed upon every time the biological clock hit the danger zone. They had been doing this for years, the cold glares during school drop-offs, the biting sarcasm in the parking lots, and then the sudden, violent shift into primal need the moment a rut or heat hit.
"You're a mess," Duncan said, though his gaze had dropped to the way Aerion’s thighs were rubbing together, the fabric of his trousers damp with slick.
"Shut up and fuck me, you stubborn bastard," Aerion snapped, his temper flaring even through the haze of lust.
That was the trigger. Duncan lunged. He grabbed Aerion by the waist, hoisting him up with a grunt of effort, and slammed him back against the sofa cushions. There was no tenderness, no "how have you been," no soft words. There was only the desperate, angry need to be filled.
Duncan ripped Aerion’s trousers down, exposing a dripping, swollen pussy that was already pulsing in anticipation and he didn't waste time with foreplay because he didn't need to. Aerion was soaking, his walls twitching and begging for the friction. Duncan freed his own cock—thick, heavy, and already leaking pre-cum—and drove himself inside in one brutal, singular thrust.
The omega let out a strangled scream, his back arching off the sofa as his internals were stretched to the limit. It was too much and not enough all at once. He wrapped his legs around Duncan’s broad waist, locking his ankles behind the man's back to pull him deeper.
"Hate you," he gasped, his nails digging into Duncan’s shoulders, drawing blood.
"Feeling is mutual," Duncan groaned, his voice guttural as he began to hammer into him.
The sex was a battle. Every thrust was a punctuation mark to an argument they weren't having with words. The alpha pounded into him with a rhythmic, punishing force, his heavy balls slapping against Aerion’s backside with a wet, rhythmic sound. He didn't hold back, treating Aerion’s body like a place to dump all the frustration and resentment of the last few years.
Aerion took it all, his head tossing from side to side, his vision blurring. He loved and hated the way Duncan filled him, the way the broad man’s weight crushed the air out of his lungs. He wanted to be broken, he wanted to be owned, if only for these few days of biological madness.
As the heat progressed over the next few days, the house became a blur of sweat, scent, and friction. They moved from the sofa to the kitchen counter, then to the bathroom floor, and finally back to the bedroom. Duncan spent hours buried inside him, his cock stretching Aerion’s walls until he felt he might split open. He spent hours licking Aerion’s clit raw, sucking on his nipples until they were bruised, and filling him with load after load of thick, hot cum.
They didn't talk about their feelings. They didn't talk about Maegor’s grades or the alimony. They only talked in grunts, curses, and the sound of skin hitting skin.
By the fourth day, the fever finally broke.
Aerion woke up slowly, the morning light filtering through the blinds of Duncan's bedroom. His body felt like it had been through a car wreck. His hips were bruised, his inner thighs were chafed, and his core felt heavy and saturated. He could still feel the lingering sensation of Duncan’s cock inside him, a ghost of the pounding he’d endured for ninety-six hours straight.
He rolled out of bed, his legs trembling violently. He walked with a wide, unsteady gait, feeling the remnants of Duncan’s seed leaking out of him and trickling down his thigh. He didn't bother with a shower yet; he just wanted water.
He shuffled into the kitchen, his oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder. The house was quiet. Duncan was likely still asleep or in the garage, avoiding the inevitable awkwardness that followed the end of a heat.
Aerion reached for the fridge, intending to grab a bottle of Gatorade to replenish the fluids he’d lost through sweat and orgasms. But as his hand touched the stainless steel handle, something caught his eye.
Stuck right at eye level was a bright yellow sticky note.
Aerion frowned, leaning in. On the note, written in a looping script, was a phone number. And right next to the digits was a vivid, red lipstick kiss mark—a perfect, plump imprint of someone’s lips.
Aerion stared at it. His heart, which had finally slowed down from the intensity of the heat, began to race again, but this time it wasn't from lust. It was from a cold, sharp spike of jealousy that tasted like copper in his mouth.
He looked at the note, then looked toward the hallway where the oaf was.
The scent on the sticky note was a soft, cloying sweetness that smelled of vanilla and submission, a stark contrast to the jagged, electric tension that always existed between Duncan and Aerion. To Aerion, it smelled like an intruder. It smelled like someone trying to occupy a space that, regardless of legal decrees and signed papers, still belonged to him.
"What’is this?" Aerion asked, his voice deceptively calm, though his fingers were trembling slightly as he held the slip of paper.
Duncan didn't even look at him. He stepped forward and snatched the note back with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Isn't it obvious? We're divorced, Aerion. It's been two years so I'm gonna have to see other people at some point."
The words hit like a physical blow to the solar plexus. Two years. To Duncan, it was a timeline of healing and moving on. To Aerion, it was just a long intermission between the times they tore each other apart in bed.
