Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night was warm, a gentle breeze flowing through the trees. Stars twinkled above, the sight unmarred by clouds. The park was, thankfully, deserted. Though big enough to provide refuge from the endless activity of the city, it was still a relatively small park, and therefore nowhere nearly as popular as somewhere like Central Park. 

The empty quiet was a balm to Quentin's stressed soul. Clutching a beer in hand, he walked along the path, past neatly-clipped bushes and trees until he reached his usual spot, overlooking a reed-lined pond. Sighing almost dramatically, he collapsed onto the bench that had accompanied him through so many late-night ruminations. Too many, lately. 

"Tony fucking Stark," he mumbled under his breath, the distaste evident on his tongue. 

As passionate as Quentin was for his work, working under a man that proudly declared himself a 'genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist' was a continuous exercise in frustration. The man seemed to have a knack for constantly sticking his nose into his team's projects, as if he actually understood the complexities of the work they did. How could he, though? The man was always flitting between R & D, press conferences, car races, parties, ridiculously debauched vacations... the list was endless. How could he possibly have the time and energy to really understand holographic technology? It wasn't even the man's area of expertise, he designed weapons for God's sake! And yet, the self-described 'more successful Nikola Tesla of our time' still had to insert himself into Quentin's work as if he was personally trying to drive him insane. Either that, or he wanted to claim the resulting tech as his own. He honestly wouldn't be surprised. 

Bringing the beer to his lips, he took a long swig, as if in hope that the drink would wash away the bitter taste of his grievances. Unfortunately, it was working about as well as the last two beers he’d downed. 

It was then that he sensed another presence in the park. Great, he thought to himself, so much for having the place to myself.

He glanced over in the direction footsteps were coming from, eyes falling on a relatively small, slender figure walking towards him, head slightly bowed and hands in the pockets of ratty jeans. The breeze shifted, wafting a scent towards Quentin that almost made him drop his beer. A heady mix of strawberries and vanilla. Sweet and fruity, but smooth as silk.

Omega. Fertile. Unbonded.

What the fuck was a vulnerable omega doing, unaccompanied, in the middle of a park in New York at this time of night?! 

Quentin could feel his proverbial alpha hackles raise at the thought, the instinct to protect (or claim) hard to ignore. Still, he hoped the omega was just passing by. This was New York, after all. Not exactly the kind of city where people stopped for pleasant chats with random strangers, and he wasn't keen to break that reputation tonight, no matter what his alpha instincts were screaming at him. He wanted peace, quiet, and contemplation, not another person that he had to mask his true self around.

He closed his eyes. 

Just keep walking. Please.

"Hey."

Of course, Quentin could never have such luck. 

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to see the mystery omega standing roughly a metre away from him. Even under the weak yellow-tinted glow of the sodium lamp radiating from behind the bench, he could tell that the omega was just a boy, easily half his age. Maybe more. He had dark eyes (probably brown), slightly curled hair in a tousled boyish style (also probably brown) and pretty lips. At least the interruption was pleasant to look at.

"Can I help you?" Quentin asked, annoyance clear in his voice. 

Hopefully the kid wasn't here begging for drug money, or something. No well-behaved, sane omega would be approaching strange alphas in a park in the dead of night without some kind of nefarious motive. 

The boy looked disheartened at his tone, but was apparently resolute to continue on with his mission, regardless.

"I was wondering..." His voice sounded shaky. Nervous. "If, um, maybe you were, uh, l-looking for a good time?"

Quentin almost dropped his beer again. 

"What?" He sounded as incredulous as he felt.

The omega dropped his gaze to his own hands at that, having emerged from pockets to fidget together in clear nervousness. Still, he soldiered on.

"A-are you looking for a good time?" His voice was still shaky. "Because I could, um... I could help?"

Jesus Christ. Was the kid actually... propositioning him? With lines that sounded like they were lifted from a rejected Law & Order: SVU script? The turn this quiet drink in the park had taken left Quentin lost for words. Not an easy thing to do, mind you. Maybe the sugared scent clinging to the summer air had something to do with it...

The silence stretched on for what was probably only a few seconds, but it must have felt like a lifetime for the kid, because his resolve seemed to crumple almost immediately. 

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I- this was stupid, I shouldn't've- I'm sorry, I-I'll just go-"

He turned around swiftly, starting to walk away in the direction he came from, when Quentin suddenly found himself standing up. 

"Hang on."

What the hell am I doing?

The omega stopped, turning back to him with an expression resembling quiet shock. 

"...I didn't say no." He couldn't believe what he was saying. Barely minutes ago he'd wanted the kid gone. Now...

It could’ve been all the beer he'd already drank, or the pheromones hidden in the alluring fragrance of strawberries and vanilla assaulting his nostrils. Maybe it was even the mountain of pent-up frustration over his workplace woes, or a combination of all three. Whatever the reason, he suddenly found himself reckless. And wanting. 

"Oh." The utterance that escaped from that pretty mouth sounded as shocked as he looked.

Why? Isn't this what you wanted?

As if he could sense the alpha’s thoughts, the look of shock was quickly replaced with a terribly forced smile.

"I mean, okay. That's- that's good!" 

The boy moved eagerly back towards him, stopping much closer this time. At this distance, he was suddenly aware of just how much anxiety was rolling off of him, sour notes tainting his sweet scent. His nose wrinkled in distaste. 

"You're pretty nervous," the alpha stated bluntly. "Haven't you done this before, or what?"

The omega looked the very definition of a deer caught in headlights. Gorgeous brown eyes widened in fear, and pretty pink lips opened in a silent ‘oh!’.

Well, this was an interesting – and enticing – development. It certainly explained the cringe-inducing pick-up line and awkward disposition if it was his first day on this kind of job. Though he was sure most seemingly moral, upstanding citizens would find the combination of lack of experience and excessively youthful appearance an easy turn-off, it just so happened that Quentin was a man happily unburdened by such puritanical values. If he hadn’t served any previous ‘customers’ before now, then he (and no one else, his inner alpha screamed) could be the one to train this pretty young thing to service an alpha (himself) properly. Suddenly that scent of anxiety wasn’t nearly as distasteful.

"Good." The word was almost a growl, alpha want bleeding into his voice. "I want you to myself."

The boy looked down then, submissive, as if he couldn't handle the alpha's smouldering gaze. The alpha within Quentin sung in joy at the heavenly sight of such a good omega. Practically begging to be fucked.

He took another long sip of his beer in an effort to calm himself.

"That's not a bad thing?" The question was barely above a whisper, directed to the smattering of leaves, sticks and pebbles littering the ground. "Don't you want someone who, um, y-y'know, knows what they're doing?"

He laughed then, a sharp huff of air that escaped his mouth. "Kid, I didn't want anyone at all until you came along." 

Those eyes were back on him again, impossibly wider than before. They gave the omega an innocent child-like look that bordered on adorable. He viciously wanted to destroy that innocence. Preferably in his own bed. 

"Come on, let's get outta here. My place is only a block away."

He’d already started walking in the direction of his apartment when he heard the boy's wavering voice call out from behind him.

"Wait! Shouldn't we talk about, um, y'know..." His voice trailed off, clearly too embarrassed to finish the question. 

Quentin sighed in exasperation. He was getting impatient. "What?"

The kid seemed ashamed for a second, before a look of gritty determination overtook his face. "Payment. You need to pay."

"Yeah, I gathered that. What's your point?"

"Um, well, how much?"

Quentin sighed again, louder this time.

This kid...

"That's what you're supposed to tell me." He paused to look the omega up and down, a smirk forming at the way he seemed to squirm under his gaze. "How much do you think you're worth?"

How the boy could look so determined and unsure at the same time was beyond him – as was the amount of patience required to put up with how long his response took. He was just about to snap him out of it when the reply finally came. 

"Th-three- uh, t-two hundred?" He didn't sound even the tiniest bit sure. 

Poor thing’s got no idea what he's worth.

"Alright." Quentin stuck out the hand that wasn't holding his beer. "Two hundred, then. Deal?"

Unsure eyes stared at the hand for a second before shaking it. He was a little repulsed to find the other’s palm sweaty. The kid was so nervous. He said he hadn't done this, specifically, before – but did that also mean...?

"Are you a virgin?" The question was sudden, and hung heavily in the air, resilient despite the summer breeze. The boy's grip on his hand tightened for the briefest of seconds, before dropping down to his side. "You said you hadn't done this before, but you haven't really done anything at all, have you?" The alpha continued, voice growing husky over the possibility by the end of his query.

"I- um..." The kid looked like he wanted to lie, but then seemed to realise it was pointless. "No... I've only…" A small, pink tongue darted out to lick his lips nervously. Quentin's hungry eyes followed the movement closely. “...kissed someone. That's it.” 

This fucking kid.

Something hot and electric sparked in his chest, snaking its way down to his groin. He couldn’t believe his luck. Not only was the omega unbonded, but he was also almost completely untouched.

Quentin was going to be the first one to touch this boy in ways he’d only ever touched himself. The first to be inside him. The first to watch his face and hear his voice as he was overcome by pleasure he’d have never felt before...

He was sure his own scent reeked from his rapidly advancing arousal by this point. Based on the way his little nose twitched, the boy could definitely smell it.

"Just so you know, a pretty, untouched omega like you is one hell of a treat to an alpha like me. You could've asked for a lot more than two hundred."

The look the kid gave him was almost heartbreaking. Quentin only felt a little bad for saying it. Better to learn these things now. He was only trying to be helpful, really.

"Oh well, too late now. Let's get going, yeah?"

***

The walk to Quentin's apartment felt longer than it had any right to be. The omega didn't help at all, trailing silently just behind him like an anxious ghost, as if ready to escape into the ether at any moment. It kicked his alpha instincts into overdrive, a prickly niggling at the back of his neck forcing him to look behind himself every few metres to ensure his prey was still enthralled.

If the omega noticed, he surely didn't let it be known, eyes darting everywhere but in Quentin's direction. He seemed to find the pavement beneath his feet most interesting. Now that they were away from the jaundiced tint of the park lighting and under the bleached glow of the LED street lights, he could see that those brown eyes were red-rimmed and wet.

Trying to make me regret what I said? He thought, disdainfully. Little shit. It’s not going to work.

When they finally reached the red brick tower that was his building, he tossed back the last unpleasantly warm dregs of his beer and chucked it into the nearby bin. The resulting smash! of shattering glass was what finally drew the boy's attention back to him, eyes snapping wildly to meet his gaze. It was only for a second, before they were averted, again, back to the ground. The submissive display had Quentin’s hands itching to claw at him. 

Not yet. Soon.

"Come on," he ordered, motioning for the kid to follow him through the main door to the building. 

The 'thank you' he received for holding open the door for him was barely audible. Pride, intermingled with desire, heated and tickled his belly at the thought that the omega was essentially thanking him for dragging him back into his territory.

Stupid alpha thoughts. There's much better things he can be thanking me for...

The elevator ride was a test on his self-control that Quentin was loath to endure. As much as he wanted to ravish the sweet omega practically vibrating with anticipation in the furthest corner of the car from himself, he wasn’t exactly keen for any of this neighbours to walk in on him making out with a suspiciously youthful boy in potentially public quarters. Not when he’d worked so hard to craft an image of cool sophistication for himself. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to think he shared qualities with a playboy like Stark. Well, except for the ‘genius’ part, maybe.

So, naturally, the second he finally managed to get the both of them through the threshold of privacy that was his front door, Quentin’s lips were flush on those of the kid, hands grabbing and shoving the slight frame against the hard wood of the door with a ‘thump!’.

His quarry wasn’t exactly a good kisser, perhaps too shocked by the violent flurry of action to respond. Those pretty lips were soft, but stock-still against his own. Unsatisfied with the boy’s effort, Quentin pulled back just far enough to capture those doe eyes within his gaze.

“Something wrong?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Maybe he should play at being nice, at least for now. It was the kid’s first time, after all. And he wasn’t a complete monster.

“I’m sorry,” came the meek reply. Those expressive eyes once again dropped to the floor in the gorgeous submissiveness that would’ve elicited a groan – if he wasn’t already occupied with his half-assed attempt at making the omega feel more comfortable. “I just… I didn’t expect you to kiss me. Sorry.”

Quentin let out a huff of laughter at the confession. What did he think this was, Pretty Woman? He had a feeling the sheltered thing probably watched too much TV.

“But you have such pretty little lips,” he explained, his hand coming up to brush his thumb gently along his bottom lip. Velvet soft and dusky pink, like the petals of rose. “Of course I wanna kiss them, honey.”

