I sobered up a little during the walk, but I still insisted on the cab.
But as I step out in front of my house, so does Dex. I give him an exasperated look.
I’m trying to protect him from myself. He’s totally working against me on this matter. I can only pay for the cab and watch it drive away.
I escort my mate, no, I mean friend, toward the door. It’s not that big. Two floors and an attic; living room, kitchen, dining room, study, two bathrooms with one having a shower, and the laundry room downstairs, and a few bedrooms as well as another bathroom with a shower, a large one with a separate shower and bath, and two additional smaller ones upstairs.
I bought it with the funds I had been given by dad to study at med school after paying the tuition for vocational training instead.
My motorbike is in front of the house. If I had known I would have guests over, I wouldn’t have it parked straight across the path up to my porch.
Too late to think of that now.
My housekeeper has left the laundry hanging to dry on the porch. I used to be incredibly humiliated to see my own underwear flapping in the wind, but by now I’ve seen worse thing in the A&E than air-drying underwear.
“Sorry. Laundry day,” I say as I stumble up the stairs and begin to take down the clothes.
Dex stops me. “I’ll take it down for you, all right? Let’s just get inside for now, okay?”
I stare at him, then nod. “Okay.”
I try to fish my keys out of my pocket, but I’m strangely nervous.
Leopold, you have had plenty of people over for all sorts of reasons, from rut companions to partners. Why are you spooked by your own house now?
I know why.
Because it is mine.
And I live alone.
There’s no one to interfere. There’s no one to suddenly surprise me by coming home early. Because where else do I have my fantasies than in my own bed? And on the couch sometimes. And occasionally in the shower.
I habe thought about it in the kitchen, in the study, in the hallway, at the entrance.
My mind has increasingly been rotating around this one beta that I sometimes go to the gym with since a few months now.
I fumble with the keys. When I drop them, Dex picks them up and unlocks the door for me.
I don’t initially realise the vibrations in my chest come from an approving rumble. I have rarely ever rumbled at anyone.
I am rumbling at Dex. For picking up some fucking keys and unlocking a door. I might as well scream outright that I want to carry him bridal style up the stairs at this very moment. I’m as subtle as a mountain suddenly blocking a highway. I might as well announce to the whole wide world that I found my mate.
Why am I not just screaming at the top of my lungs that my brain and body both decided that they want to breed a beta, which is clearly not possible to do?
Someone turn off bämy instincts. I don’t want them.
I step inside. “Do you want anything to drink? I have water, tea, probably some cocoa…”
“I’ll make it, don’t worry.”
But I want to make it for you, goddammit.
I want to take care of this beta and spoil him.
I want him to be content and purr.
Betas still generally don’t purr. How many times do I need to remind myself of this?
I want to do all the things alphas want to do for and to an omega… to Dex.
There’s no way I can say that, so I just hum noncommittally.
I toss my sports bag into the laundry room. My housekeeper can deal with it. It’s her job to do that, anyway. I deal with the dangerous messes of people’s stupidity twenty to twenty-five days a month. She can deal with my occasionally lazy arse in return.
“Bedrooms are upstairs. Make yourself at home everywhere else,” I tell him.
He takes off his shoes and removes his jacket.
He looks so good in his clothes. His waist is so tiny. I bet I could break it if I wanted to. I don’t though. I want to wrap my hands around it. Kiss his abdomen. Have a bite. Taste it. Run my tongue over his thighs.
I exhale aggressively.
Inhale just as aggressively.
Another aggressive exhale.
I feel like trying to use breathing to exorcise a phantom which has possessed me.
If I didn’t know my rut cycle, I would think I’m about to go into one.
Over a beta.
I am truly the epitome of alphas.
Dex gives me an odd look.
I almost lean down to kiss him.
Nope. This mission needs to be aborted. I need to sleep.
“Just… use whatever is in the kitchen. I think I need a shower.”
That I literally showered at the sports centre is of no concern.
I hear Dex agree as I run up the stairs.
In the shower, I’m focussed on the fact Dex is in my kitchen. That he would look so cute as he goes about doing things. What it would be like to wake up in the morning and go down and find him busying himself making coffee. To wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his neck glands. To soak him in my scent before he is even fully dressed.
I want that so bad.
