Archive of Our Own

When Matt feels eyes on him from all the way across the bar, he already knows that his night is going nowhere good.

He tries to ignore it at first. The bartender returns with the two shots he ordered; one for him, one for John. Matt's about to head back to their booth with drinks in hand when he looks a little too far to the right, and a pair of familiar eyes meet his.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why does his ex have to be here?

Matt curses himself mentally for making eye contact– now there's no way he can pretend not to see him. He actually does swear out loud at the realization that yep, Bryce is coming towards him now. 

Just what I fucking needed, he thinks bitterly, and downs his shot. After a moment of consideration, he knocks back John's too. God knows he's gonna need it.

Matt clenches his jaw as Bryce leans against the bar at his side, that stupid slimy smirk on his face.

“I thought that was you,” he says. “Been a while, hasn't it?”

“Yeah, not interested,” Matt replies bluntly. He signals the bartender for another shot. The bartender rolls his eyes, but walks off to pour it anyway. Matt shoots Bryce an irritated glare out of the corner of his eye, scent oozing with displeasure. “Fuck off.” 

Bryce pauses. Then he steps closer, and the hairs on the back of Matt's neck stand on end.

“Come on,” he drawls. “Don't be like that."

His hand reaches for Matt, who smacks it away. Bryce tuts and shakes his head.

“You've lost your manners.”

“You’re gonna lose a lot more if you don't take the goddamn hint,” Matt hisses. Bryce, the bastard, laughs.

“We didn't leave off that badly, did we?”

“Did you hit your head on something? Yes, we did.”

Bryce sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He's leaning so close Matt can feel his body heat. Matt does his best to inch away without drawing Bryce's attention.

“Oh, but it's been such a long time. Maybe I forgot.” 

His hand wraps around Matt's arm, and Matt freezes.

“We should catch up,” Bryce murmurs in his ear. Matt tries to pull his arm free, but Bryce holds strong. Matt bares his teeth.

“I'm gonna give you one chance to let go,” he says. “Just the one.”

Bryce, surely feeling how tense Matt is under his fingers, smirks. Maybe he mistakes the tension for fear.

“And why would I do that?”

A twitch of Matt’s arm is the only outward sign of just how badly he wants to slam the fucker's head into the countertop.

“Because if you don't, I'm gonna rip your fucking throat out.”

For a long moment, Bryce pauses. His eyes trail down to Matt’s hand clenched around the edge of the bar, so tight that the knuckles have gone white.

“No, you won't,” he says, finally. “You wouldn't want to cause a scene, would you?”

Despite the situation, the fear and nerves buzzing under his skin, Matt grins. It's all teeth. Bryce recoils, just a bit. 

“It's been a long time, Bryce,” he says. “You don't know who I am now.”

Another long pause.

“You wouldn't,” Bryce says. “Not in public.” It almost sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

“Try me.”

Bryce's grip tightens suddenly, searching for the pressure point in Matt’s arm. The one he used to use whenever Matt talked back, the one that made his stomach drop and legs turn to jelly–

Matt strikes.

His first hit breaks Bryce's nose. The second slams into his gut.

The fight is quick, but brutal. Bryce slams Matt bodily into the bar, the edge of the counter biting into his back. Matt jerks his knee up into Bryce’s gut. He staggers back, losing his grip on Matt’s collar, and Matt swings hard into his ribs. Bystanders start to shout as they continue to trade blows; for every hit Bryce gets in, Matt lands two more. Each punch feels like it’s powered by a jet engine, years of anger and retribution spilling out all at once. It’s been ages since he last got into a fight. Matt had almost forgotten how good it could feel. 

A fist catches him in the temple, and stars explode behind his eyes. Matt stumbles, back hitting the bar. Bryce swings again. Matt shoves his arm upwards before it can connect, then kicks out Bryce’s knee. He goes down, and Matt’s next hit catches him hard in the eye. While he’s still reeling, Matt seizes his collar to hiss in his ear.

“How’s it feel being on the other side, fucker?” 

Bryce growls and pushes out domineering pheromones. Matt has half a mind to laugh; does he really think that’ll work? Instead, he bares his teeth and tosses Bryce back to the ground. His chest heaves, half exertion and half rage. His knuckles sting. Blood drips on the floor.

“You should’ve left me alone,” Matt says and reels back his fist one more time.