Admittedly, It’d been a while since his last bedroom adventures with an omega, but apparently the simple addition of ‘honey’ was still as much of a timeless classic as it had been the last time he’d had a warm body under his aching hands. The boy’s cheeks had already been tinted pink, but now a glow bloomed across his sweet face warm enough that he could practically feel the heat radiating from his skin.

Too easy. Not so tearful now, are you?

“Let me.” It wasn’t a request, but an order, whispered under his breath as he closed the barely-there gap to reclaim those lips again.

Thankfully, this time it only took the kid a few frustratingly long seconds before he was responding the way he should. Those perfect petals softened and parted ever so slightly, granting Quentin the opportunity to invade the inviting wet heat with his tongue. While his partner was still sorely lacking in the skills department, he seemed to make up for it with an eagerness to please, his tongue shyly moving to dance with Quentin’s.

After a few of minutes of slightly awkward, but very passionate kissing, he slid his hand from the omega’s blushing cheek to the back of his head, fingers curling hungrily to grip tightly at soft curls. He swallowed the sound – something edging on a whine– made at that, corners of his mouth turning up in a sense of self-satisfaction. With his other hand, he found the hem of the t-shirt cloaking the body beneath him, fingers sliding under to tease at sinfully smooth skin. An explosion of strawberries and vanilla assaulted the alpha’s nostrils at the touch, the scent leaving him dizzy and aching as he breathed in harshly through his nose.

In sudden need of air, Quentin pulled back, his hand holding the omega’s head in place as the other greedily tried to chase his retreating lips. Brows knitted in confusion as those chestnut eyes fluttered open. Barely.

Fuck, just a bit of making out and he already looks like he’s drunk? That’s promising...

If he was an honest man, he would have admitted that he might have been a little drunk on more than beer, too.

“Enjoying it a little bit too much, aren’t you?” he breathed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smug half-smile. His fingers continued to stroke the vulnerable skin of his belly. He could feel goosebumps spawning under his fingertips.

“N-no, sir.” The kid looked like he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. “I mean, yes? It’s- you- you’re very good at kissing. Um, like a lot.”

He clearly had no idea of the right words to use, obviously never having engaged in dirty talk before in his short life. But it didn’t matter – he’d said enough when he called him ‘sir’ like that. Like it was fucking automatic.

He’ll make such a good boy.

“Good, because there’s a few other places I’d like to kiss you.” His words must have hit their mark, because the omega practically squeaked at that sentence. “Starting with my bed.”

He punctuated his lame little joke with a wink, before releasing his grip on those chocolate-brown locks and stepping back. He took a minute to kick off his shoes – pleased to see the other follow suit without prompting – then held out his hand, ready to guide the entranced boy back to his bedroom. After a long moment, his hand was taken, the omega’s throat bobbing in a nervous swallow at the action.

Look at you, acting like your sweet, little pussy isn’t already soaking wet for me.

His cock twitched achingly in his rapidly tightening pants at the thought. God, how he wanted to taste it, to lap up the luscious mix of juicy strawberries and silky vanilla slick while the source whimpered and squirmed beneath him, wanton and desperate for release.

Quentin blamed those thoughts for the way the omega was unceremoniously thumped face-down onto his bed once they finally reached his bedroom, guided (shoved) by the same hand that had effectively dragged him there. The little thing righted himself, clearly still wary enough to not want his back facing the alpha.

Smart boy. Not that it would help you…

The alpha didn’t hesitate to follow him down, the mattress dipping under his weight as he kneed into the space between the kid’s legs, his hands travelling up thighs to gently, but firmly, encourage them apart. He couldn’t resist rolling his hips, just once, into the inviting space there, hissing at the delicious contact.

The boy must have liked it too, because he screwed his eyes shut in an expression Quentin took to be pleasure, mouth falling open with a barely audible “ah!”. So he did it again.

“You like that, sweet thing?” he cooed, the words dripping with arousal, his voice close to a growl. His left hand snaked under the kid’s shirt, fingers travelling up flushed skin to settle at a pert nipple. “Is your little cock hard for me, huh?”

“Y-yes.” The reply was strained. The poor thing was probably a little overwhelmed.

“’Yes’, what?” His fingers closed on the little pebble of skin, pinching it tightly in his grip. A wolfish grin spread across his face at the shocked gasp the little omega gave him for that, eyelids slamming open. “I’m paying you, aren’t I? Shouldn’t you address me like I’m your boss, then?”

The pain must have been distracting, because it took a frustratingly long moment for him to process the meaning of Quentin’s request and obey.

Come on, baby. You said it before.

“...yes, sir?”

There it is.

“Good boy.”

He wasn’t sure if the cautious smile the blushing omega gave him then was due to the praise or the fact that he’d released his grip on the sensitive flesh. Either way, it was cute, in that ‘begging-to-be-wrecked’ kind of way. And he was well beyond the point of granting that request.

His hands moved to the hem of his t-shirt, tugging at the faded red fabric in obvious instruction. Thankfully, his order was understood, and the kid pushed himself up just enough for Quentin to easily slip the offending article of clothing off. Now that it was revealed, he was treated to the heavenly sight of that pretty pink blush spreading across the creamy pale skin of his naked chest.

His eyes trailed down the expanse of perfect skin, taking in the flat belly and just visible muscle. He’d thought the boy was thin, but now he could see that he was actually quite lithe, almost sculpted like a gymnast. He wondered, eagerly, if he was as flexible as his form suggested.

Beautiful.

He couldn’t help himself from dipping his head down to the precious little nipple he’d assaulted barely a minute ago, tongue darting out to lavish it with attention. The body beneath him squirmed at that, taking in a sharp gasp of air.

So sensitive.

This close, the omega’s mouthwatering scent was damn near overpowering, but his keen nose could also pick up the generic floral notes of cheap soap. It was a welcome sign that despite his inexperience, he’d at least considered his potential customers’ comfort enough to be freshly showered.

And Quentin was more than happy to take advantage of that little courtesy.

So, he moved to the other nipple then, giving it a quick lick and nip – another gasp – before drifting down the heated torso with a trail of kisses. By the time he reached the waistband of the kid’s well-worn jeans, his hands were already working hurriedly at the fly, like a child excitedly unwrapping a present on Christmas morning. And boy, did he feel like a spoilt child when he finally rid the kid of the last of his clothes with swift, practised movements.

Because the picture laid out before him was a gift.

Omegas tended to be essentially hairless down there, and this one was no exception. The treasure nestled between his legs was completely bare, inviting his greedy alpha eyes to take it all in. His little cock was hard, the dusky red tip glistening with a bead of pre-cum begging to be lapped up. Below that, his eyes were drawn to the sweet, wet lips of his pussy.

Quentin would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a smug sense of pride at the obvious evidence of arousal there. It was a boost to his ego to know that even though he hadn’t had much action lately, he still had the same appeal and skill that had seduced so many pretty young things in his past adventures.

“Fuck. You look amazing, honey.”

His words had the opposite effect to what he was expecting, the boy’s arms flying up to cover his face in a clear sign of embarrassment. He chased those arms with his hands, grabbing and pushing them down into the pillows above the mess of brown curls.

“It’s a bit late to be trying to hide from me now, sweet thing,” he purred, eyes boring pointedly into the pretty face he’d uncovered.

“Sorry, um, sir.” He was back to looking everywhere but at Quentin. “I just… I- I’m not-”

“You are,” he interrupted, hands tightening around those delicate wrists. His tone left no room for argument. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure what the omega was actually going to say, but he was sure his point was clear enough. “I don’t want you questioning me again, got it?”

“Y-yes, sir. I’m sorry.” At least he had the decency to look regretful. “Thank you.”

The last words were barely even a whisper, but he was close enough to make them out.

“Good. Good boy,” he praised, amused to see the kid perk up a bit at the reinforcement.

He leaned back then, releasing his grip so he could crawl back to settle back between the omega’s thighs. His mouth found its way to an inner thigh, biting down and then sucking on the flesh. He didn’t know if the sound his action drew out was from pleasure or pain, but he sure did enjoy it. The next victim was the juncture between leg and crotch, earning him a hiss and sudden jerking of hips. He worked his mouth there until the poor thing was panting under him and he was sure he’d marked the perfect skin. He repeated the treatment on the other leg, licking, biting and sucking in an effort to leave as much evidence of his claim on his omega as he could.

My omega.

The clearly possessive thought might have been sobering if he wasn’t already so far gone.

Stupid. But… how much would I have to pay to keep him just to myself?

Quentin knew it was probably more than he could ever hope to afford. His unsurpassable level of skill and knowledge may have earned him a pretty penny at work (even if he definitely deserved more considering who he had to work with), but it wasn’t nearly enough to fund the amount of one-on-one time this unnaturally alluring omega had him suddenly craving.

Inside, he could feel his inner alpha practically howling and thrashing at the aggravation of his object of desire potentially being denied him. Turbulently, it fought with the more logical (sane), part of his brain that was – quite frankly – disgusted with how easily he’d jumped to entertaining the idea of throwing away even more money at a whore.

He was Quentin Beck, for Christ’s sake! He could charm any little piece he wanted (he’d just been a bit too busy for it lately, that’s all). He certainly didn’t need to pay for a fuck. This was just opportunistic. A one time thing. He didn’t have to see this kid again, and so he wouldn’t.

I won’t.

Releasing his inner tension with a growl, Quentin leant back on his knees, suddenly intent on finally divesting himself of his entirely unnecessary and confining clothes. The sound must have scared the boy, because he was now being watched by wary eyes. Usually he wouldn’t care beyond how it would affect his chances at getting his dick wet, but those fucking alpha instincts were back to screaming at him to protect. He sighed heavily.

“Don’t worry, kid,” he assured, fingers already working at the too-many buttons of his shirt. “Not gonna hurt you. You’re just… doing things to me.”

Never mind that he’d definitely already inflicted pain with his fingers and too sharp, hungry teeth. Thankfully, the omega didn’t argue. Somehow, those words must have instilled him with some confidence, because instead he was pushing himself up, that adorable look of gritty determination back to replace those fearful eyes. Or, more likely, in spite of them.

“Should I, um, sir..?” The question trailed off, hanging in the air like the shaking hand he’d extended towards Quentin, paused in suspended animation just inches from his chest. Some confidence, but not a lot, apparently.

Honestly, he would have preferred having those hands on him from the moment he pushed the boy up against his door – there was nothing quite as flattering as the feeling of a partner equally as interested in your body as you were in theirs, after all. Still, better late than never. So he grabbed both of the omega’s delicate hands, pulling them closer, to place encouragingly on the remaining line of still-fastened buttons. The feeling of those small, soft hands dwarfed by his own strong, masculine paws was a joy to behold.

Perfect little omega.

“Of course, honey,” he purred. “If you want to be good for me.”

Those little hands curled into fists on his shirt, tightening around the fine charcoal fabric like it was a lifeline. He swore he could see the muscles of that thin, elegant neck working down a very dry-looking swallow. The gaze of those pretty doe eyes where glued to the area above his clenched fists – where the shirt had already been opened, exposing the hard planes of his muscled chest.

“Yes, sir.” The words were breathless. Quentin pondered if it was due to the view the boy was currently taking in, or the prospect of being praised again. “I do. I really wanna be good for you, alpha.”

The promise ended close to a whine, that, paired with the ingratiating addition of ‘alpha’, had his chest rumbling with a growl again. This time, it seemed to spur the sweet thing into action, thin fingers unfurling to work clumsily, albeit quickly, against the cotton poplin gates holding Quentin’s naked skin hostage. After the last button finally popped free, he hesitated for an achingly long second before reaching up and slipping his hands tentatively under the shirt, then up and across the alpha’s broad and slightly hairy chest to slide the fabric off his shoulders.

Even though they were barely warm, he could swear he felt a smouldering path sear across his skin in the wake of those electric fingers. A fire crackled in his chest, raining embers of heat down to his belly and aching groin that screamed for more touch. But he had to ignore that cry for now, because he still had his fucking pants on.

Unfortunately, his partner didn’t seem to share the urgency the alpha felt, apparently hypnotised by the naked torso on display before him. His hands were still on Quentin’s arms from pushing the shirt off, but slowly (painfully so), his right hand lifted up to shyly brush against the smattering of hair adorning the centre of his chest. He suppressed the urge to smack the hand away as those fingers tickled his skin. As much as he wanted his body to be worshipped for the temple it was, he needed that attention elsewhere.

