The problem is that you’re at the mercy of a useless, outmoded, ass-backwards mess of a biological process. The drones are gone. They’re never coming again. But your body sure thinks they are. It was— You wouldn’t say it was fine, but it was at least tolerable for a while. Realistically speaking, there was always a reasonable (ninety-nine percent) chance that you’d be culled the first time you tried to supply the drones with a pail, and you’ve been bracing yourself to deal with this since you pupated, for fuck’s sake. It feels like a kick to the shame gloves when your body betrays you and decides, whoops, no, it’s time to be all about filling pails for the glory of the empire.

Being away from Earth means going without heat suppressants. This proves to be a problem for Lance who has been avoiding his heats since puberty. Lucky for him Shiro and Keith are willing to help. “I thought that was why you were being such a jerk.” Keith’s feet shuffled over over the carpet. “You know. Another omega in your space?” “No, I just really find you annoying.”