Arms wrap around him from behind, pinning his left arm down to his side. Matt snarls and throws an elbow backward, but a hand catches his wrist and soon his right arm is pinned too. He tries whipping his head around to bite whoever has grabbed hold of him, but he can't get a good angle. He feels the person shift, breath hitting his ear as they shout his name. Matt slams his head backward into their face. It's only after he hears the familiar voice curse in pain that he realizes it's Grizzy. A flash of guilt hits him, but it's quickly drowned out by the rage still running hot in his veins.

“Calm the fuck down, Matt!”

They're moving– Grizzy’s dragging him backwards, away from the bloody form of Bryce who is just starting to get to his feet. Impossibly, the wildfire of Matt's rage grows brighter.

“Get the fuck off me,” he growls, thrashing so hard that Grizzy stumbles. His heel slams hard into his shin, earning a grunt but no slack in his grip. “Let go, Grizzy! I'm not fucking done!”

“You're gonna fucking kill him, Matt!”

Blood drips into Matt's eyes from somewhere in his hairline. He's dimly aware his nose is bleeding too, but that fact quickly takes a backseat as Bryce finally stands and pins him with a glare that, years ago, would've rooted him to the spot. Now, the snarl Matt lets out in response is angry enough to make even the bystanders flinch. Go ahead, it says. Try it. See what happens.

“You bitch,” Bryce spits. “You fucking bitch–”

He steps forward. Matt feels Grizzy’s arms tense around him, the shift of his weight as he prepares to put some distance between them. Matt can feel the hint of a growl building in the beta’s chest. Matt knows he can't get free, he's no match for Grizzy’s strength, but he has no doubt that Grizzy will set him loose if Bryce gets too close. Matt hopes he tries it. He wants him to.

But neither of those things happen. Instead a lithe, familiar form steps into Bryce's path and stops him right in his tracks.

“Leave,” John says. “Now.” His voice is colder than ice. Bryce tries to force his way past, but John shoves him back hard enough to make him pause. Matt watches as Bryce sizes up the other alpha and decides– foolishly– that he’s the stronger one. 

He’s not the first person to make that mistake.

“Stay out of it,” Bryce says. “This is our business, not yours.”

“You want some more, motherfucker?” Matt snaps. “I didn't hear no fuckin’ bell! Come on, John, let him have it if he wants it so bad!”

Grizzy’s arms tighten around him.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he says. “I'll choke you out if I have to, man. Don't make me do it.”

“Quiet,” John says, the word as sharp as a knife. Even the voices of the bystanders falter. He turns, just enough to make eye contact.

“Matt. Enough.”

The adrenaline and rage still hasn't left his system. The growl slips out before he realizes. John flashes his fangs, a silent command to stand down. It only takes a few tense moments for Matt to concede, ducking his head slightly.

Bryce laughs then, sudden and sharp.

“So you're the one who holds his leash now.”

John's glare snaps back to him so fast that some of the onlookers flinch.

“If you know what's good for you, you'll stop talking.” John's tone has gone dangerously low. Murmurs ripple through the crowd, eyes darting between the two alphas and Matt. Matt's vaguely aware of Puffer stepping in front of him, shielding him from the stares.

Bryce was always more mouth than brains. Clearly, not much has changed.

“That's good.” He leans in, as if sharing a secret. “He needs someone to show him his place. You know how he is, you get it.”

John moves as quick as a snake. Bryce's head snaps backwards, blood spraying from his lips. John seizes a fistful of his shirt and drags him to the door, the crowd parting like the Red Sea. John throws him outside and Bryce lands on his ass, mouth agape.

“You've got a lot of fucking nerve,” Bryce snarls, standing up, but John doesn't flinch. He holds up a fist, glittering with bloodstained silver, and Bryce hesitates.

“Rings hurt, don't they?” John asks. A hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

Fuck, that's hot, Matt thinks.

Bryce bristles and moves forward, trying once again to push past him, but John shoves him back with such force that he nearly topples over. He radiates a sense of calm, quiet danger, one that always throws off the pushy alphas that mistake his slight frame and mild scent for that of a beta. There’s not a hint of fear– if another fight breaks out, John already knows he’ll win.

Judging by the trepidation dawning on Bryce’s face, he’s starting to realize that too.

