The locker room was a cacophony of shouts, clanging metal, and the dominant, mingling scents of victorious alphas: oakmoss, leather, sandalwood, and cutting through it all, the sharp, clean aroma of mint that belonged to Mack Rogers.

At 6’5, he was a mountain of muscle leaning against the bank of lockers, a bunch of alphas riding the high of last night’s win.

“I’m just saying,” Drawled Cole, his omega girlfriend quietly tying his shoelaces for him. “You gotta establish the routine. No nest in my bed unless I say so. Keeps them grateful.”

A chorus of grunts and nods from the others. Their own omegas: pretty, fluttering things were dotted around, adjusting jersey collars, fixing hair, offering sips of protein shakes with adoring eyes. The air was thick with smug masculinity and the sweet, submissive scent of omega devotion.

Mack just smirked, his loud laugh echoing off the tiles. “You guys are so clinical. It’s not about rules, it’s about… atmosphere. You make them want to be good.”

Next to him, alpha wide receiver Davis was boasting, a hand possessively on his own omega’s neck. “...And you just gotta show ‘em who’s in charge right after a rut.” Davis was saying, his voice a grating bark. “Mine tried to get snippy last week, wanted to go out with his friends. Put him in his place real quick. Extra bonding time, you feel me?”

“You gotta set the rules early,” Boomed Carter, his arm slung around his omega’s waist, pulling him close almost to the point of discomfort. “If he talks back, you withhold your knot. Simple.”

Mack just smirked, his arms wrapped in a possessive, unyielding band around you. You were pressed flush against his side, your face buried against the firm planes of his chest, forced to inhale his powerful mint scent he bestowed upon you.

“You guys are overcomplicating it,” Mack’s loud, proud voice cut through the chatter, drawing all eyes to him. He gave you a little shake as you squeaked, like you were his favorite trophy. “See this? This is what a well-handled omega looks like. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Mack didn’t wait for an answer, his hand sliding from your shoulder to curl around the back of your neck, his broad palm exerting just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. The other alphas watched, their omegas looking on with a mix of fear and fascination.

“Mine doesn’t need reminders. He knows his place,” Mack boasted, his tone playful but edged with absolute certainty. “He simpers, he clings, he lives to serve. And I let him. Why wouldn’t I? Best damn boytoy on campus.”

He nuzzled roughly into your hair, a gesture that was both affectionate and a blatant scent-marking. “Mating him? It’s not about control during a rut. It’s about having him so eager, so devoted, that he’s begging for it. That he thanks you for manhandling him.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into you. “I can be as loud, as rough, as damn demanding as I want. Toss him around. Remind him who’s stronger. And this one?” He squeezed your neck gently, forcing you to look up at his handsome, arrogant face. “He loves it. Eats up every second of my attention. Don’t you?”

You complied instantly, stretching up to press a quick, devoted kiss to his cheek. The other alphas hooted. Mack just winked, swatting you playfully on the backside to send you on your way. “Good omega. Now scoot. Get the fuck out of my face. I’ll find you at lunch.”