Archive of Our Own

The week before his midterm exams Foggy wakes up feeling strange. Unsettled, like he spent all night lost in strange dreams that he can’t shake off now that he’s awake. Only it seems unfair to blame it on dreams that he can’t remember even one thing about. He’d kicked all his covers off in the night too and he feels like he’s woken up to balmy summer morning, not a typical mid-October chill.

Naturally Foggy assumes he has a fever. His mother had sent him off to college with a first aid kit, complete with a thermometer that tells him he’s at ninety-nine degrees flat. Technically a fever, yes, but nothing to write home about. The longer he’s awake the more he realizes that he doesn’t exactly feel sick. His body is loose, practically limber actually, no aches, no pains. His lungs feel clear, and he’s not overly tired. If he’s sick, it’s the gentlest illness he’s ever had.

Even so the healthy appetite Foggy usually wakes up with is nowhere to be found. He can’t even contemplate his usual breakfast order of a bacon, egg and cheese, though he tries. He grabs some juice instead at the commissary and goes to his first class hoping to chalk everything up to a bad night’s sleep and move on. The more he wakes up, maybe the better he’ll feel.

Instead he can hardly focus long in class for long enough to take half a page of notes. He can’t stop fussing at the collar of his shirt either, running his fingers around it again and again trying to figure out why the fabric is bothering him so much. When it’s over the thought of going to his next class fills Foggy with a very real dread. He doesn’t feel worse, but he definitely doesn’t feel right. He decides to spend the rest of the day sleeping and getting some of his reading assignments done. He’ll get a fresh start tomorrow.

Walking back across campus to his dorm room, Foggy can’t help but track certain guys when they walk across his line of vision. It’s not unusual at all for him to notice attractive people, but normally he doesn’t crane his neck to watch them until they disappear. And usually it’s all types of people, pretty girls, hot guys. But today it’s just very confident, unafraid, strong looking guys.

Actually it was the only two alphas that crossed his path.

“God… dammit,” Foggy mumbles under his breath. It’s happening, he realizes, finally. And right before midterms. Perfect.

Foggy curses again as he changes course and goes straight the special annex of the student health center.

In a little reception room, last decorated in the late-seventies apparently, Foggy signs in and takes a clipboard to his seat with four sheets of forms to fill out. When he’s done the receptionist disappears for a while with his information. Completely alone now, he jiggles his leg impatiently and listens to the tick of the clock on the wall.

Eventually boredom gets the better of him, and he picks up a pamphlet off the table beside him. It reads: Having a diverse student body is a vital part of both the mission and vision of Columbia University. In order to better accommodate all of our students, we provide the safest possible environments for omega students and their developing reproductive cycles.

It was a lesson, Foggy knows, schools had learned the hard way after they were required to be open to all genders. Omegas typically don’t develop true heats until their late teens, and their cycles were irregular and unpredictable. An omega suddenly experiencing their first heat while mixed in with a bunch of young alphas with poor impulse control can kick off a pretty bad chain of events. For most universities the solution to this problem is to cut right to the chase and pair alpha and omega students together with a lottery or matchmaking system. It's win-win. The omega gets taken out of the student population for two days and putting the match in the hands of a neutral third party does a great job of undercutting the instinct for competition by the alphas.

Foggy continues to look through the pamphlet. There are pictures of very attractive and ethnically ambiguous students in the quad, laughing, smiling, and decidedly not doing what Foggy will be doing in the next four or five hours. Before a match, the pamphlet promises, each student will get a consultation as well as education about STDs and unwanted pregnancies. Afterward, they’ll get counseling to help them process what they experienced and free health services.

The universities have been patting themselves on the back for this progressive attitude for years, but Foggy’s stomach is tying itself in knots around the big helping of nothing it had for breakfast. In a few hours he’s supposed to be blissed out of his mind with hormones and endorphins, but right now he just wishes he could fast forward through the next two days.

The door at the other end of the room opens, revealing a middle aged woman in a pencil skirt and cardigan. “Franklin Nelson?”

It strikes Foggy as a funny question considering he’s the only person in the room. He makes a show of looking around before he stands up with a nod.

She smiles at him in a way that doesn’t seem very amused. “Come with me.”

“My name is Kathy, Franklin,” she says walking him to a small room that can’t decide if it’s a doctor’s exam room or a counselor's office. She sits in one chair and gestures to the other. “Do you go by Franklin or Frank?”

“Foggy, actually.”

There’s that smile again. “Okay, Foggy. Is this your first heat?”

He nods. “Yes. Well, I had a false one last year but, uh yeah.” It’d happened midway through his senior year, but it was short and incomplete. He’d hoped to hit his true heat during the summer so he could just quietly die of embarrassment alone in his room. “It wasn’t enough to get on suppressants yet.”

She nods while still looking at her papers. “Doctors do recommend omegas have a true heat before they can prescribe hormones.”

Foggy knows that, in fact he just said basically that. Not to mention his mother had many opinions about just that and has been sharing them with Foggy his whole life.

“However, we can get you a prescription at the student health center once it’s passed.”

Foggy knows that, too. “Great, looking forward to it.”

“I need to ask you just a few questions in order to get you set up. I have your most recent STD test as being from August. Have you had any unprotected sex since then?”

“Nope.” Foggy hopes he’s not blushing. He hears his mother’s voice in the back of his head insisting there’s nothing to be ashamed about and it is not helping.

“Any use of intravenous drugs?”

“No.”

She asks about any medications he may be on, checks his temperature and blood pressure, looks at his throat for any swollen glands. All the while Foggy can’t stop fidgeting.

“Okay, Foggy,” she says, smiling again, but it looks like she’s just trying really hard to seem interested. “That’s a clean bill of health.”

“Awesome.” He really hopes they’ll be done soon.

Of course they’re not. Now comes the counseling which Kathy skims over like it’s a script she’d like to shave a few pages off of.

“You’re going to experience some powerful emotions,” she says at some point. “This is completely natural and normal.”

Foggy clears his throat and nods at the decidedly bland platitude. Kathy drones on about how counselling services will be available if he needs it.

It almost a relief when she switches from one script to another. “Columbia operates this facility via a matching service, so I’ll need you to answer some questions in order to develop the profile. But if you’d prefer a random lottery I can draw from the pool that agreed to random matches. Do you have a preference?”

So almost a relief, but actually not at all. He’d like to skip the questions because the sooner this interview is over the better, but if there’s even one thing on the form that will mean the alpha he’s paired with is not a jerk Foggy feels like he owes it to himself to try. “Matchmaking.”