“You either walk out of here now, or leave in an ambulance,” John says. “Your choice.”

For a long moment, Bryce just stands there seething. Weighing his odds. Then finally he turns, spits a glob of blood onto the sidewalk, and walks away.

John doesn't move from the doorway. He watches like a hawk until Bryce turns the corner and vanishes. Then he snaps into motion suddenly, as if time had frozen and just restarted. The crowd scrambles out of the way as he turns and makes his way back inside to rejoin his pack.

“Show's over,” he announces loudly. “Everyone fuck off.”

The onlookers begin to disperse, taking care to keep a safe distance from John. 

“That was the hottest thing I've ever seen,” Matt blurts out the moment John reaches them. 

“Seconded,” Puffer says. John huffs out a laugh.

“Glad you liked it.”

Then his fingers are probing at Matt’s bloody hairline. Matt winces and tries to squirm away, but Grizzy’s still holding him tight.

“I'm fine,” he insists. His next words are directed behind him. “You ever gonna let me go, Gribby?”

“Depends,” Grizzy replies. “You done getting into trouble?”

“He started it.”

“Stop moving,” John interrupts. Matt complies begrudgingly. “He got you pretty good up here. You dizzy at all?”

“Nah. Just hurts.”

“Hm. Small mercies.” John tilts his head minutely, eyes going over Matt's shoulder, and moments later Grizzy releases him. Puffer appears and presses a handful of napkins into Matt’s hands. 

“Your nose is still bleeding,” he says. Another wad of napkins finds its way into Grizzy’s hands. “Yours too.”

Matt cringes as Grizzy begins to clean the blood off his face.

“Sorry about that,” he says. Grizzy waves him off.

“No big deal. I've gotten worse from Pezzy. That fucker can bite.”

John clears his throat, getting their attention. 

“I think it's about time we headed home,” he says. “I’d love to believe you when you say you’re fine, but I’m not gonna count on it until we get a better look at that head wound.” He begins herding them towards the door. “C’mon. Let's get out of here before someone calls the cops.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Rectrixx's shout can probably be heard halfway down the block. He seizes Matt's arm and drags him inside, tilting his head side to side and hissing at his injuries. Matt can't help but laugh. 

“It's not that bad, Rec.”

“You're covered in blood!” As the others make their way inside, Rectrixx's attention snaps to them. His eyes find Grizzy’s bloody nose, then the red spots on John's rings.

“Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me. You too?”

John shrugs with a lopsided smile. Rectrixx sighs and beckons them over to the living room. Matt finds himself promptly forced onto the couch, Rectrixx ignoring his insistence that he's “fine, really, it's not as bad as it looks, I just want to go to bed.”

“Smitty!” Rectrixx shouts up the stairs. “Bring the medkit!”

Matt groans, a hand dragging over his eyes. “Please, no. Don't summon him.”

“Too late. Sorry,” Rectrixx replies, not sounding very apologetic. 

Smitty appears at the landing, leaning over the railing. His eyes widen at the sight of them, and Matt can smell the spike in protective pheromones almost instantly.

“Jesus, Matt!” He vanishes, then thunders down the steps with the kit in hand. “I thought you were going to the bar! The fuck happened?” 

“Bar sucked,” Matt says.

“Matt got into a fight,” Puffer adds.

Smitty’s head snaps towards Matt so sharply, he's surprised he doesn't hear a crack. Matt throws his hands up hurriedly.

“Hey, hey, it was a worthwhile fight. It was Bryce.”

Instantly, Smitty’s scent sours. He plants himself on the couch next to Matt, one leg draped over Matt's lap as he takes a closer look at his head wound.

“Ugh. The hell is he doing here?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Matt hears the kit pop open, then an alcohol pad presses against the cut on his head. Matt hisses and recoils from the sting, shooting a half-hearted glare at the culprit. Smitty responds by climbing all the way into Matt's lap and pushing his head back against the couch with one hand while the other continues cleaning the wound. Matt lets out a discontented grumble, but the calming pheromones oozing off Smitty in waves are enough to settle him down.

“So are you gonna explain for the rest of us who Bryce is?” Rectrixx asks as he begins examining Matt's bloody knuckles.

“...My ex,” he replies. Smitty’s scent dips into sour tones again. “Stop it Smitty, you're stinking up the whole room.”

