I have no dating experience.
Currently, I think I might just have a negative amount of dating experience.
On the couch inside my sizeable walk-in wardrobe, I have my sister. She’s dressed in a floral dress and with her hair up, curled to frame her face and shoulder to accentuate how omega she looks. She has quite a lot of visible belly, and I can’t help but wonder how she did not notice. But that’s none of my business.
She is now holding a flute of water, as if she was on a leisurely shopping trip with her friends, not in her little brother’s wardrobe. If she wasn’t still in her third trimester, she would definitely be drinking champagne, as one does. Very classy.
Regardless, she is absolutely glowing. I can’t blame her for being present. She visits often enough.
On the other end of the couch is Seth, naturally. He’s dressed casually in a polo shirt, cardigan and chinos.
What is he doing?
He’s currently going over some law on his phone. He’s absolutely locked in, but not on me. He came early in the morning at my request, but he’s only been moral support with sarcastic praise at best, and a critic with scathing reviews about my taste in clothing at worst.
Between them is, naturally, Amandine’s alpha. He’s there because he’s a jealous arsehole right now. He’s only fussing about his omega. Did he think I would somehow steal my own sister from him? Surely not…
In an armchair, at an angle from the couch, is… Francis, my eldest brother. He looks like he could be in a boardroom with legs crossed and hands at rest, casually clasped. Why is he here? I have absolutely no fucking clue. It’s his first visit ever since I moved into this house. I don’t think we’ve spoken in as many years, and barely acknowledged each other if we happened to pass each other during my five-minute visits to my childhood home.
It seems he tagged along, but with whom, I don’t know. It’s like he simply materialised, said a restrained greeting and has not said a word since.
“Wear this.”
Emmy comes into my view, holding up a suit he found gods know where. I don’t remember owning it. Then again, I work at a hospital as a nurse. I don’t remember even ten percent of my wardrobe on a good day.
How he finds that suit in a gigantic wardrobe in a house he has not once visited before, I don’t understand.
I stare at the suit.
It’s aggressively tasteful.
Of course it is.
“I am going to the cinema,” I tell him.
He holds it up against me and runs his hand over it once before he steps out of the way for me to see in the mirror. “This would be dashing on you, Leopold. Change the venue to a restaurant.”
“No! My mate wanted to go to the cinema!”
“Mate, he says! Edmond, it seems the last one to get mated is you, not our little brother!” sis says with a giggle.
“I see no issue in that,” Emmy says, as he puts away the suit. “Surely you reserved the whole theatre, Leopold?”
“Of course not! Who do you think I am? A spoiled brat from some aristocratic family?!”
Everyone replies with, “Yes!” (aside from Francis, but he gave a minimal nod in agreement) because what else did I think they would reply? I did describe myself, after all.
I regret everything.
It’s not that I don’t know how to dress. Rather, I invited Seth precisely because I do. Both of us come from similar circles, although Seth’s family are of the nouveau riche, beginning with only his grandfather. Seth was lucky to study at the same school as I, so he learnt properly not to wear his wealth, but to dress accordingly.
I can’t take any credit for that, but I can take credit in telling him when he wore something inappropriate.
“I don’t need a suit nor to look like I am going to a cocktail party, nor like I’m hosting a tea party. The cinema will be dark. No one’s going to see us.”
“Then throw on a pair of casual trousers and a sweater over a tee, like when you go to the gym,” Seth says.
“That’s too casual. I at least want something that will make him want me.”
“So, again,” Seth says, “trousers, sweater, and a tee, just make them tight so you look like a thirst trap when you move. Maybe add one of your biker’s jackets.”
“A what?” Amandine asks curiously.
Of course she doesn’t know that term.
“A thirst trap. An alpha, in this particular case, who encourages lustful gazes of those who are inclined to desire alphas, in this particular case,” Emmy replies. “Thirst and hunger are both euphemisms for desire, Amandine.”
Why does he know that, though?
“Don’t make your partner jealous, Leo,” Francis says, his voice deep and serious… and incredibly monotone. He sounds like he just gave his judgement on a business proposal and it was, “rewrite it.”