What follows are a series of opposites that Foggy is somehow supposed to put himself on a scale of one to six to say which he identifies with more. In general is he calm or energetic? Does he seek attention or avoid it? Is he family or career oriented?

Halfway through he finds himself wanting to shout, “I don’t know, I’m eighteen. I literally just want to know if the guy likes Star Wars and isn’t a member of the Young Republicans.”

Since he can’t do that Foggy just starts smiling aggressively as he answers. She doesn’t seem to appreciate it and Foggy’s not sorry at all.

After there are finally, finally no more questions she ignores him in favor of plotting his answers and sorting the matches. Every now and then she looks up at Foggy as if to size him up in comparison with whatever match she’s debating. Foggy’s kicking himself so hard for not choosing the lottery. No alpha dick, random or hand selected, is worth having to sit through this.

“Ah,” she says at last. Apparently she does have a suitable alpha in her file. “This one will be perfect for you.”

Foggy wonders what she means, but doesn’t ask.

“All right, Franklin. I need to get in contact with him and confirm his continued consent and availability.” Kathy stands up and moves over to a closet where she grabs a plastic bag with the Columbia school logo on it. “Unless you have any questions, let me take you somewhere more comfortable to wait.”

Foggy shakes his head and stands. “Lead the way.”

He follows her down a corridor lined with doors to six rooms, three on either side. She takes him to the last room on the left (helpfully labeled “Room #3”) and unlocks the door for him. Inside it looks like any other unoccupied dorm room on campus except there aren’t any windows. And the bed is bigger, he notices. No single beds here, but a queen-sized pushed up against the wall.

“You’re close enough to your heat that I’m afraid we’re not able to let you go get anything from your room, but there’s a shower through there.” She points to a door in the corner that must be to the bathroom. “Would you like a shaving kit?”

Foggy meets her eye, but he doesn’t know why he bothers to check to see if the intimation he heard in her voice was really there. It was.

“Nope.”

She smiles at him again and Foggy really cannot wait to just not be in the same room as her.

She drops off the plastic bag on a little table in front of the couch, takes up a remote and turns on the TV and DVD player. “All right. Well, I’m going to let you get comfortable. Our only request from here on out is that you watch the entirety of this video and let us know if you have any problems or concerns.”

She navigates through the menu with a practiced quickness, and gets it started. Speaking over the tinny intro music she tells him, “There’s water and fruit in that mini-fridge. If you need anything let me know.”

Foggy sighs in relief when the door closes behind her.

Foggy watches the video while picking through the contents of the plastic bag. (Mostly it’s condoms. Lots of alpha condoms, some breath mints, hand sanitizer, and more pamphlets.) The video is just one step above what he was shown in his sex-ed classes in high school. There’s still a lot of bullet lists about what’s changing in the omega’s body, a CGI animation of a condom being rolled on and a transparent illustration of a knot being formed. The only new addition to the video is actors role-playing a negotiation beforehand.

A slim female omega with dark hair pulled back with a headband would rather not kiss. Her handsome and very stilted alpha partner readily agrees.

“Can I touch your breasts?” He shrugs his shoulders as he asks like if he’s just idly curious.

She laughs, not at all offended. “Yeah, that would be okay.”

Foggy collapses over onto the couch and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes with a groan. Thankfully there’s not much more to the video except another bullet list reiterating what is acceptable behavior and what’s not, and then a description of the university’s conflict remediation process.

He takes a shower next mostly to wash off the weird. There’s a terry cloth robe he could put on, but it feels too expectant. He puts his jeans and tee shirt back on, and tries to towel his hair as dry as possible.

Enough time passes that Foggy can’t help but get antsy. His mind creates a dozen scenarios to be anxious about. Kathy couldn’t secure an alpha. Kathy secured an alpha and that alpha will open the door, take one look at Foggy and turn around. Kathy secured an alpha and explained all about how he should pity this poor, weird omega, she’ll make it up to him with the next draw. Or worse, the alpha will be nice and hot and cool and Foggy will fuck it up because all his mother’s swearing up and down that omegas don’t need to be just one thing in order to be wanted is a lie.

So on and so forth until the moment there’s a soft knock and the door opens.

He expects Kathy to step in ready to make some brisk introduction or give a tepid apology, but it’s a guy sticking his head inside the room. An incredibly good looking guy. Oh thank you, Kathy, Foggy thinks. All my hate was misplaced.

“Is this room number three?”

Foggy smiles, eager to seem likable and win this guy over. “It’s what it says on the door, right?”

“Uh,” the guy steps more fully into the room. There’s a white cane in his hand and he still hasn't taken off his tinted glasses. “I thought it did, but I wanted to be sure.”

He’s blind.

“Oh,” Foggy blurts.

He stands up and moves closer thinking that if the guy can’t see Foggy, he probably has no clear idea where he is in the room. That thought, that the guy can’t see, suddenly brings to mind Kathy’s statement. The perfect alpha for him. To Kathy, Foggy’s perfect match is one that can’t see him.

Foggy sighs before he can stop himself, then he straightens his back and projects his voice. “I’m Foggy.”

The guy puts out his hand and Foggy takes another step closer to him to shake it politely. “Foggy?” he repeats, as if maybe he just hadn’t heard him right.

“Foggy, yeah.” He shrugs and then immediately realizes a blind person wouldn’t be able to see him doing so. “My mom’s a hippie with a fondness for nature nicknames.”

“Oh, uh. Well I’m Matt.” Matt shifts his cane from hand to hand in a nervous way. “I noticed um, a tone earlier. If it bothers you I can tell Kathy you’d rather-” He gestures to the still open door.

“If what bothers me?”

Matt waves a hand over his face once. “It puts some people off.”

He’s glad Matt can’t see the face Foggy makes, because man Kathy has done a pretty solid job ruining an already shitty day. “No! Oh my god, no. I didn’t-” but his protestations sound fake to his own ears. He’s coming across as suspiciously emphatic, like he’s trying to cover up the truth.

The last thing Foggy wants is for Matt to think that he’s a jerk, so he comes clean.

“Listen, Kathy was uh, I think she was a little underwhelmed by me. She made a comment about you being perfect for me, and when I saw that you were um.” He chooses not to say the word blind and risk putting his foot in it again. “I just realized what she probably meant by that is that you wouldn’t be able to see me.”