“I can't help it, dude. Just hearing his name pisses me off.”

“Well I've got great news for you: I beat the fuck outta him tonight.”

Smitty grins. “About damn time.”

“Sounds like the kind of guy I should’ve hit more than once,” John says, emerging from the bathroom with rings freshly cleaned of blood. He takes a seat on the other end of the couch, leaving plenty of room for Smitty and Rectrixx to work.

“You probably would’ve broken his jaw,” Puffer says.

“Good,” Smitty replies instantly. “Then he’d shut the fuck up for once.”

“Talking shit is why John hit him in the first place,” Matt says. Smitty plasters a bandage over the cut on his forehead then finally releases his hold, though he keeps his weight firmly planted in Matt’s lap. “I’m not gonna run away, you know. You don’t gotta hold me captive.”

“Nice try, pal. You’re not going anywhere til we’re finished.” Smitty puts his hands on his hips, then frowns. “What did he say?”

Matt avoids his eyes, choosing instead to watch as Rectrixx wraps gauze around his split knuckles.

“Just the usual shit about knowing my place and all that. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Smitty winds his arms around Matt’s torso and growls into his neck. Matt pats his head.

“Easy, buddy. We already gave him a beating for it. Don’t go getting any murderous urges.”

“Too late,” comes the muffled reply. Matt rolls his eyes. He takes a look around the room and belatedly notices that two faces are missing.

“Droid and Pezzy still out?”

“Yeah.” Rectrixx pulls out his phone. “I’ll fill them in.”

Matt takes a halfhearted swipe at his hands. “C’mon, man. Just wait til they get home, you know how possessive Pezzy’s gonna get.”

“He’s an alpha, it’s kind of his job,” Grizzy points out.

“John doesn’t do that,” Matt counters, gesturing at the man in question who barely glances up from his phone.

“John’s not normal,” Puffer says bluntly. John flips him off.

“Rude.”

“Am I wrong?”

“You don’t need me to be all ‘protective-alpha’ and shit,” John says. “You can handle yourselves. Case and point.” He gestures to Matt and his bloody knuckles. “I’m just there for when the stubborn ones don’t fuck off.”

“See, this is why I fuck with you,” Matt replies. John snorts. “If Pezzy was there tonight, we’d all be in jail right now.”

“Well,” Smitty interjects, “That means Bryce would be dead too. And I can’t complain about that.”

“Hey, I made an attempt,” Matt protests.

“Trust me, he really did,” Grizzy says. “If I hadn't stopped him, he would've killed the guy.”

“Shoulda let him,” Smitty grumbles. “Would've been better off.”

“Aw, don't worry,” Matt says. “I'm pretty sure John's gonna track him down and finish the job.”

On the other side of the couch, John pointedly examines his nails and does not confirm or deny Matt's prediction. 

Rectrixx tapes down the last strip of gauze, then snaps the first aid kit shut.

“I think it’s a pack-nest kind of night,” he announces, standing up. “I’ll tell the other two to join when they get back. You guys want to head up and I’ll meet you there?”

He’s met with general noises of agreement. While he heads off to put the kit away, the rest of them slowly rise from their seats and migrate upstairs with Smitty and Matt leading the way. Or rather, Smitty taking the lead while Matt is dragged along behind him. The door to the nest room is already open, the huge pile of blankets and pillows laying invitingly in the center. The only lights are a few dim LEDs in the corners, painting the room in a deep, calming shade of blue.

Before the pack can enter, Smitty grabs Matt’s arm and pulls him inside suddenly. He then blocks the doorway with his body and points a finger sternly at the rest of the pack.

“Wait,” he orders, then shuts the door.

“You really gotta learn to share,” Matt says.

“In a minute,” Smitty replies. “Shirt off. Now.” He tugs at the hem of Matt’s shirt as he says it.

“I’m not nesting shirtless, dude.”

“Put it on after, then. Just let me look.”

“Look at what?” Matt swats his hands away. Smitty crosses his arms.

“Do I really have to say it?” 

Matt waits. Smitty sighs.

“There’s no way he only hit you once,” he says. “And I know he usually aims for the torso. So c’mon. Lemme see.”

Matt lets out a defeated groan.