“I am not dressing that way, so don’t you dare join them!”
Whether the following silence was him listening or just his usual quiet… is most likely just him not having anything to say — who am I even trying to kid? I’ve visited mountains less stoic.
If that man had not been (seemingly) happily married, I would have kicked him out. Just tossed him right out the door of my house, literally. Well, his wife is happily married and his children are apparently growing up well. For Francis, that is a lot of emotion being shown, because if his wife and kids are happy, he’s doing everything right and being content with the situation despite his… everything.
Seeing me stare, he stares right back at me. Then he gives me a tiny nod.
What the fuck does that mean?!
Francis! Eldest brother! I am over a decade younger than you! Please use your external words! I’m not Emmy! I don’t understand! External words! Use your voice! Even sign language would do!
“Since we’re going so incredibly casual about this important life event,” Emmy says, making me turn to him, “this is what I found that is suitable for the weather, your eye colour and late autumn complexion, current trends, as well as your horrible tastes.” He holds up as many pieces of clothing as his thin frame could possibly handle. “Unless you wish to go like that, this is what you’re limited to choose between.”
I glance at mirror.
My hair is half-dry, my chest is bare, and I’m wearing a pair of lounge slacks low on my hips. Dex would like it… but we’d also end up in bed, not the cinema. I don’t really mind either way, but Dex asked for a date, so I’m giving him a date.
I feel a hateful glare and know it’s my brother-in-law. He hates that I look more fit than he does. First thing he said was “put on a shirt”, to which Seth had said, “So I have to take mine off to act as his mirror?”
Which would have been true. The one with the build closest to mine is Seth, and that’s only because he works out. He’s still noticeably smaller.
I take the sleeveless undershirt Emmy shoves into my hands after essentially choosing to use Francis as his clothing rack to free his own hands up.
For some reason Francis says nothing about this. He makes no signs of being unhappy to be used as furniture.
Emmy takes off his jacket and unbuttons the top buttons and places himself next to me after turning me to fully face the mirror. He runs his hand through his hair, tussling his perfect hair, adjust his cuffs and adjusts his wristwatch, before he imitates my posture — despite his lankier build and softer facial features, he looks like a confident, filthy rich bad boy, the resting smile not exactly helping with the image. I feel the hair he cut short several months ago, and the nowadays-visible earring, add to him coming off the way he does.
I think he could probably seduce any unrelated omega within a radius of an hour by car with his vibe alone.
…while I look like a male nurse standing comfortably with my hands in my pockets.
How the alpha looks like a caretaker and the beta like an alpha, I can’t say.
I blame the fact he’s wearing black on black. It’s probably just that Edmond G. Olivier always sort of does whatever he likes on the side of supporting Dad and Francis in the family business.
We’re at least both handsome, just in different ways.
Emmy doesn’t do the “try one outfit at a time” approach.
No, not in the least.
He does the “one item, one placement at a time” version. So he makes me put on shirt, after shirt, after shirt, after shirt, polo shirt, turtleneck, shirt, shirt, tee, shirt, until he finds one for whatever vision he has. Then it’s pair after pair after pair after pair of trousers. Socks after socks after socks. Jacket after jacket after cardigan, after pullover. And so on and so forth.
In the background I hear sis go, “Nice colour! No, not that fit,” “Aren’t those short?” “Hideous pattern!” “White top and bottom — why?” “Oh, I like that one!” “That’s cute!” “That reminds me of when you were ten!” “Where did you buy that? I’d like to have it in baby-size!” “Oh, I think Dad has that too!”
Seth comments occasionally with, “You wore that to the ceremony after finishing vocational training. It looks exactly like you must have, at least — it gives poor student bought something fancy for graduation,” “Didn’t you throw that away yet? I always thought it was a dirt rag,” “Decent, if you’re looking for a new mate,” “Nurse, I think I need eye bleach,” “You went from twenty-seven years old to one-hundred and twenty-seven in a split second,” “Well, it’s coming off eventually anyway, so you might as well have fun with it.”
Francis occasionally hums. I don’t know if that’s commentary, or he just makes noise to indicate he’s still present.
Gods, I hate it here.