“You’re being so good, honey.” Honestly, the kid could be doing a lot better, but the bloom of sweet strawberries accompanying the shuddering breath he got in return was worth the effort to lie. “But I need you to get me out of these pants, okay?”

“Sorry! Sorry, I…” The boy really seemed to have a thing for apologising, leaving Quentin caught between joy at the submissiveness and irritation at the pathetic lack of backbone. The omega paused for a second, probably to gather his thoughts, fingers continuing their exploration. “I just thought I’d have to… you know... with some gross, old alpha or something. But you’re not…” He bit at his lip then, blush returning with full force to his pretty face. “You’re, like, really hot.”

Here this kid was, completely naked after offering his body up for cash, but still so embarrassed over complimenting his john’s body. Not that he was complaining at the effort, because even though he was sure of his status as a very desirable alpha, hearing it was still certainly nice. Nice enough he’d let him get away without addressing him correctly, just this once.

“Yeah?” Quentin captured the adventuring hand in his own and dragged it down to the expensive leather belt encircling the waist of his dress pants. “Well, you wanna see more then, don’t you, pretty thing?”

If freeing the alpha from his shirt was nerve-wracking, the task before him now must have been terrifying, because the omega stayed frozen for far too long, lower lip once again trapped in his teeth. The sudden retreat to reluctance was trying Quentin’s already thinning patience.

“Come on.” The order came out harsher than he’d intended, startling the boy out of his reverie. The alpha grimaced and reached his hand out to gently cup the other’s cheek in an effort to soften the blow. “You’re being such a good boy, keep it up.”

Thank God for praise kink, because that certainly put those little hands to work. Once his fly was finally dragged open, there was another agonising pause before finally, finally, the kid was pulling his pants and underwear down enough for his painfully hard cock to pop out. The way the ridiculously innocent boy’s eyes widened comically at the sight ripped a bark of laughter from Quentin’s throat.

“Bigger than you were expecting?” Sometimes the alpha wondered if maybe he was just a little too full of himself.

“No!” The reply honestly surprised him. Definitely not the word he wanted to hear, either. “It’s just different, seeing one, um, in person like this. I guess.”

It wasn’t a very smooth recovery at all, leaving Quentin actually wondering if he really did think he was ‘small’. Maybe all the stress from work was leaving him with an especially short fuse, but the boy’s reply really rubbed him the wrong way. He was paying for this, and he had the gall to imply he was fucking small. To add insult to injury, he’d also neglected to address him with the respect he deserved, yet again. He knew he’d told himself he’d be nice to the kid, but he only had so much niceness to give, and these deeds could not go unpunished. An alpha’s role was to train their omega, just as much as it was to protect, after all.

“Hmm,” he hummed, eyes narrowing in displeasure that he only had to feign a little. “So you’re saying I’m not big, then?”

The shocked look he received for that was somehow more ridiculous than the last, and exactly what his twisted little heart was hoping for.

“Nononono!” The string of desperate protests tumbled out of his mouth so fast it was like one long word. “That’s not- I-I didn’t mean-”

“Not only that,” the irritated alpha interrupted, silencing the omega, “but you’re being disrespectful. Didn’t I tell you to call me ‘sir’?”

Realisation dawned on the omega’s fine features, but it was too late now. Quentin was already standing up from the bed, rising to tower over the helpless little thing. His hands hovered over the belt hanging limp from his pants, considering for a second, before he thought better of it.

Better just give him my hand, this time. He hasn’t really been trained yet, after all...

The kid must’ve cottoned on to Quentin’s intent to punish, because now he was looking up at him with the most tragically fear-filled puppy-dog eyes he’d been subjected to in a very long time. The sweet scent of arousal that had grown to fill his bedroom soured like rotten fruit. He fought hard to ignore both it and those damn protective instincts that stirred in its wake.

“I’m so, so sorry, sir! Please don’t-”

“Roll over and present.” His voice was stern, brokering no room for argument. If they were bonded – he tried not to think about how much his inner alpha wished that was true – or part of the same pack, he could have used his Alpha Voice to force him. But as it was, he’d have to settle for mere tone alone, unfortunately.

While he waited for the omega to follow his order, he stripped himself of the last dregs of his clothes – his pants, underwear, and socks falling to the ground to be kicked away thoughtlessly. When he looked up again, however, he was treated to the aggravating sight of the boy still sitting in the exact same position.

A quick glace at his eyes was all it took to see they were starting to shine with unshed tears once more. Now that he was naked and in his bed, those sad eyes made him look even prettier. It didn’t do much to diffuse his ire at being directly disobeyed, though.

“Are you… are you going to hurt me… sir?” The shaky words were barely audible, but thick with those barely restrained tears.

Quentin supposed he would be asking the same thing, too, if he was in the place the omega was right now. It didn’t make it any less annoying, though, having questions thrown at him instead of his order being obeyed.

“I’m going to punish you,” he explained coolly, crossing his arms in a way that just so happened to highlight the impressive girth of his muscles. “It has to hurt, otherwise you won’t learn.”

Maybe his choice of words was a little cruel, offering no comfort when he definitely should have, but the omega was practically begging for it at this point. They must have hit their mark, too, because those tears were falling freely now, the kid’s face twisted in an expression of utter betrayal.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me!” he cried, scrambling backwards in a pathetic effort to get away from the intimidating alpha.

Quentin couldn’t help rolling his eyes at that.

So fucking dramatic.

Wary of the possibility of that desperate scrambling escalating into a legitimate flight from his bedroom, he decided to finally give the poor kid a break.

“Calm down, it’s just a little spanking for Christ’s sake. It’s a pretty common kink, you know.”

That seemed to arrest the boy’s meltdown, leaving him wide-eyed and sniffling. But at least he’d stopped trying to escape.

“Just… spanking?” he asked, wiping the tears from his cheeks with shaking hands.

“Yes,” Quentin replied, exasperated. He sank down to sit on the edge of the bed near the quivering mess. “I’m not even going to do it that hard, since it’s your first time. Right?”

“Oh... right.” The omega looked humiliated now, arms wrapping around his own naked body as if he could hide his shame behind those slender arms. “I’m sorry. I mean, sorry, sir. I thought that you were gonna… oh my God, I feel so stupid. Why did I think that? You’ve been so nice to me! I can’t believe I- I’m such an idiot! I’m so sor-”

“Hey, hey, stop that.” Quentin couldn’t take any more of the kid’s ashamed ramblings and apologies. He reached out, latching on to one of his arms with a firm grip and gently pulling. “It’s okay, just come here.”

He came to him easily, like a guilty dog trying to ingratiate itself to its owner after chewing up their expensive suede couch. As he guided him to lay, stomach down, over his lap, the alpha wondered briefly just what exactly the boy had thought the punishment was going to be. Maybe he’d noticed the way his hands had paused at his belt? He’d still been freaking out when he’d left it on the floor with the rest of his clothes, though.

Well, whatever it was, he’d obviously thought the alpha capable of something truly horrendous – and the thing was, he wasn’t entirely wrong. He’d certainly done a lot worse for a lot less. But something about this omega made him a little... soft. Made the instinct to protect harder to ignore. It was probably just that scent. So strong. Sweet or sour, Quentin couldn’t help but be affected.

He didn’t deign to ponder on it for much longer though, as the warm body now stretching out over his naked thighs was proving to be blissfully distracting.

“You know, you might find you like it,” he purred, teasingly.

He ran his left hand over the silky smooth skin laid out before him, dancing leisurely over the hills and valleys of ribs and vertebrae to settle low on the boy’s nape – fingers just brushing the bonding glands sitting on either side of that elegant neck. A distance made all the shorter by the size of his hand in comparison. He wrapped his fingers around the flesh there, grip gentle but strong.

“It’s only natural for an omega to find learning to submit a… rewarding experience.”

His sweet omega only responded with a shiver and sigh, a swathe of goosebumps erupting over his beautiful skin in response to his touch. That sour note that had infiltrated his scent was rapidly fading, thank God.

With his other hand, Quentin blazed a trail down the boy’s lower back, watching in amusement as the muscles there twitched and shivered in response. When his fingers finally reached the deliciously plump globe of an ass cheek, the other’s breath hitched, and he felt the muscle under his hand flex involuntarily.

A certain part of his own anatomy flexed involuntarily at that, too.

He gave the cheek a firm squeeze, committing the feel of the tender flesh entrapped in his grip to his memory. He was going to enjoy this.

“I think you deserve twenty-five.”

Quentin could feel the muscles of the neck gripped in his other hand tighten in effort as the omega tried to lift his head up. He pushed down, keeping him locked in place.

“Ngh-! Twenty-five?!”

The sheltered little thing didn’t know how kind he was being.

“Yeah. Five for what you said about my cock, and five for each time you failed to call me ‘sir’,” he explained matter-of-factly. “Actually… thirty. Because you just did it again.”

“Wait, please, sir-” the kid was straining in his grip again.

“Stop it.” His voice edged on a growl. “Just accept your punishment like a good omega and it’ll be over before you know it. I’m going easy on you. I even let you get away with not calling me ‘sir’ the first time, not to mention disobeying when I ordered you to present.”

“No! Sir, I didn’t-”

His protest was cut off with the loud THWACK! of Quentin’s hand coming down, hard, on his plump little ass. The cry of shock and pain he received was like music to his ears.

“That’s one. I want you to count the rest for me, got it?” he instructed, raising his hand again.

He didn’t bother to wait for a reply, slamming the hand down on that same, poor cheek.

“Ah! T-two.” The poor thing already sounded wrecked. The thought popped into Quentin’s head that thirty might be too much for the fragile omega, but was swiftly dismissed. He was spending his very hard earned cash on this, he deserved his money’s worth.

“Good boy, now keep it up.”

Smack!

“Three!”

Smack!

“Ngh, f-four!”

Smack!

“Ah! F-five!”

They continued like that, each forceful slap followed by the boy’s increasingly strained voice keeping the count. By the time he’d reached ten, the abused skin had started to redden nicely, reminiscent of a ripened peach just begging to be bitten. He gave his prey a few seconds to recover, gently kneading the tender muscle lazily. Then he continued the assault on the other cheek.

Interestingly, in contrast to the pain in his voice, that lovely omega scent was definitely reaching a peak of syrupy-sweet arousal by now, suggesting that Quentin had indeed been correct with his earlier prediction.

A lot more eager to be trained than you thought, huh?

By the fifteenth slap, the timbre of the kid’s voice had begun to take on a distinctly different quality, his cries progressing into barely constrained breathy moans. And by twenty, he’d noticed those little hips thrusting, ever so slightly – almost sneakily – against his thigh with each impact, the slick glide of pre-cum painting its side. Quentin stopped again to knead the cheek under his hand.

“You’re liking this, aren’t you, honey?” Of course, he didn’t really need to ask, but he did need to tease.

The omega just made a strangled noise, clearly too embarrassed to give an intelligent reply. So he decided to do some investigating, his hand drifting down from its perch on that gorgeous ass to slip just between his legs. His fingers met the wetness of slick as they reached to stroke the lips of his pussy, eliciting a moan and roll of the kid’s hips.

“Oh, you are,” Quentin purred, fingers still playing lazily. “Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you, baby?”

When his question was met with nothing more than laboured breathing and squirming, the alpha ripped his hand away to strike down on that ass once more.

“Aren’t you, baby?”

“Ah! Yes, alpha!”

Huh. ‘Alpha’ again. Not sir… but somehow better.

He’d always preferred ‘sir’ to ‘alpha’ – something to do with the feeling of having an official position of power over someone rather than just superiority from his secondary gender alone – but the way it sounded, coming from this omega, was turning into a thing of pure beauty.

“Well, I’ve got good news, honey, because you’ve got ten more to go.” And with that, he put his hand back to work, making sure that each slap landed harder and faster than the last twenty, determined to push the kid over the edge.

His efforts must have been effective, because each blow had the sweet thing rutting against his thigh desperately, almost losing count to the high-pitched moans that had each number practically blending with the next. When Quentin got to thirty, he shifted his hand on the omega’s neck to capture the bonding gland in his grip, and squeezed, hard, right as his other palm came down on his ass one final time. The sound the kid made landed somewhere between a shout and a sob. His hands clenched at the bedding beneath him, hips jerking wildly to chase the sudden orgasm that was currently painting the alpha’s thigh – and probably the bed – with the distinctive wet heat of cum.

He watched, mesmerised, as the beautiful creature rode it out, body writhing in pleasure before crumbling into a panting mess in his lap.