“Why’ve you gotta be smart?” he complains, but does as he’s asked and pulls off his shirt. Immediately, Smitty gets all up in his business, turning him this way and that as he searches for wounds. He won’t find much; Matt can already feel a bruise forming along his ribs, another one on his back from when Bryce slammed him against the bar, and the red mark where he took a hit to the stomach. None of them are that bad, though the bruises will probably be a nasty shade of purple by tomorrow. What he doesn't expect is for Smitty to take his arm in a gentle grip. It’s then that he sees the fourth mark: bruises in the shape of fingerprints on his upper arm.

“Did he…” Smitty’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet.

“He tried. Missed the right spot.” Matt looks away as Smitty’s fingers brush over the marks. “I think–” There's a lump in his throat now, and he has to swallow it before he can speak again. “I think he would’ve dragged me out of there, if I hadn’t hit him first.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Smitty pulls him into a hug.

“I’m sorry.”

The lump rises in his throat again.

“Yeah,” Matt says, simply. 

For a while they just stand there in each other’s arms, Smitty oozing comforting pheromones.

“Did your doctor ever figure out what's causing it? The whole pressure-point thing, I mean.”

Matt sighs. “Not really. He thinks the nerves there are just hypersensitive, or something. Didn't have a lot of solutions to offer.”

Smitty squeezes him a little harder.

“That sucks. I'm sorry.”

“I haven't thought about it in a while,” Matt admits. “I don’t even remember where it is. Even if I knew what he was going to do, I don't know if I could've blocked him.”

“Do you… do you want me to help you find it?” Smitty offers. Matt’s thoughts grind to a screeching halt.

“What?”

Smitty drags his wrist over Matt’s hair and down his back. “I could feel around until we find it, and then you’d know what to defend if something like this ever happens again. Only if you’re comfortable with it, I mean.”

His first instinct is to say hell no, but the more Matt thinks about it, it actually sounds like a good idea. He doubts Bryce will ever come near him again– unless he has a death wish– but Matt would feel a lot better knowing how to protect his weak point. And if he had to trust anyone with that knowledge, he'd choose Smitty every time.

“...Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

“You sure?” Smitty asks. Matt nods and pulls out of the hug, holding Smitty’s hands in his own.

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine, as long as it’s you.”

Smitty gives him a long look, searching for any trepidation in Matt’s eyes. Finding none, he nods too. His hand moves to Matt’s arm.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Hurry up before I change my mind,” Matt replies with a small grin.

Smitty doesn’t get it on the first try. Or the second, or the third. He’s slow, cautious, careful to avoid the bruises. Matt watches like a hawk, intent on committing the exact spot to memory once they find it. Or if they ever do, at this rate. 

Matt's about to tell him to pick up the pace, Grandpa, when Smitty presses experimentally at a spot on the inside of Matt’s bicep. Immediately a jolt runs through him, traveling up his arm and down into his stomach before his legs crumple without warning. Smitty rushes to catch him, letting out a quiet shit as Matt goes boneless in his arms. Matt can’t stop the flash of panic that snaps through him.

“You okay?” Smitty asks. Matt takes a moment to calm his racing heart back to a normal pace.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Guess that was it, huh?”

Smitty chuckles and taps the spot gently. Even that light contact sends a tingling feeling up Matt’s arm. “Now we know. Right here, don’t forget it.” Carefully, he lowers them down into the pack nest. “Need a minute?”

“Yeah.” His limbs are still buzzing like they’re full of bees; it’ll take a sec before he’s up and moving again. Matt slumps over onto a pile of blankets as Smitty leans over to grab his shirt off the floor. He drops it unceremoniously on Matt’s chest, then flops on top of him like an unreasonably heavy blanket. Matt lets out a little oof.

“You’re so clingy,” he complains as Smitty begins scenting him obsessively.

“You love it,” Smitty retorts. He takes care to smother the mark on Matt’s arm with his scent, drowning out any whiff of Bryce that might remain. Matt indulges him for a couple minutes, then shoves him off. 

“Alright, enough. Let me get dressed, then the others can come in.”

“Oh, yeah. I kinda forgot about them,” Smitty says as Matt pulls his shirt over his head.

“They'll survive.” Matt flops back into the nest and looks pointedly at Smitty. “You gonna let them in or what?”

Smitty rolls his eyes, then gets up and opens the door.

Grizzy is the first to enter, raising his eyebrows at the sight of Matt sprawled out on the nest.