Matt’s eyebrows raise up from behind his glasses. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Foggy agrees. “So I have absolutely nothing against you at all. You’re uh- I mean.” Maybe don’t make this weirder for him by pointing out how hot he is, Foggy tells himself. “Just fuck Kathy, that’s all.”

Matt laughs, which is at least something, but it’s uncomfortable, half chuckle, half clearing his throat. “Can I ask why she would think…” He trails off when he seems to realize there’s no polite way to say what he’s wondering.

“Why she thinks I’ve got a face for radio?”

Matt shrugs minutely, looking ready to drop it for the sake of politeness. Foggy has to believe that any problem the guy could imagine that needed actual blindness to solve it would probably be worse than the truth.

“You know the stereotypical omega, like the one you see-” Foggy pauses, “or hear about in movies and books?”

Matt plays coy, “I haven’t really paid much attention.” Idealized depictions of omegas are literally everywhere and any alpha raised within fifteen miles of a computer is going to know all about them.

“No? Trim of waist, smooth of skin and simpering of personality, any of that ring a bell?”

Matt thankfully doesn’t keep trying to pretend that it doesn’t. He nods.

“Well,” Foggy says, spreading his arms and then letting them flop down to his sides. “My mother didn’t raise me to be that.”

Matt seems to think about that for a moment. “What did she raise you to be?”

“More or less just a regular person.” Just a person that likes nachos, not shaving, and not holding back his opinions.

“Okay,” Matt muses. “You’re a regular person. So you have two eyes, a nose, four limbs?”

Foggy smiles, “All ten fingers, ten toes. The works.”

“Then you’re doing better than me,” Matt says with a shrug.

“No way!” Foggy’s shout seems to startle Matt. “Are they gone? Did they get knocked out? Can I see?”

Matt laughs, really laughs. It changes his face in a very good way and Foggy thought it was plenty nice before. “No, no. They’re still there, they just don’t work for shit.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Foggy says.

Matt’s smile gets a little smaller, a little more private. “Then I guess there’s no reason to call Kathy.”

“Fuck Kathy,” Foggy says, agreeing with him. Matt laughs again.

He also closes the door. There's the sound of the latch hitting the strike plate with a definitive click, and they’re overcome by a short silence. In Foggy’s case it’s that there are too many questions to choose just one to start. Foggy wants to know a lot about Matt, where he’s from, what he’s studying, how he gets around campus, but the very first question he asks ends up being the most blunt.

“Is this your first time?”

Matt looks a little taken aback.

“Shit that was rude, I’m sorry.” Way to ease right into it, Foggy.

“No, no. Um,” Matt fidgets with his cane, folding it up and securing it with two black straps. “It is. I mean, with an omega. Actually I don’t think I’ve ever even really been around omegas very much.”

“Why’s that?” Omegas weren’t super common but they weren’t exactly unicorn rare, especially in New York.

“Well uh, I was raised Catholic.”

Foggy has to admit that’s a pretty good explanation. Catholicism is the one of the few religions still arguing hard for the idea that alphas and omegas should just suffer the curious nature of their conditions until they are ready to mate for life. Foggy’s mother, unsurprisingly, has opinions about that, too.

“So you went to a segregated school?”

Matt nods, eyebrows raised in acknowledgement of all the implications there. “Three hundred alphas all under one roof. Even the teachers were alphas.”

It sounds horrible and Foggy tells Matt as much. Thankfully, Matt isn’t offended. “Yeah, it was... intense. But in it’s own way so is going to Columbia after so long being just around alphas.”

“Too much temptation?”

Matt purses his lips, “I wouldn’t call it that. Generally I’ve been attracted to female betas.” His voice lifts at the end of that admission like he’s worried Foggy will find that insulting. He doesn't.

“But I wanted to-” Matt looks for the right word for a long time. “Understand it, I guess. I want to know what to expect, what it’s really like. And I thought with the school arranging everything that they would, I don’t know, kind of hold my hand through it.”

“Ugh,” Foggy says. “I don’t want Kathy in here holding anything, thanks.”

Matt smirks and doesn’t contradict him.

Foggy contemplates what he’s just learned about Matt and realizes what Matt’s been too respectful to ask him in return. “This is my first heat. I’ve never been with an alpha.”

Matt nods, but doesn’t respond.

“I’ve only ever dated betas, too. I like pretending to be… well, my mother would kill me if I said normal. But.” He shrugs again. He never realized how much he relied on visual cues. “I just shrugged by the way.”

“Thanks,” Matt says. “I'm guessing your mother is an omega?”

“Yeah. The hella progressive kind. Equal rights, equal pay, equal representation, everything. If she had a car it would totally have the ‘I’m not your sweet little omega’ bumper sticker on the back of it.”

“Is that a thing?” Matt asks, head tilted. “The bumper sticker?”

Foggy shakes his head and doesn’t bother to tell Matt. “Oh you sweet summer child. It is very much a thing among uppity omegas.”

“Of which you are one,” Matt ventures.

“Of which I am definitely one.”

“I have to admit I’m not sure what the appropriate response is.” Matt takes a deep breath and blows it out. “I’m not your big dumb alpha?”

Foggy laughs hard enough to double over. He doesn’t know why it strikes him as so funny, maybe the idea of there being an alpha rights movement, bumper stickers and tee shirts proclaiming ‘I am more than my knot’ or whatever. If he’s being honest, though, it’s partly a case of weird, giddy nerves at Matt using the words “your” and “alpha” in a sentence directed at Foggy.

He catches his breath again, but his cheeks are still hot. “That works, Matt. That’s just fine.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re making fun of me,” Matt says, but he’s smiling. “It’s not nice to make fun of the blind kid, you know that right?”

They end up talking more, sitting on the couch, knees canted towards each other, but not touching. It’s just a little while longer until Foggy’s heat. He can feel it coming on, a dangerous buzz building up under his skin like he’s moving closer and closer to an electrical transformer. Matt is calm and focused, though, and they have more in common than they might have guessed. Turns out they’re both from Hell’s Kitchen; they both came to Columbia with the intention of applying to its law school after they get their undergrad degree; they both want to be attorneys.

To his credit, Matt doesn’t seem surprised at all that an omega wants to go into law. In fact the only thing that Matt finds shocking is that Foggy’s toying with the idea of corporate law. He’s apparently convinced the only noble thing to do is be a criminal defense attorney.

“A vigorous defense is what makes our whole legal system worth a damn,” Matt insists even though Foggy’s not necessarily disagreeing.