He felt a surge of white-hot rage, the kind that usually ended in broken glassware and screaming matches, but he suppressed it. He forced a smirk, leaning back against the counter with a casualness that felt like a lie.
"I don't care. Fuck whoever you want," Aerion replied, his tone airy.
But the moment he stepped out of that house and reached his car, the mask shattered. He didn't care? He cared so much it felt like his blood was boiling. The idea of Duncan—his Duncan, the father of his child—touching some nameless omega was intolerable.
Driving home was a blur, and sure, Duncan was stubborn, but he was predictable. His passwords were a mix of dates and names that Aerion knew by heart. Within an hour, Aerion had breached Duncan’s Google Calendar.
He stared at the screen, his eyes narrowing. Friday, 7:00 PM. Dinner with Liam. The Gilded Lily.
The Gilded Lily. A tacky, overpriced bistro with velvet curtains and dim lighting—the kind of place where people went to pretend they were in a romance novel. The thought of Duncan sitting across from this Liam smiling, perhaps touching the omega's hand, made Aerion want to burn the restaurant to the ground.
Three days later, Aerion was back.
He timed it with surgical precision. Maegor was safe at his grandads’ for the weekend, leaving the coast clear for whatever wreckage Aerion intended to cause. He arrived at Duncan's door at 6:00 PM sharp, exactly one hour before the reservation.
When the door opened, Aerion felt a surge of possessive hunger. Duncan was dressed in a crisp, navy blue button-up that clung to the broad expanse of his shoulders and stretched tight across his chest. He looked polished. He looked like a man ready to be a gentleman. He looked far too attractive for someone else's benefit.
"What are you doing here?" Duncan asked, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion.
"We need to talk about Maegor's schedule," Aerion lied, his voice smooth as silk. He didn't wait for an invitation and simply invaded the sanctuary of the house.
As he turned, Aerion let his gaze wander, raking over Duncan’s frame. The scent of Duncan’s cologne—something woody and masculine—mingled with the natural alpha musk that always made Aerion ache.
"You look... fancy," Aerion purred, his eyes flicking up to meet Duncan's. "Going somewhere?"
Duncan’s jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek. He closed the door with a firm thud. "Yeah, and you know that. So what is this about? Maegor's fine—we already sorted the schedule last week." He glanced at his watch, the ticking seconds sounding like a countdown. "So if that's all..."
Aerion didn't move away. Instead, he stepped closer, closing the gap until their chests were nearly touching. He could feel the heat radiating off Duncan, the subtle tension in the larger man's posture.
"Must’ve slipped my mine… But a date? With who?" Aerion asked, his voice dropping an octave, laced with a mock curiosity that barely hid the jealousy. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Duncan's forearm, lingering on the fabric of the shirt.
"None of your business," Duncan grumbled. He didn't pull away. He never did.
It was 6:15. The clock was a reminder that Duncan had a life outside of Aerion, a reality that Aerion was determined to erase for the evening.
"Look, Aerion. I gotta go. We can talk tomorrow," Duncan said, though his voice had lost some of its conviction. He was breathing harder now, his nostrils flaring as Aerion’s scent—sweet, pungent, and intentionally provocative—filled the space between them.
"But I wanna talk now," Aerion whispered. He tilted his head, a slow, deliberate movement that exposed the vulnerable line of his throat, the pulse there jumping with anticipation.
Duncan’s pupils dilated, swallowing the iris. The alpha in him responded instantly to the invitation. Aerion pressed his hips forward, feeling the unmistakable hardness of Duncan’s cock pressing against his own thigh.
"And... you smell tense," Aerion murmured. His nimble fingers reached up, deftly undoing the top button of Duncan's shirt, then the second, exposing a sliver of dark chest hair and the golden skin beneath. "C'mon... quick stress relief before your big night?"
The last shred of Duncan's resolve snapped. "God, I hate you," he hissed, his hand flying up to grip the back of Aerion's neck. He yanked Aerion into a kiss that was less of a greeting and more of a collision. It was hard, demanding, and tasted of desperation.
They stumbled backward, clothes becoming an obstacle. Shirts were ripped off in a tangle of limbs, buttons popping and hitting the floor. Aerion’s fingers were frantic, working at Duncan’s belt, pulling the leather through the loops.
Duncan groaned into Aerion's mouth, hoisting him up. The omega wrapped his legs around his waist, his trousers shoved down just enough for his cock to spring free—thick, veined, and already glistening at the tip. Duncan sank back onto the living room couch, the cushions dipping under their combined weight.
Aerion straddled him, his pussy already soaking, slicking his inner thighs.