So when I come back downstairs and see him with sleeves rolled up, a saucepan over the stove with milk, cacao powder and spices I probably never use, but keep for whoever might need them…
I pause.
I just watch.
I think about how I could walk over there and nuzzle into his soft hair, place kisses on his temple, nip his ear.
My mind also goes elsewhere. To pulling off that shirt and tossing him to the bed, to hear him gasp and mewl.
I want to drink every moan that I can bring from those lips.
I’m dangerous to this one specific person, and I wish I could tell him why exactly that is, but I rather be stuck as friends than ever lose him.
“What are you making?” I ask as I walk over.
“Chocolate.”
I could tell that much.
“I see.”
My fingers twitch at my side. My arm would fit perfectly around that tiny waist.
“Can I touch you?”
I’m the one saying it. I can tell it’s my voice, my lips moving.
But I don’t understand.
Why am I saying one of my deepest desires out loud for?
Dex looks at me and then shrugs. “Sure?”
I hesitate. And hesitate some more. And then I noticed my arm is around his back and my hand rests on his hip.
Dex doesn’t react to it. He doesn’t question the placement, doesn’t swat my hand away, doesn’t look away from the saucepan.
I can’t help it. I lower my nose and sniffs at his hair.
I need to. My instincts tell that I absolutely have to.
My mate is right here, in my arms.
No, not that word.
Friend.
I got to smell him. Memorise his scent for all those lonely nights — or days, depending on my shift — in bed.
Mate.
Every fibre in me is screaming that this is my mate.
Dex doesn’t seem to seem to feel it, though. I won’t force it upon him. I wish I was the type who did. I’m not.
I know I didn’t always react this way. I used to be normal around him. Then I started noticing his scent more. Then I was always focussed on him.
Before I knew it, my single life ended, yet hadn’t ended at all.
“You smell so good,” I croon.
“That so?” Dex asks.
He probably thinks I’m a horny drunk. I’m okay with that. If I can have my arm around him, can sniff him, can do anything that isn’t outside his comfort zone, then let him think I’m the horniest drunk in the history of horny drunks.
I inhale his scent.
I should stop.
I must breathe this scent always.
Being an alpha is so difficult sometimes. My reasonable brain and my instincts are always at war.
Sometimes I feel like my instincts are much stronger than for anyone else.
They can’t be.
Shouldn’t.
Sure, I used to get into disagreements a lot and my competitive streak is strong. But I was just a teenager back then. And preteen too. It was just hormones, I’m sure. After all, generally, after winning in most fights and disagreements, I would at least tolerate others, as long as they didn’t try to provoke me.
I used to be so easily provoked. I’m not anymore. I see the provocations and step away instead. It’s not worth the fight. It frustrates me, yes, but I don’t need to listen to the provocations.
I naturally want to make people stop, but I know for the most part, I’d just end up hurting another alpha. So I try to disengage at all times.
Just suck it up, Leo, I tell myself.
I’m not that dominant either, so it wouldn’t make sense to have strong instincts. It wouldn’t make sense to need to prove myself.
I always need to prove myself. That’s why I always made both friends and enemies.
I can’t be weak. I need to stay strong. It’s my duty to protect those around me. Even from themselves.
Even from me.
“Leo?”
“Hm?”
I only now realise that I’ve moved to stand slightly more behind him and I’m rubbing my check against him. Not high up on the headnewr the crown. No,.my nose is close to his neck.
The beautiful, long neck that I yearn to bite.
It’s been driving me up the walls for months. I need my mark there. It’s dumb. I know it is. I should just want it. My brain and instincts tell me that it has to be there. It must be there. As if it’s the only way to save me from myself.
I’m a danger to Dex.
I won’t ever hurt him
I raise my head with sheer willpower. It feels like I’m tearing myself away from him.
My mate.
No, again. Not that word.
“Sorry,” I tell him.
“It’s okay. People do stupid stuff when they’re drunk. I’m not offended.”
Please be. I’m begging you. Be so upset I stop thinking about my canines meeting your neck gland.
I have to swallow several times.
I haven’t even bitten him and yet I’m salivating enough to drown my house because I want my pheromones to mix with his. I know this logically is a bit strange. A bit too dominant from my body. How I should act toward sn omega mate if our bond is strong and we’re mating during their heat.