Foggy knows they’re supposed to be negotiating, laying out the boundaries of where they want to go while they’re still rational. But he doesn’t want to let go of the illusion just yet that his attraction to Matt is an ordinary accident of the same kind of chemistry anyone can experience, no insanely strong hormones required. Even though it’s probably insanely strong hormones, getting stronger with each passing minute, that account for the incredible pull that Foggy is feeling.

Every time he takes a particularly deep breath he can smell Matt. It's just Matt, not the thick smell of mating pheromones, but the scent of a clean, well-groomed body. Well, maybe there’s a hint of pheromones, because Foggy’s never thought the unadulterated smell of another person was this mouthwatering. Every now and again Foggy catches some detail about Matt that he finds fascinating, first the thickness of Matt’s hair despite his short, tidy hair cut, next the shape of his hands, fingers with large middle knuckles but small nails. Then Foggy notices that Matt’s nose, if you were to take away the glasses and look at it as a whole, is actually kind of rounded and maybe even a little big for his face. It makes him look stubborn, like he enjoys a fight, a vigorous debate.

Foggy’s so caught up in cataloging these details that he's really not even listening anymore to Matt’s well-reasoned treatise (really it's just a plain old rant) about how under appreciated Thurgood Marshall (of all people) is. He tunes back in only when Matt suddenly abandons it. “Foggy, can I uh.”

Foggy waits but Matt doesn’t finish the question. “Can you what?”

Matt takes a deep breath and raises his hand to his face. He pulls off his glasses, folds them up and feels around in the air until he can place them on the table beside them.

It’s Foggy’s first completely unencumbered look at Matt’s face, and he takes it in greedily. Matt has long lashes framing dark eyes that don’t really focus. His eyes also tend to drift down to point directly towards the floor. He looks unexpectedly vulnerable, particularly for an alpha, and it makes Foggy’s heart actually ache.

“I’d like to touch your face,” Matt says. Briefly Foggy wonders if Matt’s trying to start the negotiation, but he clarifies. “To see it.”

“Oh,” Foggy says, softly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Can you-” Matt puts his hands out, but not too far. “I don’t want to accidentally poke you in the eye.”

Foggy takes Matt’s wrists lightly between his thumbs and the first two fingers and brings them up to his hairline. All ten of Matt’s fingertips land gently on his skin. For a moment they don't move and then one hand slides up, gently combing gently through a few strands of Foggy’s hair.

“Oh,” Matt says, following a lock down and down. “You have long hair.”

Foggy laughs, a little nervous. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

“I like it,” Matt says easily.

It's ridiculous that such a tiny bit of praise causes a warm wash of heat down the back of Foggy’s neck. Foggy forces himself to stop smiling and relax again.

Matt continues exploring his face, but leaves the rest without comment. He traces the shape of Foggy’s forehead, and brushes his index finger over each of Foggy’s eyebrows. Fingers lightly resting on Foggy’s cheeks and temples, Matt runs his thumbs down either side of Foggy’s nose. It tickles a little, Foggy can’t help but blowing a puff of air out through his nostrils trying to head off a sneeze. Matt smiles, but doesn’t stop.

He swipes his finger tips down and back up Foggy’s cheeks, and everywhere he touches nerve endings light up and crackle under Foggy’s skin. Along Foggy’s jaw and chin Matt finds the facial hair. It’s a bit of a feeble beard if Foggy’s being honest, but he likes it. It throws people off guard, means they don’t always know what to make of him. Most alphas find it a turn off, too far from that ideal omega they’ve always dreamed about. If Matt likes or doesn’t like it he keeps it to himself.

He finds Foggy’s lips instead, one gentle index finger following the curve of his bottom lip up to the top one. Foggy’s mouth falls open, pulling in bigger and bigger gulps of air. His heat has gotten the signal that an alpha is so, so close and touching him, touching him reverently even, and decided it’s time. Right now. Foggy is sure his cheeks are flushed, and he knows for a fact that he’s starting to get wet.

Matt takes away one hand, laying it forgotten in his lap, but the other hand continues down, past Foggy’s chin until it comes to his neck. His fingers brush right where Foggy’s most sensitive, right where his scent would be strongest, where the mark of Matt’s teeth would mean a bond is formed.

Foggy swallows thickly. “Matt.” He means it maybe as a warning, maybe as a plea.

“I know,” Matt says, still touching Foggy’s neck. He sounds dazed.

His fingers curl around Foggy’s throat, gripping it very, very lightly. Foggy’s heart starts beating faster, he tries to steady his breathing to calm it down, but it’s off and running. There’s no stopping it.

“I can smell it,” Matt says, more to himself than to Foggy. “You getting ready.”

Then he seems to realize what he said, where his hand is.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says, fast and upset. He snatches his hand back, and where a moment ago Foggy had the heat of Matt’s palm he now feels a rush of cold air. He doesn’t like it. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“It’s okay,” Foggy says. ‘Just put your hands on me again,’ he doesn’t say.

“I didn’t think it would be this strong.” Matt doesn’t say that like it’s a good thing, and Foggy almost wants to apologize.

“It’s okay,” he says again, really meaning ‘don’t leave.’

Matt’s forehead creases as he’s struck with a thought, “We didn’t- we were supposed to.” He cuts himself off again and visibly collects himself, hand clenching into a fist against this leg and then releasing. When he speaks again it’s measured and serious. “What do you want?”

Foggy shakes his head, forgetting Matt can’t see that. “I can’t, uh, I’m not really able to answer that.” His ability to think is starting to short out, and trying to figure out what he wants just brings up a lot of short words. Alpha. You. More. Mate. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I just need you to-” Foggy can’t quite bring himself to say ‘fuck me.’ Not yet. “It’s fine. It’ll all be fine. Whatever you want to do.”

Foggy can’t believe those words just came out of his mouth -- his mother is going to be so pissed -- but he truly means them. If Matt wants to kiss him, Foggy wants to be kissed. If Matt wants to suck or bite bruises onto him, he wants to be marked. If Matt wants to knot him for the next two days straight, Foggy’s game. The only thing he’s not completely on board with is the idea of basically mating for life, but he finds he’s willing to be persuaded. That’s how bad it suddenly is.

Matt’s fist is still opening and closing on empty air. His mouth keeps opening and closing too, as he draws in deep breaths through his nose and exhales them in a rush past parted lips. He’s trying so hard to control himself. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“So don’t,” Foggy says.