He didn't want foreplay.
He wanted to be claimed.
He guided Duncan's cock to his entrance and slammed down in one fluid, violent motion.
“Fuck!" Duncan groaned, his head falling back against the sofa.
The fit was perfect, as it always was. Duncan’s cock was a massive, throbbing presence that stretched Aerion’s walls to their absolute limit, filling every void. Aerion let out a sharp, jagged moan, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt the sheer girth of the man inside him.
Duncan’s hands dug into Aerion’s hips, his fingers bruising the skin, anchoring him as he began to thrust upward. Every rise and fall was a punctuation mark of possession. The sound of their bodies colliding—the wet, slapping noise of skin on skin—filled the room, drowning out the ticking of the clock.
Aerion rode him with a feral intensity, his hips slamming down, taking every single inch of the shaft. He could feel Duncan’s balls slapping against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through his nervous system. His internal walls clenched and pulsed, milking the cock, desperate to draw everything out of the alpha.
Duncan glanced at the clock. 6:40.
The restaurant was thirty minutes away. Traffic would be a nightmare. He was already cutting it dangerously close, but the feeling of Aerion’s tight, soaking pussy gripping him was an addiction he couldn't quit.
In fact, despite everything, he didn't want to be at a fancy bistro. He wanted to be buried in his ex-husband.
Aerion noticed the glance. A wicked, possessive grin spread across his face. He lifted himself high, almost sliding off, before slamming back down with a force that made the couch creak.
"Oh... your poor date..." Aerion panted, his voice a breathless rasp. "Wonder—hngg—what he'd do if he knew—oh!—you're balls-deep in your ex right now."
Duncan let out a guttural sound, half-growl and half-moan. "Shut up… Shut up!" he gasped, even as his hips jerked upward to meet every drop, his cock throbbing deep inside Aerion's heat-softened core.
The jealousy that had fueled Aerion for the last few days transformed into pure, unadulterated lust. He wanted to mark Duncan from the inside out. He wanted to leave so much of himself behind that no amount of omega scent could cover it.
The climax hit them like a tidal wave. Duncan broke first, his body stiffening, a loud, primal roar escaping his throat as his knot began to swell. He bucked wildly, locking himself inside Aerion, and then the floodgates opened. Thick, hot spurts of cum blasted into Aerion’s depths, filling him to the brim, the sheer volume of the release making Aerion’s walls spasm in a violent, rhythmic contraction.
Aerion screamed, his head tossing back, his own release gushing around the base of Duncan's cock, coating them both in a mixture of seed and slick.
They stayed like that for several minutes, knotted together, breathing in sync, the silence of the house returning. Then, exactly at 7:00 PM, Duncan's phone began to vibrate on the coffee table.
Duncan made a move to get up, his muscles straining to disentangle himself, but Aerion clamped down. He tightened his muscles, gripping the throbbing knot with a possessive squeeze that forced a gasp from Duncan's lips.
"No," Aerion whispered, his eyes gleaming.
The phone stopped ringing, and a moment later, the chime of a voicemail notification sounded. Aerion reached over, snatched the phone with a triumphant grin, and pressed play on the speaker.
"Hey Duncan, it's Liam!" The voice was soft, melodic, and unmistakably omega. "I'm just checking in—I'm already at the restaurant but you're not here yet? I think? I'll just order a drink and wait for you, okay? See you soon!"
The sound of Liam's voice was the catalyst. Aerion began to bounce with a renewed, furious energy, his ass slapping sharply against Duncan's hips.
"Oh fuck, your cock—it's so fucking thick, I love it—mm—so much," Aerion moaned loudly, his voice intentionally overlapping the silence where Liam's voice had been. He wanted the ghost of the omega to hear him. He wanted the world to know that no matter who Duncan dated, no matter who he tried to replace him with, he would always come back to this.
Duncan panted, his eyes clouded with lust and frustration, his hands gripping Aerion's waist so hard he'd leave marks for a week. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice a wrecked whisper. "You crazy bitch."
Aerion just laughed, a sound of pure victory, and slammed down again, making sure Duncan wouldn't be thinking about anyone else for a very, very long time.
The phone on the coffee table continued to glow, the speaker still active as Liam’s voice drifted through the room, oblivious and hopeful.
"I even got us a spot by the window, thought it'd be romantic..." the omega’s voice was soft, airy, and completely out of place in the room currently thick with the scent of musk, sweat, and raw, animalistic lust.
Aerion let out a breathless, jagged laugh as he ground himself down, pushing his hips lower and lower until Duncan’s cock was buried to the absolute hilt, the head of the shaft bruising against his cervix. He leaned down, his lips brushing against Duncan’s ear, his voice a lethal, possessive whisper.