I always want to bite his neck. I hate seeing it, because it hurts not to bite.
“I was wondering if I should stay over. You said bedrooms, plural, earlier. Maybe you’ve got a guestroom?”
I do. I have two even. Not that they ever get used. And one of the so-called bedrooms is a second living room. Sometimes I’m just not feeling it with the large one downstairs after all.
“Mm,” I reply noncommittally.
I’m afraid I’ll do something regretful if he stays. How do I reject the idea without making it seem like I hate him?
I want him to stay.
Forever.
That’s not possible. He’s part of Miguel’s pack. I don’t have one at all. Just an empty house I come to every day and then stay in while not at work, being depressed about the fact I’m so abnormal. Or I’m out doing sports.
Sports make me feel normal. I can compete with others. I can coach them. I can win small tournaments. I can show off my body and strength.
No one will go up against me once they realise they’re all just children to me. Children I want to protect. And if not children, younger brothers, betas or omegas.
I own the court. It’s mine when I’m on it.
I wish we were taught how to handle being like this. Wanting to protect everyone, being challenged by alphas frequently, to be inadequate.
To want a beta this much.
But we learn about being territorial, what alpha aggression looks like, what’s abuse of power and authority.
Why did no one teach me what it’s like to always disengage? What it’s like to have to ignore challenges?
Well, someone did teach me. I learnt that not every challenge was worth taking. But how do I correct behaviour when someone doesn’t get I’m ignoring them. That no one taught me. Why did no one teach me how to handle it when you ignore someone weak but not someone strong and the former is offended?
Could someone please teach me how to properly discipline other alphas so they can leave me alone instead of constantly bothering me when I ignore them?
Why did no one teach other that someone ignoring you when you challenge them means you should probably back off? They have a reason not to engage, and that reason might be you getting hurt if they take you up on your oblivious challenge.
I just want to know why I’m like this.
Miguel has it so easy. Teddy has it easy. Geoffrey needs a reality check. Seth is as packless as I am. He just follows me because he has no one else to bother. I don’t mind him, though. He could find a pack or even make one himself. He can’t stand equal to alphas like Miguel, but he has me to support him.
“Leo? Can I stay or not?”
“Sure,” I hear myself reply. “Let me get the guest bedding out.”
I don’t move. I don’t want to leave his side.
When he leaves tomorrow, I will suffer so much.
After what feels both too long and too short a moment, I squeeze his hip before I let go and reluctantly move to find where my housekeeper has placed the guest bedding. Normally she would have prepared it, but I don’t generally have surprise guests.
I’ve never had one, actually.
I look all over until I find the bedding in a storage cabinet in the attic. It’s a very clean attic that’s well-maintained by my housekeeping. I rarely ever go there.
With arms full of bedding and armed with sheets from the linen closet, I make the bed in the larger guest room. It’s slightly further away from the master bedroom.
As I shake the blanket out, I notice Dex has come upstairs and stands at the door.
“This is a nice room,” he says.
“Good that you like it,” I respond. “If there’s anything missing, tell me and I’ll get it for you.”
I’ll give you anything.
“I think I’ll be good for a single night, Leo.”
“Oh.” I can hear my own disappointment. “Well, you’re probably right.”
“No. For real. I’m good,” he chuckles. “It’s fine. I’m not downplaying, promise.”
I’m disappointed because I believed you to begin with. I want to give you the world, goddammit.
“Yeah, I know. But really, if there’s anything, just tell me.” I toss the blanket onto the bed and walk over to the door. I take his chin and lean close. “Okay?” I add, my voice low.
He’s quiet for a moment, then says a soft, almost breathy, “Okay.”
My urge is to kiss him. To toss him onto the bed and mate with him right now.
I force myself to let go.
“Were you done downstairs? In the kitchen? With the… the… the chocolate?”
“Mm.” Dex clears his throat. “I am. Come down and have some. You’re still drunk.”
“I’m a bit wasted, yeah,” with half a smile.
I finish making the bed with Dex looking. I try to stand taller, try to suck my stomach in, try my best to make him see how alpha I am.
I am a lost cause. I’m fucking preening for a beta. What laughable behaviour. Even my teachers would be disappointed in me.
Author’s Note
This boy is so lost. That’s all I have to say.