He’s not quite capable of being as worried about it. Matt would have to try pretty hard to even manage hurting him right now anyway. Bullet point number three on the list of things changing in an omega’s body is the release of a potent cocktail of chemicals into the brain. They’re currently doing a fine job of suppressing Foggy’s ability to register things that are unhelpful to the mating instinct, like fear, pain, or common sense.

Matt still doesn’t reach out, and Foggy tries to wait him out, but he can’t. His mind keeps ringing the same bell, alpha, alpha, your alpha, make him want you, make him take you. Your alpha.

“Matt,” Foggy says and he discovers that he’s panting, each breath coming and in and out far too quickly. “Do whatever you do want to do, but please just do it.”

Matt’s shoulders drop, a little release of the tension holding him back, but apparently it takes him a second too long to reach out because Foggy moves right into pleading, “Please, I need- I really need you to.”

Foggy is dimly able to register that he should be mortified for saying that so soon -- he’s just minutes into his heat and already begging -- but he’s too busy being thrilled that Matt’s hand is coming up to his throat again to care. He leans against it, unabashedly eager, ready to be pushed down. Instead Matt use his gentle grip on Foggy’s neck to pull him forward, and oh, Matt does want to kiss which is amazing.

Matt moans, low and soft, when he licks into Foggy’s mouth, and Foggy shivers happily because his alpha likes him. Matt likes him. That’s good, Foggy thinks as he wraps his arms around Matt’s neck, that’s great. Matt locks his arm around Foggy’s waist, a strong, unyielding pressure that Foggy doesn’t think he could escape if he tried, and that’s even better.

Matt does nothing but kiss him for what feels like an incredibly long time, until Foggy’s mouth feels swollen and used. He’s rocking, too, desperately looking for something more exciting for his ass to be pressed against than a couch. He doesn’t want to be the one to pull away, if Matt wants to kiss him for hours Foggy should let him, but it feels like he can’t breathe.

He wrenches his face to the side, but Matt barely notices, just puts his face into Foggy’s neck and inhales.

“Matt,” he whines. “Please.”

But Matt only scents him, tip of his nose dragging down Foggy’s skin until it encounters his tee shirt. Matt grabs the fabric in both hands, pulling the neckline down so he can rub his face into the hollow of Foggy’s collarbone.

“Here,” Foggy says, managing with some effort to take his hands from Matt’s back and grab the hem of his shirt. “Let me just-”

He gets his shirt off with entirely no help from Matt. Not that Foggy has anything to compare it to but it’s a surprise how quickly Matt has gone non-verbal. Foggy can feel instinct directing him, loudly and emphatically, but still feels like he’s more or less in the driver’s seat of his body. Matt looks to be running on instinct alone, but that’s okay because Matt’s instinctive reaction to having more of Foggy’s skin available to him is to immediately push him down on the couch so he can spread Foggy out beneath him.

Foggy goes happily limp, throat completely bared and he knows he shouldn’t be so trusting but instinct’s shouting in his ear to do it. He wants you, let him have you. Matt inspects him using all his available senses. His fingers rub all over Foggy’s skin, sensitive enough to find the little constellation of moles Foggy has on his side. Matt actually tastes them, tip of the tongue touching the skin and when Foggy squirms, ticklish, Matt just holds him down until he’s done.

Moving on Matt slides his palms down Foggy’s stomach, fingers scrubbing down the trail of hair he finds there with interest. Foggy does suck in, he’s not proud of it but there’s believing in body positivity and there’s having sex with someone you’ve just met. Foggy anticipated this, knew the inspection would probably kick off all the insecurities he likes to swear up and down he doesn’t have. Alphas aren’t all that likely to reject a mate, not with their head good and thoroughly clouded by all the pheromones an omega can muster, but it can happen. Matt could theoretically at any time find something that would kill the desire to rut and leave Foggy completely soaked and gaping for nothing.

It’s a terrifying thought and Foggy has to bite his lips to keep from swearing up and down that he’ll be good, he’ll be so good. He’ll be perfect for Matt, just let him try.

And apparently Matt is willing to let him, because Matt's no longer scenting him but pulling at his pants, tugging them down his hips like he forgot how belts work. Instinct says he’s ready to go, to not care if he’s turned ass up and half clothed on a too small couch but that's not what perfect omegas do.

“Matt,” he croons, “Matt. Matt.” Matt raises his head up, looking more or less in the direction of Foggy’s mouth.

He tries to sit up, but Matt immediately boxes him in, tries to keep him down and on his back. Foggy just tucks his face into Matt's neck, waiting for him to relax again. “Matt, I want to see you. Will you let me?”

He tugs lightly at Matt's shirt, reminding Matt that he has clothes that maybe he'd want off. “Come on, Matt, let me.”

Matt seems to come back to himself, swallows and shakes his head. “You, uh. And the bed. There's a bed right?”

Foggy nods, face still against Matt's neck so he knows Matt can feel him doing it. When Foggy tries to stand up again, Matt lets him. When he guides Matt to stand next to the bed, he follows.

Foggy dawdles, not accomplishing much more than slipping off his shoes and socks in favor of just watching Matt strip off his clothes. Matt takes his sweater off first, and Foggy wonders if heats can cause hallucinations because Matt appears to be a fine fucking specimen. No longer hidden by baggy fabric it turns out his torso is a tight, compact bundle of muscle on top of more muscle, lightly covered in gorgeous brown hair that speaks to a deliciously high testosterone level. Foggy can practically hear his omega brain’s approval.

Then off come the jeans and underwear all in one go, and that's Matt's dick popping up from the elastic of his boxers. Foggy’s knees go a little weak and he actually feels himself getting even more wet, because that omega brain of his is acting like he just hit the jackpot. Instinct starts ringing that bell again and again, alpha, alpha, your alpha. With a beautiful alpha cock to fill him up.

Foggy could almost cry in relief.

He starts to basically tear off his pants before he remembers: condom, they should really have a condom. He turns around and moves to get one from the bag on the table, but taking an unexpected step away from Matt was maybe not the best move.

Matt grabs for him, scarily accurate considering he can't see where Foggy is. He gets his arms around Foggy’s waist and pulls him back, sudden and sharp, against his chest. Foggy gasps but he knows better than to struggle. He bares his neck again, instinct compelling him to do it before he can even think. Matt’s open mouth touches him there and Foggy can feel a faint, far off tremor of something like fear that Matt will mark him just as instinctively, but Matt just pants against his skin.

Eventually Matt's chest stops heaving and Foggy reaches back to pat his thigh. “I just need to get a condom. I'm not going anywhere. I don't want to go anywhere.”