“What did you do to him, man?” he asks, failing to hide the amusement in his voice.

“Don’t worry about it,” Smitty replies. John slides past Grizzy and, pausing until Matt gives him the go-ahead, he steps into the nest. 

“Jesus,” he says as he sniffs the air. “We get it, Smitty, he’s yours. A little excessive, don’t you think?” He settles down at Matt’s side, throwing an arm across his chest lazily.

“You’re lucky I’m sharing at all,” Smitty retorts and burrows himself into Matt’s other side. Matt feels his arms wriggle around his waist and squeeze tight. The betas pick their spots next; Grizzy on John’s other side, Rectrixx settling himself by John’s legs. Puffer, never much for cuddling but not stubborn enough to miss a group nesting event, plops down on the edge of the nest by Smitty's legs. The omega promptly starts scrolling on his phone and generously does not complain when Smitty throws a leg over his lap.

It doesn’t take long for purrs to fill the room. John is the one to start it, a deep tone rumbling in his chest. Smitty is next, his purr nearly loud enough to drown out Matt’s once he joins. The betas (and Puffer) spend most of their time talking quietly. Puffer purrs exactly once, just to acknowledge, then goes back to scrolling. Smitty kicks him lightly in the ribs.

“Join in, bitch,” he complains.

“I am joining.”

“Barely.”

Matt jumps on the opportunity to gang up on him. “Yeah, get in the pile, bitch.”

“I’m not getting in the pile.”

“C’moooon.”

“I’m good.”

“How’s Matt supposed to know you love him if you won’t cuddle?” Smitty protests. Puffer rolls his eyes.

“He knows.”

“Do I?” Matt says. Puffer raises an eyebrow.

“What, you want proof?”

“Yeah I do. C’mon, show me what you got.”

The corner of Puffer’s mouth quirks up a bit.

“You asked for it.”

He leans across Smitty and over Matt, and Matt jolts as teeth bite down on the scent gland on his neck. Puffer holds on for a few seconds, just enough to bruise. Matt’s eyes fall half shut without realizing, then Puffer pulls back and Matt is left reeling like he’d just been pinned to a wall.

“Happy?” Puffer asks. Matt clears his throat, cheeks burning.

“Um. Yeah.”

“Good.” And with that, Puffer returns to the edge of the nest.

“Jesus, I think steam’s gonna come out of his ears,” Rectrixx says. Matt covers his face with his hands.

“Shut up.”

“You gotta warn a brother before you get him hard like that,” Grizzy adds.

“Please shut up,” Matt says.

“I don’t remember you complaining when I pulled that move on you, Grizzy.”

Matt peeks through his fingers. “Did he get hard?” he asks.

“Yes,” Puffer replies, completely straight-faced. Grizzy hurls a pillow at him.

“Well now I feel left out,” John says. “You never did that to me.”

“Probably ‘cause you’re usually the one giving, not receiving," Matt points out.

“Oh, you want me to give it out? I can do that.” Matt barely has time to process the mischievous look on John's face before his teeth are on the unblemished side of his neck. Another jolt runs through him as John bites down, drawing an undignified noise out of Matt as his face goes just as red as before.

“Alright, enough!” He shoves John away playfully. “The rest of you better not get any ideas.”

“No complaints from me,” Rectrixx replies. “I’m here to cuddle, not get freaky.”

“Yeah, same here. Looks like someone didn't get the memo,” Grizzy says with a pointed look at Puffer and John. The latter sticks out his tongue.

“You ain't got the balls to be this freaky,” Puffer shoots back.

“That's not what you said last night.”

“You're all freaks,” Smitty interrupts, his voice muffled into Matt’s stomach. “Now shut the hell up and cuddle.”

It's nearly an hour later when Pezzy and Droid finally return.

Scent drunk and sleepy, Matt almost doesn't hear the door to the nest room creak open. What does get his attention is the weight of someone sitting on his hips. He cracks an eye open to find Pezzy straddling him with his arms propped on either side of Matt's head.

“Hi,” Matt says, a bit groggily.

“Hi, Matt,” Pezzy says. Between the dark and the haziness clinging to Matt’s mind, it's hard to tell if he's upset or not.

“Heard you got into a fight,” Pezzy continues. His fingers brush the bandage on Matt’s head. “You okay?”