Emmy doesn’t seem to actually care what the others think. He just works quietly, as if he’s dressing a giant doll for a display.
Eventually, I am fully dressed. Emmy adjusts the shoulders of the pullover, while I adjust the sleeves of the turtleneck underneath. Not a combination I would have chosen myself, in colours I didn’t think could go together, but, well, it’s not bad.
I suppose when it comes to my second brother, one must trust the process.
“Now you got to get your partner’s approval.”
“You’ll pass,” Emmy reassures me.
“I already did,” I reply, “but thank you.”
I check myself out in the mirror. Yeah, it looks good. The accessories are really on point. I run my hand through my hair, tussling it now that it’s dry. I put my hands in my pockets.
I look very good. Not bad boy, so I avoided looking like Enny, that’s for sure. Just rich boy. But that’s not a bad thing.
Anything for my mate.
“You’re preening,” Seth says with amusement.
“Shut up. I have a mate to impress.”
“So peacocking then,” Francis states.
It falls with the weight of judgement to eternal damnation.
Who would have thought that going to the cinema with someone you’re interested in is so different from going with friends?
I really have a negative amount of experience with dating.
Sure, Dex has come to my place ever since that day two, three months ago, but we have never been out, just the two of us. Perhaps because we’ve always been somewhere in a group setting, alone-time at home was more comfortable.
Or it was just my libido — which needed time to calm down after retrieving my mate — that was the issue.
I never thought our first real date would be watching a film. I’m letting Dex pick. I’m paying, so I told him that him choosing is returning the favour. Truth is, I couldn’t care less. I just want him to have a good time and see what makes him tick.
A light breeze blows by, as I lean again railing between the pavement and the car lanes.
Mate.
It’s still as intrusive as ever, but I’m getting used to it. I turn and start walking away from the theatre to meet him up. I let the dark side guide me.
As I get closer to the scent of Dex I can’t help but increase the pace and before I know it I’m nearly jogging. The coat on top of my shoulders is not worn for the sake of running.
Even in late autumn, I run too hot most of the time to wear a jacket or coat for any other reason than riding my bike.
I want to see him right now.
I’ve gotten used to the pain of being apart, but it doesn’t change that once I know I’m about to see him, the ache to see him is so strong I wish I could teleport to him.
Mate.
I see him. It’s at the corner of my eye and I just instantly turn toward him. But I slow down and walk towards him, trying to give him some respect.
A happy grin is resting on my lips and my body is full or urges. It’s hard to clamp down on them, but at the very least I don’t devour him first thing.
Dex practically throws himself at me.
Who would have thought we parted just yesterday?
It seems he’s slowly growing more attached to me and the bond is strengthening. Not as fast as I would prefer, but I’m unsure if regular people can handle the strain of how quick ny side of the bonds was made.
I’m willing to wait for the rest of my life for him to catch up if need be. For now, his affection is more than enough.
I’ll work hard, so he has no reason to fall for anyone else. I know infatuation can grow into love, or fade into indifference, and I don’t want to experience his affections turning into anything than the deepest of love and strongest of bonds.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I say and take his hand to place a kiss on it.
“Hello,” he says, flushing red almost immediately.
I have the most adorable mate.
“You’re very handsome today. Did you dress up for me or is this your usual outing type clothes?”
“Especially for you, of course. Always for you,” I murmur against his palm. “You look as gorgeous as always, regardless of the packaging of the day or occasion.”
I begin escorting him to the theatre.
“What a coincidence you were here too,” he marvels.
I hum. It is indeed a coincidence, but it began many months ago and merely continues to this day.
“I was taking a bit of a stroll. I arrived early. My brother offered to drive me over. I was lucky to notice you,” I say.
Dad always taught us that any lies should contain truths. Emmy is a master at this, while Francis never needs to lie, because he simply omits talking and no one will question it.
How on earth Francis led the business to its greatest heights I couldn’t imagine, other than if Emmy actually is the magician and Francis only takes credit because he can’t be bothered to correct Dad.
However, I haven’t even been remotely involved through being asked to attend social events for many years now, so perhaps Francis is simply more capable than teenage me ever saw.
