Valentino
Valentino would be lying if he said that he did not spend most of his nights dreaming about dick. Rue's dick to be fucking clear. He'd spent years drooling over the thing, engorged between his toes—the ever-elusive member.
He'd dreamt of it the way a fan would—hooking thumbs on boxers, the shadow of a ruddy red shaft over his eyes, followed by the hot, wet smack of its head on his cheek, sticky from love. The purple head mushed against his pout, pulling his bottom lip, kissing his front teeth with spiderweb cum. He wanted to swallow down everything that Rue could give him; he wanted to be knotted and fucked like a whore with his body pressed to the counter and his prostate bullied to cum.
Valentino had no shame in his wants. He did not hide his desires the way others would. Because from the moment he met Rue, Valentino had wanted to be used. He had wanted to choke on Rue's pleasure, throat clenching over steaming eye-watering girth, and drink from the one he loved.
Eros were the people of love. And it hurt to be denied love from the one person he needed the most in the world.
But he'd jumped awake to the ghost of a different type of salty, sweet tang on his tongue, with a craving like no other hot in his throat. He had salivated, dripping with arousal, sticky and wet down his thigh from a wet dream that felt too real. A knot threatening to form on his cock.
Because the dream was real.
He wasn't lying when he said that Eros could crawl into the dreams of their lover. It was all pretty aftercare for aliens of his species. And it was a way to find compatible mates — to streak thick creamy cum over the skin, allow it to meander over the groves of spine, streak and absorb into lush skin as they both dozed into slumber. And then the two (or the group) would find themselves in hazy dreams for another round of fantasy sex or cuddling and sappy aftercare.
It happened twice with Altair. Once with the pack. Valentino reckoned it'd happen with Rue, and it did. Rue had allowed him entrance with his cum crystallised on her finger. And it was Rue who'd given him that permission to see her truth. Her soul had coaxed him in, had wanted him there, nosing at fake cock and then showing him her secrets with fingers in his hair.
Valentino had woken tingling for pussy, for a hole dripping with spice, for a rosebud button clit and honey-soft, fat pussy folds. And he had been so fucking close, so close to sticking his tongue out to caress blossoming sugar.
Rue was female.
His tails had almost materialised from their ghosts, brimming with the need to pleasure her, to fill her, to sate her. And he trembled in his bed, eyes locked on the door, wanting nothing more than to storm into her room and question her. It explained too much; it explained everything. His true mate had rejected him because she was afraid and needed his protection.
Like some sick, twisted play, his true mate was pretending to be an Alpha.
And that had stopped him from acting out, from running to her room and questioning her. Because Gods he didn't know what his pack would do if they knew. He didn't know if they'd kill her, fuck her, or take her from him and bury her on a planet he did not know of. His rage had grown then, simmered into a quiet boil of patience and confusion.
He'd spent hours huddled in his bed all morning, deep in thought.
"Rue's so fucking hot," Altair moaned, distracting him from his wants. The alien was plastered on the desk, unknowing of what traversed Valentino's mind. "If he weren't so goddamn sexy, I wouldn't be sitting here listening to this boring shit when I could be passed out between your fat fucking thighs."
Altair was just as obsessed with Rue once he'd embraced his true feelings and her words scribbled around his rim. Gone was talk of Rue's ugly mug and her skinny, twig-like figure. There was a general acceptance now that thin lanky Rue was hot. And her lack of buccal fat, sharp jawline and clear eyes gave a bad boy image that fit her tiger-like personality.
She was a skinny little pretty boy, one far more effeminate than Altair but could beat him to a pulp. And now knowing the truth, Valentino wondered how the fuck had he not seen the girl in Rue.
Halcyon filled his vision then, lips drawn tight, eyes deepened into a squint he shot at Altair. "The next person I'm going to fuck will never be you." The sneer was nasty, at odds with the adorable quiver of his features. He pulled the sweet little bunny rabbit look off when in Rue's presence. But with his mates? Halcyon was a rude little shit. "After the fuck fest you fuckers led me into, I'm washing my hands clean until I've gotten Rue to fuck me."