“Sorry,” Matt says, still breathless. “This is just so… so much stronger than I thought it would be.”

Foggy’s not sure if it’s really fair to feel flattered, but he is. If Matt is given the chance to fill out a report card after this Foggy feels like he’s set for a slew of “Exceeds expectations.” A+ omega, would knot again.

God he hopes Matt wants to do this again.

“I can’t- I don’t. If you tried to leave,” Matt says. “Or if, if someone tried- tried to- to. I’d-” He’s stuttering, so upset by what the alpha in him apparently wants.

Foggy tilts his neck to the side even more, no fear of Matt’s hypothetical scenarios because he knows exactly what he’s going to do and it sure as hell isn’t leave. “I’m not going anywhere. I want it just as bad.”

Matt lets out a shuddering breath, right against the junction where Foggy’s neck meets his shoulder. “I don’t think you can. Not as much as… you’re all I can smell and I.”

Matt’s hands aren’t trying to trap him now but are back at Foggy’s jeans. Foggy’s eyes try to roll back at even the incidental contact they’re making with his erection through the denim. Instinct is definitely trying to take over the driver’s seat now, angry that Foggy keeps delaying when they need to get where they’re going right now, but he holds it together. “Condoms, Matt. Condoms.”

“Right. Yes.” He lets go of Foggy with obvious effort.

Foggy doesn’t make him wait long, he darts over to the coffee table and just grabs the whole bag. Matt keeps one hand out, fingers spread and reaching for him. The second they come into contact with Foggy’s hip again, Matt folds him right back into his arms. Foggy kisses Matt again, gives him something to think about while he holds the bag up behind Matt’s back, rifling through it until his fingers close on one condom wrapper. Then Foggy drops the bag, drops his last bit of common sense and lets Matt push him down on the bed.

Matt seems pretty damned excited about finally getting Foggy’s jeans off, tossing them down on the ground beside the bed like he hates them. Foggy’s pretty excited about it too, but also mortified to find he’s wet halfway down his thighs. His first impulse is to press them together, to hide it, but Matt’s fingers are there first. His legs fall open when Matt touches Foggy’s slick and follows the line of it up.

Up and up and Foggy’s saying, “Oh fuck,” before Matt’s fingers even push in. When they do, two fingers smoothly pushing past no resistance at all, he throws his head back and whines because he needs more, so much more. He could hold it together before when he was just wanting, but this is a tease and Foggy can’t handle that.

At Foggy’s whine Matt’s removes his fingers, which is terrible, but before Foggy even has a chance to beg he pushes in again with four.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Foggy groans, doing everything he can to grind his hips down on Matt’s fingers. Every part of him is yelling at him to get that, get that and get more.

“It’s good?” Matt asks, thrusting them in again, and a third time.

Foggy can’t stop the noises he’s making, a soft little ah each time Matt pushes them all the way in, but good is not the word. It feels amazing, but- “It’s not enough.”

Matt takes in a sharp breath, nostrils actually flaring. “You- you want more.” It’s not a question, just a soft little revelation.

“God yes,” Foggy agrees and Matt’s got one of Foggy’s knees up and back almost immediately.

It’s only luck really that Foggy’s hand clenches around the wrapper in it reminding Foggy about the condom. “Wait, wait,” he gasps.

Matt doesn’t so much stop as just tilt his hips so that his cock drags up Foggy’s thigh instead, hot soft skin slipping over the trace of slickness there. Foggy tears at the wrapper, fingers slipping numbly a few times before he just takes a corner in his teeth and pulls.

Foggy flips the rolled condom over and over, impatient and out of his mind and needing a stupidly clear indication of which way is up. He finally figures it out and reaches down, and Matt has enough presence of mind to still his hips and hold his heavy erection at the base so that Foggy can roll it down. Matt’s knot is already swelling, base of his cock just a little thicker than the rest. Foggy grips it, reveling that there’s a gap between his thumb and middle finger.

Goddamn.

Foggy uses that same grip to line Matt up and Matt doesn’t hesitate to drive forward.

“Goddamn,” Foggy says. From not enough to almost too much. He can’t breathe, it feels like Matt’s cock is driving the air out of his fucking lungs, but apparently he doesn’t need air because he’s still shoving his hips back, trying to take it all.

Matt must find his rocking a little counterproductive because he reaches between them and pins Foggy’s hips to the bed with nearly all his weight. To Foggy’s horror Matt starts to pull out and he panics at the momentary loss of fullness, clutching at Matt’s back, even digging his nails in desperately. He keens unhappily, “no, no, no,” but Matt doesn’t leave him empty. He thrusts forward, hard, and doesn’t stop until he’s seated completely.

The first breath Foggy takes after that is really more of a sob. It hurts so much, it feels so good. He’s got his alpha, his alpha has him. He’s not going to suffer his heat empty and wanting. Matt’s going to take care of him, and he’s going to take care of Matt.

“God,” Matt breathes. He drops his forehead to Foggy’s shoulder and fucks in again. It punches a little cry out of Foggy, makes him wrap his legs tight high up around Matt’s ribs.

Matt thrusts again, hitting even deeper because of the new angle of Foggy’s hips. It makes Foggy’s toes curl, but not as much as just hearing the way Matt groans his name. “Foggy.”

“Yes,” Foggy says through bared teeth. “Fuck that’s-” Another thrust, and this time there’s barely any pause between it and the next. Perfect.

Matt has a surprising amount of strength and he’s careless in the best way about it, driving into Foggy with an intensity that hitches him up the bed and doesn’t let him think. It was cute earlier, how overwhelmed Matt was, how difficult it’d been for him to think, to speak, but Foggy gets it now. There’s nothing left for him to worry about and both his right mind and his omega brain are in agreement about that. They take a holiday, and he gets happily lost in nothing but sensation, all his attention limited to the drag and impact of Matt’s thrusts.

He might have stayed lost in it if not for the fact that Matt’s knot starts to pull with every withdrawal. A sharp little tug each time that makes him want to grab Matt’s hips and hold him in. When Foggy shifts to do just that, a slight wiggle of the shoulders as he reaches, he realizes that Matt’s mouth is open and panting against his neck. Actually it’s hovering over right where a mark means a bond. A bite hard enough there would alter Foggy’s scent dramatically. For years. Make him smell claimed.