“Oh, Edmond drove you? As in, he had someone else drive you?”
“No. My other brother. Francis. He drove me personally.”
In complete silence. It was the most unnerving drive I’ve been through in my life.
“Oh, you have two brothers? How many siblings total?”
“I’m the youngest of four,” I explain. “It’s Francis and Edmond, who are both betas. Francis is pretty stoic. I’m not sure he can even make facial expressions at this point. He doesn’t speak much but when he does, he makes it count. Edmond is very social instead. Very much a socialite of upper society. He’s easier to get along with. Then it’s my sister, Amandine, who’s an omega. She’s a little naïve sometimes, but she also never had to enter the world. It was straight into her alpha’s home after leaving home for her. And then it’s me, Leopold, alpha.”
“Huh. I didn’t know your name was Leopold. I thought it was Leo.”
I shake my head. “Only Edmond, Amandine and my parents call me Leopold. Francis was the first to call me Leo, and he never stopped. He also gave Amandine the nickname Mandy. Too many syllables once it’s more than two, apparently. He doesn’t his children have names longer than two syllables as well. Though he calls them Chirp, Tweet, Ruff and the like, so the fact some end up with longer names doesn’t matter much.”
“That’s adorable!”
“Why about you, sweetheart? Any siblings?”
Dex shakes his head. “My mother passed away giving birth to me. Dad never recovered from that, so he never had any more pups after that.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
I don’t know. All of it? For asking?
“That your father had to go through that. I hope he has treated you well, though?”
“He did! As did Miguel’s family. I didn’t get any siblings, but I got a huge family nonetheless. Once dad passed away, Miguel took me in, so and helped me find a job, so it’s never been too tough to survive.”
“My condolences. When did he pass?”
“I was twenty… probably. We saw it coming. By the time he did pass away, I had grieved for several years. It was at the point where I was pretty glad it was over instead.”
Sound like disease. Probably something progressive and very terminal.
I rather work at the A&E than at the hospice ward — I’d be too traumatised by always working around dying people. Others might think it’s more traumatic to lose a patient you desperately try to keep alive, but maybe it’s the alpha in me who can’t take it. Alphas are social by default. We form bonds. We try to protect. How do you protect someone from absolutely certain death? I could never do it.
“I should visit the grave and tell him, and your mother, that I’ve taken you in.”
“I’m still in Miguel’s pack?” Dex says, confused.
I look at him. “I should visit the grave, and inform your parents that you are mine to provide for, protect, offer pups, spoil and make happy, and I intend to keep it that was for the rest of your life.”
Dex flushes a deep red when he realises what I mean. “Oh. Okay. Let’s go some day soon.”
Formally telling Miguel that he’s mine is one thing. It’s a claim, but it doesn’t hold too much symbolism. Especially since both Miguel and I let Dexter sleep in whichever pack house he prefers for now. I’ve given him a dresser for his clothes so he really can stay wherever. It’s another to take announce intentions to make someone your mate.
I’ll have to bite the bullet and ask Dad… how you do that to dead family members. That’s not a thing I was taught, but among the upper society, there is definitely a formal way of doing it, and I will do it right when the time comes.
I steer Dex to the side and then lift him up into my arms. He squeaks adorably, but doesn’t protest.
“I intend to make you my mate for real, Dexter. In every way.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“Just not now. Not for a while. But eventually.”
He nods again. “Mm.”
“Good boy,” I rumble. Why? No reason. He just deserves the praise, anyway.
He leans closer, and I let him, supporting him as he shyly places a kiss on my cheek.
Fuck, I really should have had him come over while I was just wearing those lounge slacks, after all.
Now I have to suffer through a whole film before I can take him home and make a beautiful mess out of him in my bed again.
Well, I’ll do anything for him, even if it means my dark and good sides are in agreement that the only place we ought to be right now is in bed, on top of my mate.
Whatever.
I have a whole lifetime to do that. I’ve already done it many time in during this one season, even though we’ve not been together that long.
We don’t know when we’ll go watch a film next time.
I can wait a few hours to make my mate beg for me desperately. The bed’s not going to go anywhere without Dex.
And neither am I.