Valentino winced at that, an errant glance towards Altair, and he found his mate glaring. Their bond trembled, hissing in his mind. His boys were riled up and horny, and the energy vibrated through their souls like fire. "Not my fault, bitch. You wanted to play a nice little boy when we all know you're a mean motherfucker."
"That was the real me," Halcyon declared with a puffed chest like a proud, horny pigeon. "Only for Rue."
"Like how this writing is all for Rue?" Altair raised a brow, fingers swept over notes that were far too meticulous and detailed for Halcyon. He was the type to write two words for a four-hour lecture, and then fill the rest of the page with drawings of naked Rue. Ones that the three poured over for hours because Halcyon was fucking amazing at art. And no one could pass on nude Rue.
"Brownie points for being studious and sweet," Halcyon answered with a shrug, still listening to the professor, pen scratching over the surface. "You never know, he might like me more if I give him these notes." And that seemed to piss Altair off because his tentacles reared like a scorpion's tail.
"You don't even open your books in our classes, you fucker." Altair snorted.
"We'll see who gets fucked first," Halcyon smiled back, impish, adorable. "You or me."
"Fuck you!" Altair snarled, the growl so loud that it echoed across the hall, boiling with his aura and twisting the air into lung-choking pressure.
But the professor continued speaking louder this time, with sweat beading on his brow because there was no way he could reprimand the future emperors of the universe. Altair blushed, and sank into his seat with a sniff, fingers batting at Rue's devices. His digits caressed pens with a tenderness that was unlike his demeanour.
"I'll think of something," Altair mumbled, then gasped. "Food. I'll buy all his meals."
"Rue does not care for that," Halcyon shrugged as if he tried it himself.
"He's dead broke, remember? Wanted all those instant packs that I paid with my card."
"It was for us." Halcyon pointed out, a fist on his chest. "Our breakfast."
Altair snorted.
"Besides, he's peasant, but not fucking starving," Halcyon said, scowl deepening between his brows. "I've offered in the past. He said no."
"Maybe he rejected you because he doesn't like you."
This had a snarl rippling from Halcyon. Or maybe, Rue couldn't trust Halcyon because he was Alpha.
Perhaps Rue was skipping meals, eating less from the stress of being in a dangerous position. Perhaps, under all that illusion…There was more. Valentino squeezed his thighs together when a jolt of pleasure stirred between his legs and rose, hard, long and rigid. Suddenly, his obsession spun, pinned to a need to feed Rue.
"Val, where is he?" Halcyon asked, turning his attention back to Valentino with wide Bambi eyes. He was so unlike the spitting mad animal that he was just moments ago. And Valentino wondered then if his Rut was close.
"Bathroom," Valentino answered three beats later, sliding into his seat with a scowl. Device turned on, he began ruminating over the same problem he'd struggled to solve all night.
Valentino fucking hated Omegas. They were always all over his dick, begging for his cum, wanting nothing but his bloodline. They were perfume clouds, slathered in slick and always like pigs.
His father had shown him their Omegas. The set of them in their pretty cages, decked in jewellery and with crazy eyes. Omegas were for lesser beings that needed the heat of biology. The beings that did not hunger for power and knowledge the way his people did. The beings that did not mate with like-minded individuals of equivalent strength.
Omegas were merely supplements to a pack. They were animals that did not think. His mother was a fucking pig in a pigsty, tongue lolling out and always begging. If Valentino wanted to be a little more scientific with his explanation. Then the truth was that for planets that dipped to a single digit, Omegas could not withstand the sheer strength of Alphas. They could not guide them, and they could not sate them.
And for his planet, Omegas simply couldn't withstand the magic of their bodies. Like oil to the fire, Omegas lost their minds with an eros' touch, an eros' taste, and an eros' aphrodisiac. His mother had lost her fucking mind once his father had fucked her. She'd been reduced to nothing but a wanton begging mess for years.
Omegas were merely used for breeding.