“Thirty,” Quentin finished for the boy, finally deciding to take pity on him. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

All he got in response from the limp body draped across his lap, like a murder victim, was a battered groan. He laughed, hand moving from his neck to ruffle the mop of chestnut waves.

It took a few minutes for the omega to recover. By the time he peeled himself off from Quentin’s lap, he must have reached some sort of clarity, because he looked downright mortified over himself.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I-I-” He was apparently incapable of finishing the sentence. Instead, he tried to sit down, seemed to think better of it, then lay back on the bed, hands rising to cover his beet-red face. “I’m so sorry, sir. I tried not to, but then you did that thing to my neck, and I couldn’t-, it just… it felt so good.”

The alpha just laughed again, reaching for the closest article of clothing – the kid’s t-shirt, apparently – to wipe the mess off his thigh. The owner didn’t seem to notice, hands still covering his face.

“I told you, you’d like it. You should trust me more,” he said smugly, tossing the shirt to the floor.

The omega moved his fingers to peer through them at Quentin shyly.

“Yeah, well, I just met you.” His voice was muffled by his palms. “I don’t even know your name, ’sir’.”

Well, that was unexpectedly sassy – especially coming from someone who couldn’t even show his face. He could practically hear the air quotes around the honorific.

“Why do you need to know my name? I’ve already told you what to call me. Very thoroughly,” he countered, giving the brat a cocky smirk.

That earned him an embarrassed groan, the boy’s fingers moving to hide his eyes again. Quentin crawled over to him, pushing his legs apart to settle between them once more. He startled at the touch, obviously surprised by the advance in his blinded state.

The alpha’s eyes were drawn to the marks he’d left scattered across those inner thighs earlier. It sent a shiver of possessiveness up his spine, his instincts thrilled at having made some form of obvious claim on the omega. And above all his hard work, he was was treated to the display of remaining cum still smeared across the kid’s lower belly and softening cock.

“Look at you,” he whispered, the words almost reverent. “What a mess…”

He didn’t wait for a reply before leaning in and slipping his tongue out to lap up it up.

Being useless for fertilisation, omega cum tended to be close in taste to their slick, and this was no exception. The sweetness of strawberries wasn’t very strong, but the notes of vanilla were rich and encouraged his tongue to map out the skin under him eagerly. By the time he got to his pretty little cock, the poor thing was panting, breath escaping noisily from the gaps between his hands and face. As soon as Quentin took it into his mouth, those hands flew away from his face to grasp frantically at the alpha’s hair, revealing an expression of pained shock.

“Ah, fuck! T-too much!” he hissed, fingers yanking painfully at his hair in a futile attempt to pull him off the oversensitive organ. “Sir, please, s-stop!”

Oh, yes. Very sensitive.

Quentin just kept sucking, the pain, struggle, and cries of protest merely spurring him on to lave away every least drop of that delicious taste. He worked until the kid’s cock was wiped completely clean, his mouth finally releasing the abused morsel with an obscenely wet ‘pop’. The fingers in his hair relaxed in relief, but he had no intention of letting his victim recover, moving down instead to lick a long, teasing swipe up the entire length of his slick-soaked cunt.

“Fuuuuuck.” This curse sounded very different to the last.

He would’ve been joining the boy in the cursing, too, if his mouth wasn’t already occupied, because the taste of the much sweeter slick coating the velvet-soft skin was both heavenly and entirely sinful. Instead, he just hummed in agreement, lapping up the syrupy, juicy mess with repeated drawn-out swipes of his expert tongue. The omega’s fingers had returned to gripping his hair, but far more encouragingly this time, while his legs squirmed under Quentin’s own strong hands. His partner’s mouth seemed to be working just as hard as his own, releasing a near-constant stream of moans peppered with curses and prayers alike. Paired with his intoxicating scent, it all worked to spur him on further, adding some open-mouthed kisses before he moved his attention to the sensitive bead that was the boy’s clit.

As soon as his tongue found its target, the kid released a broken moan. It edged on something high and feminine, that sounded absolutely beautiful to Quentin. At the same time, his legs convulsed and tightened around his head, as if intent on drawing him in as close as possible. He managed quite a few more licks and kisses on that sweet spot, basking in the sounds his omega was rewarding him with, until the feeling of being smothered become too strong, and he had to push himself away.

“Ugh, no! Don’t stop, alpha,” the boy protested immediately in a whine, pretty doe eyes locked onto him pleadingly.

Quentin smiled cruelly, relishing in the need coming off the poor thing.

“First you tell me to stop, now you’re demanding I don’t stop.” He almost laughed at the way the kid’s face screwed up in annoyance at that. “You shouldn’t be telling me what to do at all, you little brat.”

He crawled forward over his body then, smile spreading wolfishly, revealing sharp canines.

“Do you need me to teach you another lesson, naughty thing?” The shaking head he received in reply was quick and vigorous. “Good. Because I’m running out of patience.”

He placed an elbow by the kid’s head then, using the limb to hold up his weight while he lowered his body down. With his other arm, he adjusted the kid until he was lying in a better position for access. And with a roll of his hips, he was sliding against glorious wet heat. And God, was it like heaven to finally feel that perfect little pussy against his cock, the feeling forcing a long, low groan from his throat.

The omega gasped, hands flying up to to clutch at Quentin’s shoulders and eyes screwing shut briefly before opening again. Though he was obviously still aroused, he also looked – irritatingly – anxious, scent souring just a hint in echo.

“Shouldn’t we use, uh, protection, sir?” His voice was barely audible. Strained.

Fuck no!

“No,” the frustrated alpha gritted out. “No, honey.” He tried again, softer, hoping some reassurance would ease things along. “You can’t get pregnant if you’re not in heat, and I’m clean, so don’t worry.”

It was only a small lie – he actually was clean, and the chances of the boy getting pregnant outside of a heat were near impossible – so he didn’t feel guilty in the slightest that it seemed to work.

“Oh, um… o-okay.” He didn’t appear entirely convinced, eyes glued to where his fingers where gripping Quentin’s arm in nervous avoidance. But at least he was giving in. “Will it… will it hurt?”

Ugh. Now is not the time for an interrogation.

It was a near losing battle keeping his annoyance at bay by now.

“Maybe a bit. Just relax, and it’ll feel good, okay?” He punctuated his sentence with another blissful roll of his hips, hoping the action spoke for itself.

To his intense relief, it seemed to, the other’s eyes fluttering shut and fingernails digging into Quentin’s shoulders. And that was all the encouragement he needed, desire breaking like a dam within him, the flood of want carrying him to finally, finally, push his way into the searing pleasure of his omega’s sweet, warm cunt.

It took all of the restraint left within him not to force his aching cock all the way in with one sharp thrust. Instead, he took his time, rather charitably, allowing the boy ample opportunity to adjust to the invasion – all the while focusing on how fucking good it felt to finally be inside him.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned, echoing the kid’s earlier cursing.

Speaking of, he was being strangely quiet. Realising his own eyes had fallen closed in pleasure, he opened them to check on his omega. His eyes had screwed shut too, but it didn’t look to be from the same bliss Quentin was experiencing.

Suddenly concerned his partner wasn’t having a good time – damn instincts – he leaned down to bury his face in the crook of his neck, mouth meeting the fragrant gland there in a wet kiss. It was a pretty easy short-cut to getting an omega to relax, the stimulation releasing calming (and in this context, arousing), signals to the brain.

Just like when his earlier well-timed squeeze had wrung an orgasm out of the kid, his kisses were delightfully successful, earning him a mouthful of strawberry sweetness, paired with another high and pretty moan. Hands released their grasp to circle tightly around his neck, while his legs followed suit, wrapping snugly around the alpha’s hips. Both of them were moaning then, as the action pushed Quentin further, all the way into the dizzying grip of his pussy.

“So… big…” He didn’t think the awed words were addressed directly to him, barely audible despite coming from next to his ear. It was still pretty good restitution for what he’d said about his size earlier, though.

So, he kindly gave the boy another moment to acclimate, sucking gently on his gland, before slowly, achingly so, pulling out until only his tip remained within. When he pushed back in, it was only marginally faster than before, but with a quick roll of his hips at the end. His partner seemed to like that – if the gasp he gave was any indication – encouraging Quentin to repeat the move. He kept up the pattern – slow, languid thrusts that gradually built in momentum as he revelled in the tight heat of his omega.

It felt so fucking good. So perfect. The limbs wrapped wrapped tightly around him, clinging like he was a lifeline. The stream of gasps and whimpers pouring freely from near his ear. The taste on his tongue like nectar of the gods, and the skin beneath his fingers so warm and soft. His heart could stop right now, and he’d die happy, buried within his beautiful, sweet, perfect omega.

His pace was steadily picking up, concern for the boy’s comfort giving way to the burning need to chase his own building pleasure. The other didn’t seem to mind though, if the way the nails now currently scratching their way across his back and shoulders was anything to go by.

It fucking hurt, but the knowledge that he was the one driving the kid to act out with such passion was better than any painkiller could hope to be. Not to mention the animalistic thrill that flowed through him at the thought of his omega marking him, even if it wasn’t with teeth.

Speaking of, Quentin was starting to become aware of the tell-tale proverbial itch of his fangs, warning of the impending drive to bite, mark, claim in response to both his pleasure and the heady mix of their pheromones flooding the room. Unfortunately aware of the risk of accidentally bonding to the kid – something he absolutely, definitely, truly did not want (but maybe did, just a little) – he dragged his mouth away from the siren’s call of the bonding gland.

Pushing himself up on his elbow a bit to look down at his partner, he was pleased to see the pretty face a visage of pure bliss – eyes closed, but mouth open to let out gorgeous little ‘Ah! Ah! Ah!’s with each thrust. It felt natural to lean back down and capture those sounds with his own lips. The sweet thing moaned into the feverish kiss, legs squeezing and hips working with clumsy desperation to meet Quentin’s quickening thrusts. He could just feel the boy’s tiny cock, painfully hard and dribbling pre-cum, trapped between their bodies, rubbing against his skin with each roll of his hips. Instinctively, he reached down between them and captured the little cock in his free hand, squeezing firmly as his thumb swiped over the tip.

Immediately, the kid broke away from Quentin’s hungry kiss.

“Oh- oh my God, alpha…” It was insane just how gratifying it was to hear that word, again, in his wrecked voice. “Yes, oh fuck, s-so good, please, d-don’t stop.”

“Yeah? You like that, omega?” His own voice was low and unsteady, overcome with exertion and pleasure alike. His fist was pumping the boy’s cock in time with his bucking hips now. “Like how it feels, having – ngh! – your alpha’s cock f-filling you up?”

“Ah! Y-yes, alpha.” The words sounded like a real struggle, overwhelmed as the kid was. “So c-close, please…”

It only took a few more strokes and well-timed swipes of this thumb before his omega was crying out beautifully underneath him, his lithe body writhing in ecstasy as his orgasm overtook him. Warm cum spilled out over Quentin’s still-moving hand, escaping between fingers to splatter over the boy’s flexing belly, while his walls spasmed gloriously around his cock.

He himself was already close, so it was only a few seconds before the alpha was following the kid over the edge, pushed by the sensation. His hips bucked wildly as he practically howled in pleasure, thick bursts of cum coating the inside of that sweet, perfect pussy that had brought him here.

Driven by an irresistible animal need, his fangs searched for flesh to claim. Luckily, he had just enough remaining lucidity to avoid the omega’s gland, instead sinking canines into the soft skin of a shoulder. If the boy protested, he wasn’t aware, overcome by waves of pure ecstasy, bolstered by the thick fog of pheromones and coppery tang of his sweet omega’s blood blooming on his tongue.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, teeth and cock buried alike, floating in the seemingly timeless sea of his afterglow, before he finally came back to himself.

His teeth came free with a hiss and pained groan from beneath him. He felt a quantum spark of shame at his loss of control as his eyes swept over the bloody mess he’d left on the delicate skin there. It was definitely deep enough to leave a lasting scar. The notion that he’d successfully left a permanent mark, even if it wasn’t a bonding one, washed away the morsel of shame with a wave of pride over his handiwork. He gave the wound a quick few instinctual swipes of his tongue – an act usually reserved for a bonding bite – before rolling off the omega.

He wasn’t sure what it was about this kid, but he’d certainly never had a fuck that good outside of the few rare times he’d had an omega in heat. Maybe even including them. His inner alpha was apparently intensely aware of this, because it was already distantly screaming through the fog of Quentin’s bliss that he was in danger of losing this treasure of an omega to some other mongrel alpha if he didn’t do something about it.

