Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alfred leant back in his seat, his boyish grin drawing adoring screams from the crowd.

He waved a few times then focussed his attention back on the talk show host as the show came back on air after
an advertisement break.

“Welcome back to Late Nights with Elizabeta! If you missed the earlier part of the show, I’m here with superstar Alfred F. Jones, who will be sharing some details about his new album and addressing those movie deal rumours. He’s also promised to answer the question that he’s always avoided in the past – does this gorgeous alpha have an omega waiting at home?“

The screams intensified. Alfred gave a small salute and winked at the crowd.

“So Al – though I know what everyone’s eager to hear about, let’s start with your new album. Tell us a bit about it?”

“Sure thing, Eliza!” Alfred settled back, his posture lazy and relaxed in classic alpha arrogance. “It called ‘Liberty’, and I think my fans will find that it’s a bit different to my previous stuff. There’re a few more softer songs. I’m really excited for everyone to hear what I’ve written!”

The crowd cheered.

“Before we touch on the movie rumours, will you answer one about your album? There are some people saying that the leaked love song, Green Eyes, is a confession to omega singer Arthur Kirkland.”

“To be honest with you, I don’t even know the guy very well.” Alfred shrugged.

“That’s not a no.”

More screams, of a different sort.

Alfred bristled slightly. Why was this beta questioning an alpha? Oh yeah. It was her job. “It’s not a yes, either.”

Arthur Kirkland was an oddity. He was an omega struggling in a world of alphas. The music industry was an extremely dangerous world, and an omega chart-topper had always been an impossibility.

Until Arthur.

Still, despite the fact that both of his albums were certified platinum and he had a huge, fiercely loyal legion of followers, the media refused to call him anything other than 'the omega singer’.

It was entirely disrespectful. Alfred would’ve been furious, would’ve been outraged, if only he and Arthur could get along. The few times they’d met, Alfred had been initially captivated by the omega’s soft, pale skin and enchanting green eyes. The slim, short frame produced a surge of protectiveness in Alfred. And then Arthur had opened his mouth and snapped at him, and the illusion of the perfect omega had shattered.

And now they had to work together. Alfred sat in his dressing room, pouting as he thought of what would happen. Why did they have to collaborate? And why did they have to make a music video for this stupid song? How would they even manage to work together without killing each other? Arthur hated him.

Finally, there was a knock on his door. Alfred smiled at himself in the mirror as he gave himself a once-over, and left the room.

The first thing he noticed when he entered the studio was the smell. He glanced around, his nostril flaring as betas streamed past with paperwork and expensive equipment.

Arthur looked sick. He’d clearly been seen to by the makeup department, but to an alpha with even just a half-functioning sense of smell, Arthur looked pale and exhausted. His hair was limp and dull, his eyes glazed and watery.

Before he could even think, Alfred had crossed the room and gently tipped Arthur’s face up by his chin. Up this close he could see the bags under the omega’s eyes, the dry and cracked lips, the slight tremor in his fingers–

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Arthur’s voice was acidic as he ripped himself away from Alfred’s grip. “Don’t touch me.”

“You smell… Weird.” Alfred had to stop himself from trailing after the omega. His instincts were screaming at him to protect, to help, to heal–

“Don’t.” Arthur’s trembling had intensified and his eyes were wild and dilated. “Don’t smell me. Don’t come near me. If you have any professionalism at all, don’t.”

“What’s going on? Kirkland… If you’re sick, we can probably reschedule–”

“Omegas don’t get sick days for suppressant overuse, Jones.”

The was Arthur spoke was tired and resigned. And Alfred knew it was true – omegas were not treated well in the workplace. They were expected to take suppressants to stop their heat cycles, but it was common knowledge that they wreaked havoc on the omega’s body, especially after long-term use. Arthur had been in the public view for two–no, three–years already, and there had never been a report of him having a heat.

And now here he was, barely upright and determined to get the job done.

Throughout the morning, the primal, alpha side of his brain battled with the rational side. Though he forced himself to respect Arthur’s wish and stayed as far away as possible, he also wanted to pin the omega down, render him utterly compliant, and tuck him into a nice, fluffy bed.

Contrary to popular belief, the smell of an omega coming off suppressants wasn’t tantalising or arousing. Instead, Arthur continued to emit scents filled with sickness, exhaustion, confusion and distress.

It wasn’t until the scheduled lunch break that Alfred’s resolve broke. He had to check on Arthur. He had to make sure he was okay.

“I can smell it on you, you pathetic omega.”

He heard the words as he rounded the corner into the lunch room. Arthur was slumped in a chair, his face pale and sweaty. A group of mixed alpha and beta extras stood around him.

“Does he know? Or have you already gotten down on your knees for him?”

“How long have you been pretending to be all prim and proper while actually wanting to be bent over by the great Alfred Jones?”

Arthur lifted his head and glared, but it was weak. Alfred decided he’d heard quite enough.

“What’s going on here?” He demanded as he strode into the room, knowing that his scent was filled with pure fury. The extras scattered, each stammering excuses.

It was obvious what they had been talking about. Arthur’s scent reeked of longing, and devastation, and affection–for him.

It didn’t make any sense. Arthur hated him. He’d made it very clear each and every time they’d met. But his scent couldn’t lie.

Arthur watched him warily, even as he propped himself up against the table with shaking arms. “Jones, I–”

“I think I’ve got food poisoning,” Alfred interrupted. When Arthur looked at him uncomprehendingly, he continued in a fake groan, “I’ll need to take the rest of the day off. Maybe tomorrow too. You should go home too, it was probably something in the lunch room.”

“Jones–”

“I’m the one who’s sick. You can’t do a collaboration on your own, right?”

He offered Arthur a hand up, and after a long moment, Arthur accepted it. Their palms slid together. He watched as Arthur’s eyes widened as he took in the scent he’d been unable to register for years.

The next time he was asked about 'Green Eyes’, Alfred shyly admitted that it had indeed been written with a certain someone in mind and though he wasn’t yet mated, he definitely wasn’t single.