"Poor guy," Aerion breathed.
As he spoke, he shifted his weight, creating a loud, wet squelch as his soaking pussy gripped and slid against the veined length of Duncan’s cock. The sound was visceral, a wet, slapping noise that effectively drowned out the pathetic, rambling voice of the man waiting for Duncan at a restaurant across town.
Duncan’s body reacted instinctively. He bucked upward, his hips snapping with a violent force that nearly lifted Aerion off him. His large hands flew to Aerion’s thighs, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh, gripping hard enough to leave dark, blooming bruises. Duncan’s own groans, deep and guttural, began to mix with Liam’s distant chatter and Aerion’s high, needy moans.
The sight of Aerion—eyes wide and shimmering with a mixture of jealousy-fueled rage and pure, unadulterated pleasure—was too much. The way Aerion’s walls clamped down like a vice, milking him with every shudder, short-circuited Duncan’s brain.
The logic of the date, the guilt of the lie, the frustration of their divorce—it all vanished, replaced by the primal need to fuck the man currently on top of him.
"Shit, Aerion—keep going, just like that," Duncan gasped, his voice wrecked. He stopped resisting and started fighting back, thrusting upward to meet Aerion’s descent. He hit that specific, spongy spot deep inside Aerion’s heat, and the effect was instantaneous.
Aerion wailed, his back arching, his head tossing back as a wave of pleasure crashed over him. He felt stretched, filled, and completely conquered.
Duncan was spiraling. He thought it was insane—the feeling of Aerion’s pussy slurping and suctioning around his veined length with every pull and plunge was an addiction he couldn't fight.
"Can't wait to meet you and chat over dinner," Liam’s voice continued, a haunting contrast to the carnage on the couch. "Hope you're not stuck in traffic or anything. Call me back if you're coming?"
Aerion giggled, a sound that was half-sob and half-triumph. He leaned forward, his chest brushing against Duncan’s, his eyes locking onto the alpha's dilated pupils. "Answer him, Duncan..." he whispered, his hips giving one more slow, agonizingly deep grind. "Are you cumming?"
That was the breaking point.
With a sudden, explosive burst of strength, Duncan flipped them. In one blurred motion, Aerion was pinned beneath him, his back pressed hard into the couch cushions, his legs flung wide. The phone tumbled from the coffee table, clattering onto the hardwood floor, but the call was still active, the omega's voice now a distant, tinny murmur.
"God, I fucking hate you," Duncan growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
He didn't wait for a response. He drove himself back inside Aerion with a brutal, snapping force, spearing into the soaked heat over and over.
While Aerion thrived in the violence of it. He screamed obscenities, his voice raw, his fingers clawing at Duncan’s broad shoulders, leaving red streaks across his skin. He wrapped his legs tightly around Duncan’s waist, locking his ankles behind the alpha's back to pull him even deeper, desperate to feel every single millimeter of the shaft.
"Yes—I fucking hate you too so much!" Aerion shrieked, his voice breaking. "Your cock's so perfect... stretching me, owning me—cum inside again, please, please, please!"
The desperation in Aerion's voice was the final trigger. His walls began to spasm, the muscles clenching in rhythmic, violent waves that squeezed Duncan's cock with an intensity that was almost painful. An orgasm crashed through Aerion like a bolt of lightning, his body shuddering violently as he gushed around Duncan's pistoning length, soaking them both in a flood of slick and release.
Duncan followed seconds later. He let out a roar, body stiffening as his knot swelled rapidly, locking them together in a permanent, pulsing embrace. He buried himself to the hilt, his eyes rolling back as he flooded Aerion's clenching pussy with thick, hot ropes of cum, filling him to the absolute brim.
They collapsed together, a heap of tangled limbs and drenched skin, their chests heaving in unison. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of their ragged breathing and the distant, muffled sound of the phone on the floor.
Another call came through—Liam trying one last time—but neither of them moved. The ringing echoed through the room, a persistent reminder of the world outside, until it eventually timed out and fell silent.
The only sound left was the satisfied, rhythmic throb of their bodies, still joined, still pulsing.
Aerion shifted slightly, nuzzling into the crook of Duncan's neck,. A smug, triumphant smile played on his lips.
"Guess you're canceling," Aerion murmured, his voice sleepy and satisfied.
Duncan didn't answer immediately. He just tightened his grip, pulling Aerion closer, his brain still blissed out from the intensity of the release. He looked down at the man in his arms—the stubborn, jealous, infuriating man who knew exactly how to break him.
As he felt Aerion's pussy continue to twitch and squeeze around his knot, Duncan closed his eyes, thinking that no matter how many omegas were in the city, this pussy was simply too fucking good to quit.