The threat had him looking over at the kid, as if he had to make sure he was still there.

The boy was lying motionless, gaze transfixed on a hand he was holding up to his face. Quentin was confused for a moment before his eyes made out the striking crimson red of blood smeared across those fine fingers. He wondered what he was thinking – was he angered by the violation? Or perhaps confused by the act? A pathetically wishful part of him hoped he was pleased to be marked, to have served his alpha so well.

“Hey.” His voice broke the silence that had fallen over them, startling the kid out of his trance. His eyes snapped to the alpha, looking as if he’d only just realised he was there. “You trying to read your own fortune over there?”

The boy’s eyebrows furrowed at the question, though he couldn’t tell if it was from confusion or annoyance.

“You… bit me.” He spoke softly, as if unsure of his own words. He seemed shocked.

Quentin waited a moment for him to continue, but apparently that was all the stunned thing was capable of saying. So he shrugged in response.

“It was either bite you there,” –he waved his hand towards the wounded shoulder– “Or here,” he explained, his hand moving to brush his fingers against the omega’s (currently very red) bonding gland, earning him a flinch.

“Sorry,” he continued with a sheepish smile, though the apology wasn’t really sincere. “I couldn’t control it. Had to bite something. Like I said, kid, you do things to me.”

The boy was back to looking at his hand, but a blush was colouring his cheeks now.

Too easy.

“You couldn’t’ve bitten a pillow or something?” he argued, though there was no conviction to it.

“No way, honey,” Quentin replied, his sheepish smile morphing into one of his classic flirty smirks. He rolled onto his side, closing the short distance between the two to trace a finger through the liquid splattered on the omega’s belly. “It had to be you.”

He slipped the finger into his mouth then, humming theatrically at the taste as if it proved just how irresistible the kid was. His opponent followed his movements with an expression of confusion crossed with disgust.

“Ew, don’t do that! Gross.”

Quentin laughed, amused at the display of childish innocence. There really was a certain type of sinful joy to corrupting something that was once so pure. It was also a good sign that he was possibly already forgetting all about the alpha’s transgression.

“Mmm, but you taste so good.” He dipped his finger into the mess once again, then gave the omega the best textbook evil villain grin he could muster. “Don’t you wanna try some?”

He’d barely moved his hand toward his victim before he was squealing and rolling away, limbs scrambling wildly in an effort to escape off of the other side of the bed. He was fast, but Quentin was faster, capturing his now-giggling quarry with ease. He pulled at him until they both tumbled back into the sheets, the boy landing half-sprawled and face-down across the alpha’s chest, wrapped securely in his strong arms. He could feel the tackiness of drying cum sticking between their bodies, but he was enjoying himself too much to care.

“I can’t believe how much of a brat you’re still being,” he complained into the crown of chestnut waves tickling his beard. “Not thanking me for the amazing orgasms I gave you, accusing me of being gross, trying to run away from me, not calling me ‘sir’…”

One of his hands had made it’s way down to the kid’s ass by now, squeezing the round little thing like a threat. He could practically feel the apprehension rolling of him at the action, breath quickening at the touch.

“Lucky for you, I don’t have the energy to punish you, now.”

Quentin wasn’t sure if the huff of breath he heard then was from relief or annoyance.

A comfortable silence settled between them, then. The alpha was content to take the downtime as an opportunity to commit the feeling of the body in his arms to memory, hands travelling leisurely over all the skin he could reach in an effort to map it. He may have also been making a valiant effort to avoid acknowledging just how much the inevitability of having to let go of the very omega it belonged to was disturbing him.

Meanwhile, the kid seemed to be lost in thought, eyes staring intently where his fingers played idly with the hair on Quentin’s chest. He wondered if he found the body hair attractive – if maybe he had a thing for older men like himself. Then he remembered the words the boy had uttered in his earlier ramblings – ‘you’re, like, really hot’.

In the moment, they’d just been merely flattering, nothing that he didn’t already think of himself. But looking back on it now, it gave him some kind of strange feeling, something suspiciously warm and fuzzy blooming stupidly in his chest. A strong, rapidly overwhelming emotion that’s intensity was way out of line for the quality of the words. It left him confused and disconcertingly anxious, a weakness that didn’t suit an alpha like himself at all. And all over a mid-tier compliment from a hooker he’s paying for.

What if that meant the kid didn’t really mean it? What if he was just trying to make sure he got paid?

The thought sent an unexpected spike of panic through him, triggering him to desperately push away the mess of feelings. He had to think logically.

He was such a blushing virgin when we met in the park, there’s no way he’d have the experience to put on a performance like that and make it convincing … right?

No, I’m not fucking stupid. I’d know if he was lying. Besides, the way he said ‘alpha’...

...

Fuck, why does this suddenly matter so much to me?!

“Are you okay?” The boy’s question came out of nowhere, ripping Quentin out of his minor crisis and dumping him unceremoniously into the here and now.

Huh?

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?” he repeated. The alpha now noticed that he’d shifted in his arms in order to look up at him, worry etched into his delicate features. When had that happened? “Your scent’s all… weird.”

Oh.

Of course the kid could smell his inner turmoil. And of course he’d be the type to needle him about it.

“Oh, I’m more than okay, kid. Believe me,” he lied, smirking and adding what he hoped was a convincing wink.

He definitely wasn’t interested in discussing feelings with a whore.

“Oh… okay. Good.” The weak smile he got in return suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced, but his concern seemed to be assuaged enough for him to drop the issue, thankfully.

The boy was quiet for a minute then, back to stroking his chest absent-mindedly, eyes watching his own fingers. Unfortunately, the reprieve didn’t last long, because suddenly he was looking up at him again, eyes locking onto Quentin’s with a very determined stare.

“Why won’t you tell me your name?”

Ugh. This again?

Honestly, at first, he just hadn’t thought it necessary to exchange names – he knew what he liked to be called when fucking, and the omega had taken to it like a duck to water. Besides, what was the point in learning the name of someone you never planned on seeing again?

But now... it felt like exchanging that information would be crossing a line, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with the other side.

It’s harder to miss someone if you don’t know anything about them.

“Why do you need to know so much?” Quentin countered, searching that intense stare for a clue. “I’m just a customer, I don’t matter to you.”

Shit... Why did that sound so self-pitying?

The boy looked affronted at his non-answer. To Quentin’s relief, he broke the stare to gaze off across the room. He was less relieved when he noticed the hand on his chest balling up into a miniature fist. The little shit was building up to something.

“You… you took my virginity.” It sounded like he couldn’t believe the very words he was saying. “And that matters. When I remember it, I… I don’t want to think of you as just the guy who paid for it. I know it sounds stupid, but maybe if… maybe if I at least knew your name, then I could remember it as something special. But like, in a normal way, you know? Like how people are meant to lose their virginity.”

He wants to remember me.

He knew, logically, that it was an entirely common thing to want to remember your first time, and for the memory of such a significant rite of passage to be something that’s looked back upon with fondness. It really had nothing to do with himself as a person. But still – a small, pitiful part of him couldn’t help but latch on to the possibility of this omega wanting to think of him, and what they did. As something special.

Quentin sighed heavily, realising he’d been defeated. And so easily, too.

Pathetic.

“Fine.” The exasperated word had the kid’s gaze snapping back to him so fast it must’ve been dizzying. He looked a little surprised, like he’d thought he’d have to argue much more than that in order to get his way. It didn’t make the alpha feel any better about himself. “If it’s that important to you – and because I know you’ll probably just keep bugging me about it, anyway... it’s Quentin.”

He watched as the boy’s lips echoed the name silently, then spread in a triumphant grin. It would’ve been heartwarming if he didn’t feel so thoroughly bested. As it was, he only felt the tiniest spark of joy at the sight.

“Thank you.” He could tell the omega really meant it. “I’m Peter.”

And there it was, the white elephant he didn’t want bestowed upon him.

A title for his new obsession.

Peter.

His inevitable downfall.

Peter.

Before, he could maybe write him off as just some whore. Some pretty little thing he took the virginity of and tossed aside because he didn’t matter. He was nameless. But now… now he was a person. Real, tangible… significant.

Fuck.

Quentin was doomed. The poor kid was, too. And he had no idea, grinning up at him like he’d just won something.

Won yourself a whole lotta trouble, kid.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet you, Peter,” the afflicted alpha quipped lamely, trying hard to act like something big didn’t just happen.

It made the boy – no, Peter – groan and roll his eyes good-naturedly. Quentin couldn’t help but reach his hand up to that pretty face to cup his cheek, thumb stroking the skin there softly.

“We should do this again real soon.” It was meant as an extension of his crappy little joke, but come out sounding so painfully sincere.

Peter apparently took it that way, too, because he looked surprised for a second, before cracking a shy little smile. That blush was back, too.

“Do you really mean that? Do you really wanna… see me again?” he asked, far too excited at the prospect.

“Yeah,” Quentin admitted, thoroughly disappointed with himself and already mourning his bank account.

If he thought about it though, the financial burden wouldn’t have to be permanent. He knew that if he was clever enough with how he acted (and he was – very clever), he could weasel his way into a more… secure position in this kid’s life. One where he wouldn’t have to pay.

It seemed like Peter already had a certain level of affection for the alpha, as well as a desperate need to please (even if he was a bit of a brat). He could probably easily train the sweet, helpless thing to need him, crave him like a drug. Leave him aching and lost without his alpha’s touch, his kisses, his cock… until he would be begging, pleading for his alpha to bite him, claim him, bond him-

“So… does that mean I was good?” Peter was asking, barging into his thoughts with a hopeful look in his pretty brown eyes.

How could he deny this perfect little creature the praise he so dearly deserved?

“Of course, honey. Really good.” His other hand slid up the boy’s shoulder, fingers tracing the bite mark he’d left there. “You were so perfect for me.”

He made a weird squeak of a noise in response, hiding his face against Quentin’s chest. The alpha laughed, pleased with how adorably reactive Peter was to his compliment.

So trainable...

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, gentle fingers still brushing over the wound while the kid seemed to be focusing on recovering from his words. Sighing softly, Quentin decided that he should probably do something about the bite before it got infected or something. He knew there was some antimicrobial properties to alpha saliva – otherwise omegas would’ve died out a long time ago from mass cases of sepsis – but he wasn’t sure how well that worked outside of a real bonding bite. It certainly wouldn’t do good for his plan if the omega were to go septic and die on him… besides, the cum sticking between their bodies was starting to feel more than a little gross.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Hands moving to Peter’s shoulders, he pushed gently to encourage him up.

The boy looked a little crestfallen about the development, but rose up off him anyway. He winced as he did so, probably sore from their activities (and Quentin’s ‘so big’ cock), and no doubt reacting to the unpleasant feeling of their bodies peeling apart.

“Bit messy, isn’t it?” Quentin quipped as he sat up, already dreading dealing with his bedding.

The kid looked both embarrassed and guilty, and he could just tell he was going to start excessively apologising again, so the alpha reached for his hands, squeezing them in a distractive effort.

“Don’t worry about it – there was always gonna be some casualties on a mission like this,” he reassured with a flirty wink. “And it was definitely worth it to hear those noises you make when you come…”

“Quin!” Peter’s tone was indignant, but he could see the smile he was clearly trying to fight.

He decided to think about how he felt about the boy’s unsolicited use of a nickname for him – so soon after learning his name, too – later. Instead, he led Peter to his ensuite, sitting him down on the lid of the toilet while he gathered a couple of washcloths and some first-aid supplies. He could feel the omega’s eyes following him as he moved about the room.

He used one of the washcloths first, wetting it with warm water from the sink before kneeling in front of Peter to clean the mess that had dried over his abdomen. He took his time, enjoying the view, and was especially thorough when he reached the boy’s cock and pussy. He smirked a little to himself when his efforts were rewarded with few pretty gasps and a bit of squirming.

“Feeling okay, Petey?” he teased, unable to resist mocking the kid’s earlier nicknaming transgression.

“Ugh, you’re the worst!” the ruffled omega griped, crossing his arms like an indignant child.

“Hmm… based on the way you acted when I was fucking you, I think I might actually be the best,” Quentin countered, rising up to clean the mess off of himself. “Especially the way you called me ‘alpha’ like that…”

He tossed the now dirty washcloth into the sink, grabbed a clean one and prepped it with warm water and soap. When he turned back to Peter to clean his bloodied shoulder, he saw the kid staring off across the room, apparently lost in thought. He startled when Quentin touched the cloth to his wound, eyes snapping to the alpha’s hand.