Foggy's a little horrified how completely okay he is with that. The mating instinct doesn’t give a damn that this is the first time. It just knows, or at the very least believes, that Matt’s a good choice. The list of reasons why that it can currently supply is a little suspect though, Matt smells good, he looks good, he’s got a knot and he’s giving it to Foggy in sharp, quick snaps of his hips. And he laughed at Foggy's jokes. That's another solid reason according at least according to Foggy's heat addled brain.

Not the strongest basis for mating for life, but Foggy’s almost convinced. The only thing that keeps him from tilting his head further and offering up his neck is the idea that when Matt’s no longer under the influence of Foggy’s apparently absolutely banging hormones he’ll be horrified they’re bonded. Foggy’s not aiming to be anyone’s mistake.

“Matt,” he means to say it softly, but it’s too well timed with one of Matt’s thrusts and it comes out as a yelp. “Matt,” he tries again and he puts tries to put his hands on either side of Matt’s face to gently push it somewhere a little less dangerous.

Matt must misinterpret it because the next thing Foggy knows his wrists are each caught in a tight grip and his hands are up over his head.

It has, at least, the desired effect of getting Matt to lift his head in order to get enough leverage to pin Foggy down. His mouth is no longer against his neck. It has, as well, the unexpected effect of absolutely turning Foggy on even more.

Matt looks upset though, brow lifted, teeth bared. If he thinks Foggy was trying to push him away that was probably the worst red alert signal he could get and it was right as he was fixing to tie them together.

So Foggy starts talking, struggles to form the words in between his gasps and moans. “It’s good, Matt, it’s so good. But I need it. I need your knot. I want it.” He’s babbling a lot of things that should be just flattery but are actually unquestionably true. “I need you. Need it. So fucking bad. So please give me- give it to me, Matt. ”

He’s tugging a little mercilessly on all of Matt’s alpha strings, but it must be working because Matt is completely entranced. If the alpha in Matt wanted to make Foggy his, Foggy can show him that it’s okay, it's already done. He’s already needy and supplicant beneath Matt, begging for his knot. Matt’s close, knot catching every time he pulls out and each press in is encountering resistance. Foggy’s frantic that they might miss the chance to link, and his legs wrap more tightly around Matt’s torso, willing him to just bury himself in Foggy and stay.

“Matt,” he hisses. “Matt.”

He panics through two final, frantic thrusts and then Matt’s spine curls into a sharp curve and he shouts like he just took an unexpected hit. His hips keep flexing hard like he can shove himself any further in but there isn’t any further to go. A second later Matt finally gasps for air like he’d been held under water this whole time and just breached the surface. The swell of his knot kicks off fabulous things in Foggy’s body, rewards him with a building pressure against his prostate and a flood of satisfaction. Every little hitch of Matt’s hips as he comes, and god he’s still coming, sends sparks up Foggy’s spine until he loses it, too. It’s completely different, coming while in heat. It’s dry for one thing and definitely originating from some place other than his dick. But good, it’s still so good, a relief more than a release. A second ago every muscle was burning, oxygen starved and tense, but now they’re shivering as each and every nerve gets its share of the same bright pleasure.

Foggy loosens his legs from Matt’s waist, lets them fall open against the bed. Matt’s catching his breath again, panting a little less rapidly. Something in his face changes, his eyes still don’t shift or focus, but when Matt blinks he seems a little more aware of his surroundings.

It's then he realizes he’s still holding Foggy’s hands down. “Shit.”

His weight is still braced against them so he has to let them go one at a time. He props himself up using just one arm and feels Foggy’s wrists with his free hand. “Your skin feels um, a little hot.”

Foggy glances over at one wrist lazily. A shadow of a bruise is forming faintly under his skin, a perfect bracelet all the way around. “Yeah, it’s bruising.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Matt says. It’s not exactly an apology and Foggy notices Matt’s fingers haven’t stopped rubbing over his wrist.

“Yeah well even so, I’m pretty into it.”

Matt lets out a relieved breath. The one arm holding up his weight is starting to shake, and Foggy takes his hand away from Matt’s inspection to rub it down Matt’s back and give a gentle push.

Matt doesn’t hesitate very long, but he does hesitate before finally letting himself down to lay across Foggy’s chest. A different position probably would have been a better bet than this considering they’ll be tied together for a long while yet. Foggy doesn’t mind it, though he is grateful now that Matt’s a little short for both a stormtrooper and an alpha, probably no more than an inch or two taller than Foggy. It means Matt’s weight spread over him is nice, more reassuring than stifling.

For several minutes, they’re just quiet. Matt’s fingers find Foggy’s wrist again and circle it, and Foggy’s other hand rests comfortably on at the base of Matt’s spine.

It’s Matt that speaks first. “I really didn’t expect it to be so, uh. I really thought I’d keep it together better.”

Foggy wonders if Matt even realizes he’d been in danger of bonding them together. He doesn’t mention it because even now he’s not entirely sure it would have been the wrong thing to do. “Pheromones are a powerful thing.”

Matt laughs, weakly. “Yeah, I think it’s even worse from me because my senses are so ah.” Though he’s cut himself off Matt hums like he’s said enough.

Foggy cocks his head, flipping through a bunch of words that might finish that sentence. What would a blind man’s senses be like? “Delicate?” he tries.

He thinks that doesn’t sound quite right, but Matt nods into Foggy’s shoulder. “Yeah, something like that. It was just more powerful than I expected.”

Horrifyingly Foggy is reminded again of Kathy. ‘You’re going to experience some powerful emotions. It’s completely natural and normal.’

So the warm, content feeling he has now is all biological. Natural and normal. Something any alpha and omega would feel after a successful coupling. Bonding has to be considered carefully for a reason, Foggy knows that. You can't trust a heat. Matt is one of a dozen possible alphas he could have been paired with, and it stands to reason Foggy could have felt this way about any of them. No matter how much he knows that intellectually he still can’t help but think it’s impossible that he would feel this way for anyone else. It’s even harder to believe that in two days he’s going to go from believing that Matt being his alpha is the best of all possible outcomes to being relieved that it didn’t happen.

It troubles Foggy for a moment, but then Matt moves his head just a little. Just enough of a shift that the tip of his nose touches the spot on Foggy’s neck where Foggy’s scent is strongest, where Matt could have left a mark but didn’t. Foggy breathes a little easier with Matt’s own breath brushing his neck with every exhale.

