alright fuckos my animal kingdom omegaverse fic just hit 3k words so here's a cheeky excerpt of omega pope cody in his MMA fighter era 🥰
His knuckles are bloody. They're always bloody, now that Lena’s gone. There's blood in his teeth, his hair, smeared across his stomach. The ache comes later, he knows, but right now he can't feel anything. He's a closed fist. A locked box of anger sprung open.
The alpha's fist catches him in the cheek, a blow hard enough to send him off-balance. Dazed, the plastic guard slips from his mouth, a string of pink saliva trailing after it. Before he can lift his head back up, the alpha collides into him, a wall of muscle that sends him crashing onto the mat.
Winded, he tries for a clumsy right hook. The alpha catches his fist, redirects, pushes it down against his chest and pins it between their bodies. He tries again with his left, gets his wrist seized in a bruising grip, his arm popping in its socket as it's pulled taut across the mat.
His body strains against the alpha's grip, trying to get a knee between them both, diaphragm still rabbiting in his throat. The alpha on top of him pants into his face, his breath hot and stinking of cheap vodka. The alpha's cock, blood-heavy in his shorts, presses against his bare thigh.
He bares his teeth. The alpha grins back, spits a wad of bloody foam into his mouth. He snarls, lunges forward, gets his teeth into the meat of the alpha’s throat and clamps down.
The alpha's spit is in his throat, his scream is in his ears. The alpha reels backwards like it's been pulled by an invisible string and he follows, he follows, the alpha's blood in his mouth, the alpha's hands gouging at his ribs, the referee trying to pull them apart but he won't let go, not until the sharp spike of terror finds his nose, until the alpha's cock has wilted against his thigh.
A chunk of flesh gives way as the referee and two others prise him off. He spits it onto the alpha's broad chest, works his jaw. He gets his feet under him, shrugs off the hands still tugging at his shoulders.
The alpha scrambles backwards in a one-handed crawl, the other pressed to the sluggish pulse of skin and muscle. His temple pulses in mock sympathy, a tingling warmth the precursor to swelling and a mottled bruise. The crowd is quiet, a held breath. The alpha's eyes are still on him, wide and wet.
The referee finds his wrist with a trembling hand, brings his arm up. The crowd breaks. The blood rushes in his ears. It roars.