He was relatively quiet for a moment, hissing and wincing occasionally as the cloth rubbed against the open wound. He watched Quentin’s movements closely, before eventually speaking, words soft. “Earlier, you said… you said you either had to bite me there, or… um, y’know, my gland...”

The alpha sighed, eyes fixed on the pale red staining the washcloth. He could already tell where this was heading, and he didn’t like it. Right now, he didn’t really want to tell the omega how close he’d actually been to forcefully bonding him – to be honest, he was worried the information would surely scare the nervous thing off (it even scared Quentin, as much as he hated to admit fearing anything). The only reason he’d hinted at it earlier was to absolve himself of any blame that Peter might have thrown at him for the assault. It had been a risky gambit at the time, but now it just felt like a moronic move.

“It’s just an alpha thing.” He decided to lie, focusing on wiping the last traces of blood away. Now that it was clean, he was irritated to find the mark he’d made wasn’t as deep as he’d initially thought. “Instincts are always telling us to bite.”

Not always – rarely. The instinct usually only popped up in certain circumstances – in an established relationship, during a heat, or, rarest of all, when there was an exceptionally compatible omega.

“But…” The boy’s voice was barely there, hesitant. “...isn’t that just for bonding?”

Quentin steadfastly ignored Peter’s words, busying himself with soaking a cotton ball in Betadine and internally cursing his past-self for his idiotic choice of words.

The kid was determined to get his answer though, heedlessly pressing on.

“Quentin? Isn’t that just for bonding?”

“Peter,” he growled, a clear warning to drop the subject.

This time, it was the omega’s turn to do the ignoring. “Does that mean you wanted to-”

“Drop it!” His voice echoed, startlingly loud, throughout the cool, tiled room.

He could feel Peter’s eyes, wide with shock, locked onto him, while that easily recognisable note of rotten fruit infiltrated his scent. The poor cotton ball in Quentin’s hand was currently being crushed like a neutron star.

Why? Why did the kid have to fucking derail everything like this?!

“I’m sorry.” The boy’s voice sounded so small, obviously scared of saying the wrong thing, now. Quentin wished he’d adopted that attitude before he’d decided to push him.

“I told you, it was an instinct thing,” he insisted, his tone still harsh.

He turned away from the small gathering of medical supplies to throw the tortured cotton ball in the bin. When he turned back, his gaze locked on Peter. He was curled up into a ball now, knees drawn up to his chin and arms wrapped around them. He was no longer looking at the alpha, instead studying the clean white tiles of the bathroom floor.

As pleased as Quentin was to see he obviously regretted asking those damn questions, he knew the entire point of his avoiding the answers was to prevent scaring the kid off – something he was currently failing pretty badly. He took a deep breath, willing the irritation out of his voice.

“Look, just don’t worry about it, okay?” He reached out to catch Peter’s chin – ignoring the flinch the boy gave – and tilt his head up to look at him. “I’m not going to try to bond you, or anything. I promise.”

Not a promise he was entirely capable of keeping, but the kid didn’t need to know that.

Peter looked like he wanted to say something, eyes searching Quentin’s face for something the alpha wasn’t sure of, but instead he just nodded. Hoping that meant any potential crisis had been averted, he let go of the boy’s chin to prepare the Betadine again.

This time, apart from little exclamations of pain, Peter was quiet as the alpha’s hands worked. When he was done, he let the omega know, and cleaned the supplies away. The ‘thank you’ he got in return for his service was feeble, barely caught by his ears as he walked back into the bedroom.

Too tired to even think about properly washing himself with a shower later, Quentin ended up dressing himself for bed in his underwear and an old sleep shirt. By the time he was done, Peter had finally followed him out of the bathroom and was searching the floor for his clothes.

The alpha sat on the bed, silently watching as the boy pulled on his boxers and jeans. When he reached his t-shirt though, he stopped to stare at the fabric. It was then that Quentin remembered what he’d used it for.

He tried hard not to laugh at the kid’s dismayed expression. He couldn’t help but feel it was fair restitution for all the shit he’d pulled tonight.

“Something wrong?” he asked, maybe a little too casually.

If it hadn’t been for the incident in the bathroom, the alpha was sure he would’ve received a snarky reply or complaint. As it was, Peter just shook his head, looking horribly defeated. Suddenly, his alpha instincts decided to actually work for him for once, alerting him of a nice little opportunity.

“Hmm… you sure?” Quentin questioned, rising from the bed to prowl over to the omega’s side. He took the shirt from the boy’s hands and held it out to examine, almost theatrically. His vision found the conspicuous stains instantly. “Oh I see… you weren’t really thinking of going out dressed in this, were you?”

Peter looked entirely ashamed, as if he’d been accused of something truly perverted. The alpha simply handed the article of clothing back to him, then strode over to his wardrobe to rummage through his sleep shirts again. He dug around until he found a plain black t-shirt that was well-worn (though still presentable) and old enough to be practically soaked in his own scent. When he returned to Peter with the offering, the boy seemed confused.

“Here, put this on,” Quentin explained, pushing it into the boy’s naked chest.

He took the item from the alpha’s hands, faded red shirt falling back to the floor, but didn’t put it on. He held the fabric in his hands like it was a precious artefact.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you sure you wanna walk around the city in a cum-stained shirt?” Quentin countered, eyebrows raised. He decided to try and be a bit more reassuring then, reaching up to cup Peter’s cheek with a soft smile. “It’s fine. You can keep it, if you want. It’s just a shirt.”

Of course, his entire intention was for the omega to keep it – to soak up his scent every chance he could get, until he found himself needing it. Luckily for the alpha, now that Peter had the confirmation, he looked honoured enough about the offering that he suspected his alpha desires might actually be fulfilled.

“Thank you.” This time the words were clear, spoken with a shy smile.

The kid slipped it on quickly, delighting Quentin with the image of his small frame swimming in the too-big shirt. Of course, it had his inner alpha purring with pride at the sight of his omega covered in something that not only had he provided to him, but was also infused with his scent.

“Looks good on you,” he mumbled, fingers tugging the hem gently.

“You look better,” Peter replied, blushing sweetly.

It was an awkwardly self-deprecating compliment, but it had Quentin smiling all the same.

“Oh, I think you’re just trying to get yourself a raise,” he teased, hands settling on the boy’s hips to squeeze playfully.

“No, I’m-”

The alpha silenced his protests with a sudden kiss, arms wrapping around the thin waist to pull the omega close in a tight embrace. Peter barely had the time to reach up to his shoulders before Quentin was pulling away, letting the boy go.

“Wait here,” he ordered, pointing at Peter. “I’m gonna get your money.”

He just nodded, apparently still recovering from the kiss. Quentin couldn’t help smirking to himself as he left the stunned kid behind to head for his office. Inside one of his desk drawers was the lock box where he kept a fair amount of cash in case of an emergency.

Ha, emergency...

He pulled out four fifty dollar notes, and was about to lock and return the box when he stopped, considering for a moment. Calculating that it might benefit him in the future, he pulled out another two fifties, before putting the box away.

When he returned to his bedroom, he found the kid exactly where he’d left him, gaze travelling around his room in nervous curiosity.

“Here,” Quentin announced, holding the cash out for him to take.

Peter stared at the money for a cautious moment, as if unsure he was really allowed to have it. Eventually, he reached out and took it, fanning the notes out in his hand to count them. Quentin spotted the moment clearly when he realised just how much he’d been given.

“Oh, this is… this is too much.” He sounded confused, as if he thought the alpha had made a mistake.

“You wanted three hundred at first, didn’t you?” Quentin explained. “Well, I think you earned it, kid.”

The boy kept his focus on the cash for a long moment. When he looked back up at Quentin, there were tears in his eyes.

“Th-thank you,” he choked out.

He had to admit, he looked so cute like that, overwhelmed by the simple gesture. The alpha couldn’t help himself from pulling Peter into his arms in a comforting hug, his lips brushing his crown of chocolate curls.

“It’s alright. Like I said, you earned it,” he cooed, revelling in the pleased omega scent he received for the repeated phrase. “I just want you to do one thing for me.”

He pulled back then to look him in those tearful eyes, hands resting on the kid’s upper arms.

“When you need money, you come to me. No one else. Just me, okay?” He punctuated his order with a gentle squeeze of Peter’s arms.

He smiled so sweetly, so innocently, in response, like it was a kindness. Like he had no idea where it was going to lead him.

Poor kid.

“O-okay, I will. Thank you.”

His first victory for his plan. The elation gripping him at his success was hard to keep from his face, so he pulled the boy into his arms again. This time, he snaked a hand around to grip at the base of Peter’s neck, in an echo of the grip he’d used earlier to keep him in place for his punishment. He could feel him shiver at the touch.

“Good boy,” he whispered close, lips brushing the shell of Peter’s ear.

He felt a little hand form a fist in the back of his shirt – the other probably occupied with the money – and accompanied by a sound halfway between a sigh and a sob. After a few minutes, he could feel the kid’s face turn, his nose pressing into Quentin’s own scent gland to inhale deeply.

“You smell so good.” He could feel the words, hot and moist, against his skin. Quentin lamented how long it had taken Peter to say them.

“You smell better,” the alpha replied, unable to help himself from referencing the boy’s earlier compliment.

Peter caught onto the jest immediately, huffing a hot breath of laughter against Quentin’s neck.

“I think you’re just trying to get yourself a discount,” he retorted, cheeky grin clear in the timbre of his voice.

God, such a brat. I think he likes being punished...

“Oh? Is that why I gave you the extra hundred, then?” He stepped back, letting the omega go with a ruffle of his already unruly hair.

That grin had been replaced with an over-dramatic scowl at being bested by Quentin’s logic. He couldn’t help laughing, enjoying Peter’s playful overacting.

He really didn’t want to let him go.

Silence settled over the room then, Peter looking away to search for his socks. When he discovered them, dangerously close to being hidden under the bed, he didn’t put them on, instead examining the pilling fabric distractedly.

“I guess I should go, huh?” He sounded just as reluctant as Quentin felt.

It triggered his instincts, screaming at him to not let his omega get away under any circumstances. He was better off staying here, with his alpha – safer, protected. Who knew what would happen to the vulnerable little thing once he walked out Quentin’s door, all alone.

But as much as he wanted to tell Peter to stay, he knew it was too much, too soon. He needed time away from the captivating distraction of the omega’s scent (and body) to actually think. To step back and actually figure out just what the hell it was he was doing.

But that didn’t mean there wasn’t something he could do to make himself feel just a little better about it.

“Give me your phone,” he said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Peter looked a little perplexed by the request, but did as Quentin ordered anyway, pulling his phone from the pocket of his faded jeans and unlocking the screen before handing it over.

The first thing Quentin noticed was the absolute beaten state of the phone – spider-web cracks spreading out from the upper right corner of the screen, and several miniature dents peppering the frame despite the thread-bare cover. It was obviously overdue for a repair (or complete replacement), but he guessed Peter didn’t have the money for that if he was here with Quentin.

The second thing he noticed was the picture the boy had set as his wallpaper – a photo from one of Stark Industries’ latest experimental rocket launches, showing off the purple-pink-orange gradient of shock diamonds pouring from the engines brilliantly.

So, clearly, the kid was a nerd. He wondered briefly if it would enamour Peter more to him if he told him just where it was that he worked. Something to file away for later, perhaps.

Moving on, Quentin pulled up the contacts app and created a new entry. Smirking impishly to himself, he put his name in as ‘Alpha’ before entering his phone number. He sent himself a cheeky text – “thanks for the amazing orgasms sir xx” – to make sure he got the boy’s number, too, then handed the device back to Peter.

“There. Now you have my number,” the alpha explained. “I want you to text me as soon as you get home so I know you’re okay, got it?”

The kid looked especially touched at the request, so much so that Quentin wondered when exactly was the last time someone had shown any concern for him. He cradled the phone to his chest like a gift and nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

“I will, I promise.”

Quentin didn’t doubt it.

Walking his omega back to his front door felt like one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. It felt as if every inch of his being was trying to pull him back, to stop him from committing the grave mistake of releasing Peter back out into the wild. He had to fight hard to keep a casual air about himself, hoping – probably in vain – that his scent wasn’t giving him away.

When they reached the entryway, the kid stooped down to put on his socks and shoes, Quentin leaning against the wall to watch him.

Stop him, his alpha yelled at him. With great difficulty, he ignored it.

All too soon, Peter was straightening up, ready to go. Ever the gentleman, Quentin (reluctantly) stepped forward to unlock and open the door for him.