They remain tied for maybe half hour, and after that discover together just how hilariously gross handling a used alpha condom is. Matt blushes all the way down to his shoulders, and Foggy has to hide his face in a pillow to stop laughing. As embarrassment goes though it’s a pretty clean burn, leaving their stomachs hurting but their feelings bright and fond. They sleep, Matt’s fingers still circled around Foggy’s wrist, and wake up wrapped around each other like kittens. Albeit kittens with hard-ons.

Matt’s head is clearer the second time, everyone always says the first knot is always the most intense. The urge to bond is supposed to lessen with each time, especially when Foggy’s hormones start their decline. Matt still wants to kiss though, to Foggy’s incredible relief. And he still wants to kiss for an unnecessarily long time, to Foggy’s delighted frustration.

Matt’s also more curious, feeling around Foggy’s body even more carefully than when he had a biological imperative to do so. He even touches Foggy’s cock, cupping it, slipping over it in gentle strokes. Foggy didn’t expect that, most alphas think of a male omegas cock as vestigial. It’s not at all the case although it doesn’t play any part in mating with an alpha. So while Foggy’s cock may not have a real role in his heat it’s still plenty excited to be invited to the party.

When it’s time they’re both prescient enough to think of the condom before Foggy rolls over. As before, the second Foggy gets even a hint of Matt’s knot he’s shameless for it, ass lifted up and keening. As before, Matt leaves a mark, two perfect half moon imprints of his teeth on Foggy’s shoulder. He’s just as fascinated with that one as he is the bruises around Foggy’s wrist.

They fuck, sleep, or munch on cold, crisp apples as they lay in bed debating things like whether taking Punjabi is a good life choice or if there’s such a thing as “activist judges” when they’re not doing either. Foggy’s heat starts to dissipate, but whether due to instinct or will, he makes sure to rally Matt one last time.

It’s slow, both of them are exhausted. Foggy can feel the pain his heat has been keeping at bay pressing in around the edges of his pleasure. The stretch of Matt's cock burns more, and his body finds a way to ache even while it feels so good. Matt’s strength is failing him too, they finally found the bottom of that well, but Foggy pleads and praises him through it.

Foggy imagines this last knot feels like crossing the finish line of a marathon. Not that he has much of an idea what that feels like and he has no plans to find out. But it seems like it would be both sweet and painful, a simultaneous accomplishment and a letdown. Matt sucks a mark onto Foggy’s neck this time, high up just under the corner of his jaw. They fall asleep still locked together.

When Foggy wakes up it’s to a phone ringing. It’s especially a surprise considering at no point did he ever process that there was a phone in this room.

Foggy’s body is basically just a mess of marks and stretched, overused muscles all wrapped up in a bone deep tiredness. He’d really rather go back to sleep but the phone keeps ringing and the only way to stop the damn phone from ringing is to pick it up. At least it’s near the bed.

He sits up and grabs it, more or less managing to say the word, “Hello?”

Matt, now also awake, slips out of the bed and feels his way toward the bathroom to deal with the condom. He’d learned the layout of the room pretty quickly considering.

“Franklin, this is Kathy.” Foggy makes a face into the receiver. “It’s been forty-eight hours and I need to know if your heat has passed.”

“Um,” Foggy knows the honest answer and it is not the answer he wants to give.

“Because I’ll need to inform your professors if you’ll be missing another day of classes.”

From the mention of classes Foggy jumps right to his midterms and the realization that he can’t put that off. He didn’t go through all the trouble of getting into Columbia to end up being the cliche of the omega who can’t keep on top of his grades because of his cycle. “Yeah, no.” He sighs. “No, it’s passed. I need to take a shower and go to my room but uh, yeah I can make it to class.”

“Wonderful,” Kathy says. “I’ll call again in half an hour just to check in. After your exit counseling session, you’ll be free to leave. You’ll need to contact each professor to arrange for copies of notes and assignments.”

The thought of spending time again with Kathy leaves such a bad taste in his mouth that Foggy sticks out his tongue. Then he clears his throat, “Great. Great. I’ll tell Matt.”

Matt is already waiting at the door of the bathroom. There’s a towel around his waist, a show of modesty he hasn’t bothered with since they first undressed. Foggy sighs again, it begins. It’s completely insane but now they're supposed to just fall back on politeness because all that before was just heat.

“Kathy was checking in on us. It’s uh, time to get back to the real world.”

Matt nods. “Did you want the first shower?”

“No man, it’s fine you can go ahead. Just let me uh,” he pads across the floor quickly to grab the robe on the other side of the door. Matt leans back to let Foggy reach in, but not so far that Foggy’s shoulder doesn’t brush his chest.

So that’s something at least. He's not sure he could have handled it if Matt acted like they shouldn't touch.

While Matt showers Foggy sits on the couch in his robe, reviewing each of the marks he can see or find by touch. There’s a place where he can see the shape of Matt’s fingertips clearly outlined, three of them on his hip. A lot won't be visible but between the fading bruises on his wrists and the mark on his neck, there isn’t going to be a single person Foggy talks to for the next few days that won’t be able to immediately figure out why Foggy disappeared. Foggy finds the idea doesn’t bother him.

Matt finishes his shower and Foggy switches places with him. He spends the whole time under the spray of water trying to shape himself back into what he was before, a regular person. Foggy Nelson, lover of musical theater, eighties action flicks, and bagels. Foggy Nelson, underwhelming omega with exhausting radical gender politics. Brushing his teeth and putting on his clothes, jeans, t-shirt and plaid, completes the job.

When he opens the bathroom he expects Matt to be gone. He’s not though, he’s standing next to the door, cane in hand, waiting.

“I’d like to um. I mean, we’re both pre-law and uh,” Matt shrugs. “It kind of makes sense that we should maybe do like a study group?”

Foggy feels a grin slowly lifting up his cheeks. “Yeah, that’d be awesome actually.”

It’s not exactly a bonding proposal, but it’s significant. Friendships between alphas and omegas are not unheard of but they are a little uncommon. The scent of another alpha on an omega can fuss with the usual laws of attraction, but Foggy’s going on suppressants anyway. Even though in a lot of ways two days of non-stop sex is the best thing to ever happen to Foggy -- he’s going to be thinking of this often and probably every time he’s in the shower -- he just can’t have it interfering with school again.

And he’d rather not have it interfering with the opportunity to get to know Matt as a regular person. “Do you know a good place to get a cup of coffee on campus?”

“No,” is Matt's honest answer.

“Well, lucky for you, I do. We could meet there to study, it’d be more fun than the library.”

“Yeah," Matt says. "Friday?"

Heart pounding away happily in his chest, Foggy agrees.