“Mostly, yeah. I'd be better if I never saw that fucker again.”

Pezzy leans down and resettles himself until he's laying halfway on top of Matt, propped on his elbows, his face only inches from Matt’s. Matt can smell nothing but the protective pheromones oozing off him in waves, the intensity of it making him lightheaded. He gets the feeling that Pezzy will not be getting off of him for a while.

“I think we all agree on that,” Pezzy says and nips at Matt's neck, sending a shudder and a purr rumbling through him. “Want me to kill him?” 

“Hey,” John says, pointing accusingly. “I've got dibs on that.”

“Not if I get there first.”

“How about we don't do shit that'll get us sent to jail?” Rectrixx suggests tiredly.

“I'm willing to take the risk,” Pezzy replies, dragging a wrist down Matt's side to scent him.

“Well I'm not paying your bail.”

“I don't think you get bail if you kill someone,” Grizzy says.

“Good news for my bank account, then,” comes Rectrixx's reply.

“If anyone gets to kill him, it should be me,” Matt interjects. “But I don't think we'll be seeing him again. He's not stupid enough to come looking for another beating.”

Pezzy grabs Matt’s wrist, inspecting the bandages on his knuckles.

“I’m guessing he looks a lot worse than you right now,” he says.

“Understatement of the year,” Grizzy mutters. Pezzy starts scenting Matt’s neck, then pauses with a frown. He tilts Matt’s head back, exposing the bruises forming on either side of his throat. 

‘He didn’t bite you, did he?” Almost instantly, Pezzy’s scent spikes with anger. Droid sits up abruptly from his spot by Rectrixx. 

“Easy, dude,” he says, putting a hand on Pezzy's arm. “I’m sure Matt wouldn't let that happen.” The sharp edge to Pezzy’s scent fades, but his eyes are still locked onto Matt with an intensity that nearly makes him squirm.

“He didn't," Matt confirms. “Didn't even try it. I really would've killed him if he did.”

“The bites are from me and Puffer,” John says. Pezzy relaxes. 

“Good. Sorry,” he says to Matt, scenting him again. Matt lets himself relax under the attention.

“S’all good. I know it's not me you're mad at.”

“I'm mad he touched you at all. He should've known to keep his fucking distance.” The words come out as a growl.

“He’s not exactly the type to listen to anyone but himself,” Smitty says with disdain. “Or respect a pack bond, for that matter.”

“I don't think he even saw mine,” Matt admits.

“Better make it more obvious, then.”

Matt gets about half a second to realize what that means before Pezzy tilts his head to the side, baring his throat, and bites down hard on his bond mark.

The pack bond flares like a bonfire in his core, so bright that Matt almost expects to exhale smoke. He feels the tethers running from him to the others grow stronger, catches a flash of Pezzy’s fiery protectiveness slipping through the bond and into his head. A fuzzy, comfortable feeling settles over him as the brightness fades and Pezzy’s emotions slip from his mind. The renewed bond mark blooms dark on his skin as Pezzy finally lets go.

“There. See him try to ignore that.” Pezzy settles down and lays fully on top of Matt, his head resting in the crook of his neck. John throws his arm over the both of them while Smitty burrows competitively into Matt's side. The betas slot in around them, and it isn't long til most of the nest’s occupants are purring. Even Puffer rolls his eyes and begrudgingly leans himself against someone's leg. Matt, still reeling from the bite, is very tempted to just melt into a warm, hazy puddle right then and there.

“Je-sus Christ. What is it, Bite Matt Tuesday? I'm gonna have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow,” he complains. 

“You could just stay home,” Smitty suggests.

“Yeah, no thanks. Knowing you fuckers, you’ll bite me even more if I do that.”

“You say that as if you don't like it,” Puffer says. Matt smacks him in the head with a pillow. 

“Shut up. Don't change the subject.”

Pezzy's wrist drags down Matt's side. “You should stay in tomorrow.”

“I've got plans,” Matt whines. Pezzy lets out an unhappy rumble.

“You have a head wound. I want you somewhere I can keep an eye on you.”

“I'm not about to keel over and die.” Pezzy makes another displeased sound. Matt jumps as he feels teeth on his collarbone.

“...I'll think about it,” he amends. Pezzy hums.

“You better.” 

Yeah, he's definitely gonna need that turtleneck.