“Sure you’re gonna be safe out there?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Sure you don’t wanna stay forever?

“I’ll be fine. I got to you alright, didn’t I? Besides, I smell like you now. That should help, right?”

It was true – Alphas were generally put off by the scent of another alpha on an omega. It was part of the reason why scent marking an omega felt so gratifying. And it was certainly gratifying to hear Peter acknowledge his scent marking as a positive thing. He could only hope it was enough to keep his omega unmolested on the journey home.

“In theory…” Quentin slipped his arms around Peter’s waist, pulling him close for one last embrace, oddly uncaring of the possibility of being seen. It was unlikely that anyone would be out prowling the halls at this hour, anyway, he reasoned. “Just be careful. I don’t want anything happening to you.”

The boy laid his hands on the alpha’s chest, eyes on where his fingers met the material of his shirt. He licked his lips nervously, the action drawing Quentin’s attention once more.

“Um, thank you. For this…. I was- I was really scared, y’know, but I need money and I didn’t know how else- I mean, I tried a job, but it wasn’t enough, and everything’s so expensive! Like food, and bills, and rent, and my dad-” Peter stopped his rambling then to flick his eyes up at the alpha nervously. “Sorry. I just mean I really didn’t want to do this, but you made it… nice. Um, good. So yeah… thanks.”

He was definitely too tired by now to figure out something to say to all of that, so he decided to reply with a kiss. It was soft and chaste, but had his omega curling his fingers against his chest all the same. When he pulled away, he let Peter go.

“I’m happy to make things nice for you anytime, kid. As long as you keep being such a good omega.” He followed his words with a wink, causing the boy to blush and look away.

All too soon, he was stepping through the doorway. The action had Quentin biting back a growl.

“I’ll see you, um, next time.”

Next time...

“Yeah,” the alpha replied, tone a little too wistful. “Take care of yourself.”

Peter gave him a last lingering look, eyes full of some emotion he couldn’t quite place. Then, he was turning around and walking away. Quentin closed the door – the very same one he’d had the omega pressed up against barely a couple of hours ago – and he was gone.

He carried himself back to his bedroom with leaden legs, stopping to fish his phone out of his pants on the floor – snorting at the message he’d sent himself – and placing it on his bedside table. He quickly changed the sheets and brushed his teeth, before finally flopping down on the bed with a heavy sigh.

It was then that it hit him – just how empty the bed felt without Peter lying in his arms. He knew he wasn’t going to be happy about the boy leaving, but the sudden sense of loss was more sharply painful than he predicted.

He looked over to where the kid’s worn red shirt was still pooled on his bedroom floor. He wondered whether the kid had forgotten it or left it there with a purpose – like the shirt Quentin had given him. Either way, it was beckoning him, like a siren’s call, with promises of soothing strawberries and vanilla.

Sighing in defeat, he got up and snatched the shirt from the floor, carrying it back to bed with him. It was shoved under his nose before he even hit the mattress, his omega’s scent washing over the pain of separation, dulling it.

It wasn’t enough, though.

Feeling pathetically desperate, he reached for his phone to check it.

No new messages.

Groaning, he let the offensive thing drop to the mattress next to him, and ran his hands down his face.

What the hell am I doing?

Ding!

Quentin almost jumped to grab his phone at the notification. Hurriedly, he unlocked it to read the text.

Unknown number: Home safe!

Unknown number: btw, when r u gonna thank me for ur orgasm, sir? ;)

The alpha found himself smiling fondly at his omega’s brazen audacity.

That absolute fucking brat.

He was hooked.

Chapter Text

Alpha: How are you feeling after last night, honey? ;)

A smile spread across Peter’s face as he read over the text again.

It wasn’t exactly how he’d been expecting to feel after what he’d done. The aching of his legs (and in between them) should have been a shameful, regretful thing – with the only upside to the evening being the three hundred dollars stuffed into his jeans’ pocket. But here he was, lying in bed the very morning after, pretty much relishing in the memory every painful movement served up to him – like how he’d ended up wrapping himself around the alpha like he was clinging on for dear life.

He doubted Quentin – he mouthed the name as he thought it, enjoying the way it felt on his lips – was asking for an in-depth analysis of his silly teenage omega emotions, though. So he kept his reply simple; business-like. Because that was what this was, wasn’t it?

A business relationship.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Peter: A little sore, but good

He looked at his own words for a moment, before adding a quick ‘thanks’ and sending it.

Thanks for asking.

Thanks for caring.

Thanks for making the hardest thing he’d ever had to do also the most rewarding experience he’d had in a very long time.

Because it had been good. Actually good. Like, crazy good.

When he’d left on his self-imposed mission last night, Peter had been expecting to end up with some slimy old pervert – he was a kid, he knew he looked like a kid, so what else was he meant to expect? He’d accepted he’d just have to deal with it, the kind of sacrifice he’d have to make if he didn’t want his life falling apart anymore than it already had. But by some complete and total miracle, he’d ended up with winning smiles, strong arms and eyes so blue he swore they’d been cut from sapphires.

It was hard to think of Quentin as a pervert, not when he’d been so good to him. Admittedly, he’d come across as kind of mean and scary at first (the image of the alpha towering over him, informing him he was going to be punished, floated unbidden into the forefront of his mind’s eye), but in the end, the worst he’d actually done was spank him. And that hadn’t even ended up feeling like a punishment, Peter was embarrassed to admit (not as embarrassed as he’d been when he came all over Quentin’s thigh, though).

“It’s only natural for an omega to find learning to submit a… rewarding experience.”

Groaning, Peter buried his face in his pillow, hiding the blush invading his cheeks from exactly no one.

Ugh, why did he have to be so right?

He felt stupid now, for how he’d reacted when Quentin had announced the punishment. He couldn’t believe his immediate thought had been to actually assume the alpha had intended to turn him into a crime statistic or something. Instead, Quentin made him come (twice!), while calling him things that made his heart flutter a little too easily – like ‘amazing’ and ‘perfect’; and then topped the night off by giving him the full three hundred dollars he’d been too scared to ask for.

Pulling his face out of his pillow, Peter rolled over onto his side with a sigh. He couldn’t resist pulling on the collar of the t-shirt (Quentin’s t-shirt) covering his slight form until it was up to his nose, and drinking in the scent pouring off of it like the pathetically thirsty omega he was. Tendrils of wood smoke and fresh green pine needles pulled him under – pleasantly earthy and oddly cosy for the scent of an alpha. If he closed his eyes and focused on it hard enough, it was almost like he was a little kid again, pulled up close to the warmth of a campfire, with the sound of his mother laughing at some joke his dad made floating like birdsong through the crisp forest air.

This has to be wrong, right? Peter wondered, still breathing in another lungful of the comforting scent. Feeling like this after what I did?

Obviously, the right thing to do in this situation would be to wake up absolutely ashamed of himself. And, yeah, there was still some shame – it was hard to be proud about giving up his virginity to a stranger for cash, even if it was to help keep the meagre pack he had left stay together – but he mostly felt strangely… mature. Capable. Like he’d finally done right by his instincts and performed well as an omega. Serving alphas, like he was meant to do.

He wasn’t sure if it was because he had successfully earned the money that he and his dad so desperately needed, or because he’d left Quentin so satisfied (“You were so perfect for me” – there was no stopping the smile blooming at the memory of those words). But, either way, he somehow found himself wanting to do it again. Not needing to – wanting to. And maybe a better person than Peter would feel disgusted at themselves for feeling that way, but right now he wasn’t really about to reject something that made selling his body easier.

It had to be at least five minutes by now since he’d sent his text, and despite the silence from his phone, Peter still felt compelled to check it to see if Quentin had blessed him with a reply yet. Of course, his hopes were immediately dashed to find nothing – only the familiar cracked screen and the time staring back at him, kindly informing him that he probably should have gotten up ages ago.

Sighing his disappointment away, Peter forced himself to roll out of bed (his shoulder making contact with the mattress reminding him, with a pleasant spike of pain, of what it had felt like to have Quentin’s teeth buried in his skin) and get up.

It was probably a good idea to shower before his dad got up – the last thing Peter needed was for the alpha’s keen nose to detect some other strange alpha’s scent all over him and figure everything out. As unlikely as it was that his dad was going to suddenly start paying enough attention to him to actually care now, knowing how his luck usually tended to go, it just wasn’t worth the risk.

He’d actually tried to do it last night, but as he’d stood in front of the running water, the thought of washing away Quentin’s scent had just felt so viscerally wrong that he’d abandoned the idea without a second thought. Instead, he’d retreated to his bed and indulged in shoving as much of the alpha’s shirt under his nose as possible while still wearing it, repeating all the nice things Quentin had said in his head over and over until sleep claimed him.

Unfortunately, the few hours that had passed between then and now had done nothing to calm his inner omega on the matter. The minute he walked into the bathroom and caught sight of the shower, his instincts were raising like hackles again, prickling like a warning all over his skin. The only relief came from the throbbing of his shoulder, reminding him that even if he forced himself to wash off the scent, the spray would be powerless against the bite Quentin had gifted him.

It only felt natural, then, for Peter to pull Quentin’s t-shirt off and walk up to the mirror to get a proper look at the wound. With his skin pale and washed out by the dazzling white LEDs of the bathroom, the bright red marks left by Quentin’s teeth stood out brilliant as rubies cut into his flesh. It occurred to him, somewhere in the far back of his mind, that he had every right to be maddened, or at the very least annoyed, at the transgression the wound represented – as far as his limited experience was concerned, biting someone you just met generally wasn’t a good idea, and a total dick-move without consent. But, for whatever reason, warmth like honeyed tea pooled in Peter’s belly at the thought of being marked by the alpha all the same. Like every compliment that had passed Quentin’s lips had been boiled down, concentrated and then injected right into what remained of his dying self-esteem by those perfect white fangs.

He ran a finger along the series of little crimson punctures, the touch painful, but all too sweetly so. Now that he had the chance to ponder on it under the sobering glare of the artificial lighting, it occurred to him that it was a bit weird Quentin had gone to all that trouble to clean and treat the wound, only to leave it uncovered by a dressing. Part of him suspected (hoped) that Quentin had hated the idea of covering it up just as much as Peter did (even if anyone seeing it – especially his dad – would probably go very poorly for himself, but that was omega instincts for you). Though if he was honest with himself, it was probably more likely that he’d just annoyed Quentin so badly with his stupid questions about the whole thing that he’d ended up rushing the job to get out of it.

He regretted asking about it now – not only had he pushed Quentin into snapping, but he probably sounded stupid and naive to the alpha, too. Especially dumb to even consider entertaining the idea that Quentin had been in any way interested in claiming him – of course he hadn’t wanted to make a life-long commitment to some kid he’d just met (who was also a whore, to boot). Even if he’d mentioned wanting to bite him… well, there, on Peter’s bonding gland… the fact remained that he hadn’t, instead deliberately avoiding it in favour of Peter’s shoulder. It was such an obvious sign he wasn’t interested in Peter that way that he couldn’t help himself from groaning loudly at his reflection as embarrassment, sharp and cruelly jagged, clawed at his stomach.

Sometimes he wondered how he could maintain such good grades, and yet still be so stupid.

Shaking the thought from his head, Peter busied himself with continuing to undress for the shower. The soft fabric of Quentin’s shirt, still clenched in his hand, took a pit stop to Peter’s face for another dizzying inhale before being placed, neatly folded, on the limited space left untouched by the bathroom bench-top clutter. Next came his boxers, and the sight revealed as they dropped to the ground had his mouth falling open with shock – he’d obviously been very aware of the bite mark on his shoulder, but the attack Quentin had launched on his inner thighs had somehow slipped his mind, overpowered with everything else he’d woken up to.

The skin from a few inches above his knees right up to his crotch was mottled with a kaleidoscope of red and violet splotches, in shapes vaguely reminiscent of the mark adorning his shoulder. He could still remember the heady mix of sharp fangs and bruising kisses down there, but he must’ve been overwhelmed by it all, because it hadn’t felt nearly as all-encompassing as the mess staring back at him now. And that was nothing in comparison to how it’d felt when Quentin had licked and sucked on his bonding gland –

Oh, no.

Peter chanced a look back at the mirror, this time ignoring the bite in favour of concentrating on his neck and –

Shit.

He must’ve been really distracted by the bite, because how else could he have failed to notice the huge hickey flashing like a neon sign all over his bonding gland?! Never mind Quentin’s scent, how the hell was he going to hide this from his dad? And what about Ned, or MJ? Fielding questions from them about a non-existent boy- or girlfriend was not his idea of a fun time, especially with how notoriously bad he was at lying.

