Not everyone has three different sets of mating bites.

Yeah, all of your dorm rooms reek of pheromones. Four D1 athletes together? What do they expect?

"I'm fucking zonked." Tashi groans, nuzzling into the nape of your neck. Art is nestled comfortably on top of Patrick, his chin on the planes of his fuzzy chest, though the omega is tugging on your fingers, playing with them idly. He's splayed out over the top of all of you, apparently content despite the sweaty, post-training state of four athletes. Patrick is beside you, leaning against the headboard, one arm pulled up over his head and the other lazily playing with Art's blonde locks. "Fuckin' tell me about it." He yawns.

Patrick and Art's dorm always stinks of alpha. Mainly because Patrick hasn't ever felt the need to hold back on his pheromones—not around Art, at least, and they've been bonded since they were what? Fourteen? Tashi has more tact, though frankly, she Ieaks alpha like an aquaduct. You don't exactly mind either; they're your mates, after all (it tugs at the pits of your stomach), but you are grateful for Art acting as the denominator—his sweetness somewhat refreshing amidst the humidity of it all. You're the same, for him.

"It's hot." Art grumbles, and squirms a little. You're inclined to agree, though your attempt at moving up to open the window is stopped by Tashi's low, petulant growl of protest against your jaw. Patrick coos, his smirk wide. "Aw, poor lil’ pup." arm simply wresting tighter against him, and Art whines. Tashi hooks a calf over his shoulder—keeping him there. She wants her mates, after all. "This is hot? Please. We can show you hot, baby." She drawls, though its lacking its usual bite. She's bone-tired, and frankly, is just fine with not moving for the foreseeable afternoon. She breathes in your scent, calming. She was riled up after that match, Sally fucking Stevenson can dive off a ditch, for all she cares.