Groaning for a second time, Peter turned away from the mirror and dragged his feet over to the shower to finally turn the water on. It was starkly apparent that hiding the whole ‘being-a-prostitute-to-support-himself-and-his-dad’ thing was going to be a lot harder than he’d initially thought – especially if Quentin was going to be like this next time.

Next time.

As anxiety inducing as it all was, Peter was somehow smiling down at his hand as he watched the slowly warming droplets of shower spray rain down on his palm and spill over the side in little rivulets.

He actually wants to see me again.

His smile only grew as he stepped under the spray, the warm water washing away the chill of the morning air from his skin. Logically, he knew it made no sense – the only people at school that even bothered to give him the time of day were Ned and, more recently, MJ (sure, Flash was an exception too, but for all the wrong reasons), so it was obvious to Peter that he wasn’t even remotely appealing, let alone attractive.

But still, for some reason beyond his comprehension, this tall, strong, and devastatingly handsome alpha had told him to come back, to see him and only him, like Peter was some kind of precious prize that Quentin wanted to keep all to himself. Peter knew it was just for sex, no matter how much his instincts whimpered for something more, but still – even if it was just for his body, it still felt nice to be wanted.

Peter ended up spending too long in the shower, the pounding of the hot water like heaven on his sore muscles – who knew just the act of clinging onto someone for dear life while they put all the effort into the actual fucking was such a work-out? At least the physical relief the shower provided was enough of a distraction to make the act of washing away Quentin’s scent a little bit more bearable. It helped to remember the dark bundle of fabric sitting on the bathroom bench, waiting patiently for Peter to once again devour the scent it held.

The thought reminded him of the (unfortunately stained) shirt he’d accidentally left on Quentin’s bedroom floor last night. He hadn’t meant to leave it there – he’d just been so overcome with something so overwhelmingly pleasant when Quentin had offered him his own clothing (to keep!), that he’d just forgotten all about it. But now that it was there, he couldn’t help wondering if he’d done the same thing Peter had – face buried in the fabric and sucking in deep lungfuls like he was drowning.

Probably not, he decided, turning off the shower spray and stepping out into the unpleasantly cool air of the bathroom at large – the sad, faded material had been covered in his come (if he wasn’t already flushed from the heat of the shower, he was sure his cheeks would have set aflame at the memory), which was probably the last thing Quentin wanted against his face.

But then again… well, he had eaten it. He’d licked the come off Peter’s belly and his cock (a shudder flowed through him at the recollection of how crazy bad and good that had felt), and then, when he’d done it again, he’d looked him right in the eye just to tell him how good it tasted. So, maybe he did want it near his face.

It wasn’t an impulse he could really relate to, but then again he didn’t think he’d find anything about last night enjoyable.

Who knew what the future would hold for Peter, with Quentin involved.

***

By the time Peter walked into the kitchen, clean, dressed, and ready for the day, he still hadn’t received a reply from Quentin. It was probably dumb to feel disappointed – he supposed they didn’t really have anything to say to each other, other than arranging the next time. Still, anxiety prickled at his chest all the same as he stared at the two lonely unanswered messages languishing at the bottom of their chat.

Sighing in frustration at both the lack of response and his own clinginess, Peter slotted his phone back into his pocket and started searching the kitchen for whatever scraps he could use to scrape together a breakfast. As always, he tried to be as quiet as possible, cautious of waking his dad up from his usual Saturday morning hangover. It didn’t help that he’d gotten up so much later than usual, so now he had to rush, too. Normally he’d have removed himself from the apartment to go for a run or something well before now – anything in order to be gone by the time his dad stumbled into the room, desperately seeking coffee.

He still felt guilty for the last time he’d managed to get in the way. The wetness of his eyes, almost hidden underneath the vitriol he’d been spitting at him, still haunted him. It was a wonder he put up with his presence at all.

By the end of his search, all Peter had managed to gather was the last slice of bread and the final scrapings of butter left clinging to the bottom of the tub. He wasn’t particularly worried about leaving nothing behind for his father – he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen him eat breakfast.

Either way, it didn’t matter now. Not with the three hundred dollars burning a hole in his pocket, begging to be spent on some real food. Barely a week out from turning sixteen was probably way too young to be excited about grocery shopping, but Peter supposed he’d already adapted to the adult mindset a long time ago.

He was just shoving the buttered toast into his mouth when he became aware of the sound of bare feet shuffling along floorboards, accompanied by the familiar scent of disgruntled alpha and stale beer, heading towards him.

Dammit. Too slow.

That’s what he got for wasting his time laying in bed and daydreaming about things he shouldn’t even be doing.

He’d only just managed to turn the collar of his shirt up in a weak effort to cover the mark on his neck when his dad rounded the corner. As usual, the alpha’s dark hair was an unwashed mess, and the crumpled and stained clothes covering his body where the same ones he’d worn yesterday. He stopped dead when he noticed Peter standing by the toaster, obviously surprised by his presence.

“Morning,” Peter mumbled weakly through the ball of too-dry toast in his mouth.

His father’s dark eyes narrowed for a second, as if he was analysing his son. Peter swallowed his mouthful, the sharpness of crumbs scratching a burning path down his throat and into his clenched stomach.

He knows. Oh God, he knows. How could he not? It’s so obvious!

He’s going to call me a whore, tell me I’m disgusting, that he’s ashamed –

But all Peter got was nod in a silent greeting, before the alpha lumbered over to the cabinets to pull out a mug. It was all Peter could do not to let out the sigh of relief that was begging to escape his lungs. Instead, he silently slipped out of the kitchen and the apartment itself, keen to forget the moment with the distraction of grocery shopping.

***

Peter didn’t think he’d ever find himself grinning ear-to-ear at the mundane sight that was half a carton of eggs sitting under the anaemic glow of the fridge light, but here he was all the same, elated to finally have such a delicacy. He may have gone a little overboard with the more expensive items – bacon was imperative when buying eggs, surely, and, though he knew next to nothing about make-up, he figured something to cover the mark on his neck was probably a good idea – but surely a little expense wouldn’t be a problem, not with Quentin helping him out now.

Even with half the shelves still bare, it was still the fullest he’d seen the fridge in a long time. Things hadn’t been so bad that they’d been starving – the few odd ‘jobs’ that his dad managed to get meant that Peter got breakfast and dinner most days – but lately… well, it was just nice not to have to worry about food now.

A buzzing in his pocket pulled Peter out of his thoughts. He ripped his phone out of its confines excitedly, hoping that he was finally texting –

Alpha: Good, didn’t want to leave you in too much pain ;)

Peter reread the text twice, then practically crushed his phone into his chest, flustered smile and blush exploding across his face.

Oh my God. Is that a flirt? Is he flirting with me?

It was hard to tell with Quentin, who seemed to enjoy the idea of keeping Peter on edge. It didn’t help that he’d never really flirted with anyone before – well, not like this. Awkward words in an empty classroom from lips shaped into shy smiles he’d done, but that felt so insignificant and immature, now.

Peter was just pulling himself back online with the intention to brainstorm some kind of feeble attempt at a response, when his phone buzzed once more, right up against his fluttering heart. He almost dropped it in surprise, fumbling fingers righting the device in his grip to read the message.

Alpha: Unless that’s what you want, of course...

“What’s all this?”

Peter jumped so hard from surprise, he almost dropped his phone again.

Apparently he’d been so preoccupied with the texts, he hadn’t noticed his dad enter the kitchen. He was holding an apple, brow furrowed at the fruit like the concept of it’s existence confused him. Peter supposed it probably did, given how long it had been since fresh produce had last graced the kitchen.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“I, uh, I did some grocery shopping?” Peter replied, closing the fridge door behind him. He cringed a bit at the nervousness lacing his answer.

Good job making it sound like you’re not doing anything wrong.

His father’s eyes left the apple to stare at Peter. In an echo of barely hours earlier, they narrowed with obvious suspicion. It seemed Peter had managed to escape the morning’s scrutiny only to have it curve right back around and slap him right in the face.

“Uh-huh... so you paid for all this?” his dad asked, voice stern and eyebrow raised. The way he held up the apple resembled something like evidence presented at a trial, and the faintest hint of spiciness tickled Peter’s nose.

It only took him a second to figure out what exactly his dad was implying. If MJ where here, she’d probably mumble something about ‘projection’ under her breath. Or right to his dad’s face.

“Of course, sir,” Peter answered, trying his best to not sound insulted. He may have been a whore, but he certainly didn’t steal from people. “I… I got a job.”

At least he’d thought this through well enough in advance – what excuse would work best to cover his misdeeds. Peter wasn’t the best at hiding things, and he always felt so guilty when he lied, so he hoped he’d practised it enough to be convincing. He’d even gone to the effort of breaking the fifties into amounts that would be more believable as tips. It’d be too much to bear, to have his plan fall apart so soon after getting it to work.

The apple found its way back onto the kitchen bench, but that accusing stare refused to leave Peter.

“A job?” he repeated, tone incredulous. It was scary how much meaning the alpha could inject into just two words.

Peter resisted the urge to bow his head in submission.

I haven’t done anything wrong. I haven’t done anything wrong...

“Y-yeah. Ned – y’know, from school? Well, he, um, he has an uncle who works at this kind of fancy restaurant, so he hooked me up with a job, like, waiting tables, you know? And the people – the customers, I mean, they tip really well too, so it’s, uh… it’s a lot. Enough to, you know, help pay for things around here,” he explained, ending his lie with what felt like an entirely unconvincing smile.

He wasn’t going to win any Oscars, but at least he’d managed to get all the words out.

What followed was an uncomfortably long beat of silence, during which his father continued to scrutinise Peter’s face. And, just like earlier, it felt like those deep bronze eyes could see right through Peter into his guilty, guilty soul.

He knows. He knows...

After what felt like an eternity, his dad let out a heaving sigh and finally released Peter from his stare.

“I’ve already told you, that’s not up to you.” Peter had expected some resistance, but it still hurt to have his efforts rejected so swiftly. “You’re not the alpha here. Your job is to go to school, get good grades, and stay out of trouble.”

“But –”

“But nothing!” Spittle flew from his father’s mouth as he barked the harsh words at his son.

Peter’s eyes widened in shock, nostrils flaring at the intensifying spice filling the air. Instinctively, he tried to take a step back, only to find his back thumping into the fridge behind him.

His father sighed again, just as laboured as before, a hand rising to pinch his nose in frustration.

Or maybe he was trying to block out the scent of fear.

“Look, I know you’re just trying to help. I get it...” He let his hand fall away from his face so he could focus on Peter once more. There was something in those eyes that dropped a cold stone of guilt into the omega’s gut. “But I can handle this. I’ve already got another job lined up, so just… just stick to school and helping out around the house, alright?”

But Peter couldn’t just let it go. He needed him to understand.

“But it’s not enough, dad, we need–“

“Drop it, Peter!”

Peter felt the words more than heard them, the growl piercing his mind deeper than any weapon ever could. As if guided by an unseen hand, he dipped his head and froze like that, any words left to say dying in his throat.

Quiet blanketed them then, leaving nothing but the garbled hum of the fridge and the susurrus of his father’s deep breaths, working in overtime to calm himself from his outburst. It was probably only a couple of minutes, but from his position as a powerless statue in front of a very angry-smelling alpha, the moment seemed to stretch on endlessly.

“Fuck.” The curse was barely audible, but the suddenness had Peter flinching despite his near-catatonic state as if struck by a bellow all the same.

He always seemed to regret using his Alpha Voice against Peter. But it never seemed to stop him from repeating the mistake, over and over again. To be fair, though, Peter hadn’t exactly dropped the habit of provoking him either.

A few purposeful strides, and Peter’s father was brushing him out of the way of the fridge to snatch a beer from its icy depths. Peter watched his scuffed boots as they took him out of the kitchen, and flinched again when the front door slammed shut.

It took a while for Peter to thaw out, his arms still stiff and heavy as he forced his hands up to wipe away tears he’d only just realised had begun to roll down his face. When he looked up again, he was greeted with the image of the modest pile of food left sitting on the kitchen bench across from him. He sniffed the rest of the tears threatening to fall away, and grit his teeth, jaw muscles flexing.

His dad could say whatever he wanted, however he wanted, but that wasn’t going to stop Peter. He wasn’t going to let things fall apart, not any more than they already had. He wasn’t going to get taken away and shoved into some dodgy omega shelter.

He wasn’t going to lose all that was left of his pack.