Usually, Clu had no problem holding himself together. The stereotype of emotional omegas was just that, and his own arrogance shielded him from most of the casual touchy-feely workplace stuff, from random celebrity baby gossip to family photo day. Usually, the most sympathetic things the world asked from Clu were to sort his recycling and donate to their local animal shelter.
And as for beta curiosity--
He was one half of the only brother pair in the building. They weren't forbidden, but they were rare, and that made for some truly eye-watering questions out of left field, ones they were too scared to ask his mate. Some of them even wanted advice, like there was a secret formula to landing an alpha that would let them pull someone way outside their alignment. And then there were guys like Kyle, determined to land the double jackpot: an omega girlfriend.
Clu laughed off most of it. They meant well, or at least didn't mean him harm, and what else was there to do? He knew he was lucky, blessed even before he'd known what he'd become, gifted with a kindred spirit who'd helped him see the light. Who very much wanted him back, and who was, right now, a firm anchor in a sea of gentle, inexorable hormonal gauze.
Even with effort and suppressants and sensitivity coaching, alphas tended to sit at opposite desks and carve out their own little fiefdoms. Most omegas either had, as he did, an uneasy truce with the beta contingent and polite, remote interest from other omegas, or an inside seat on the deepest ring of the all-omega gossip pool.
Emily ruled that roost with a French-tipped iron fist. No way was he ever getting in, except he bow before her. He was plenty ready to tell her to go pound sand most of the time. But once every few months, their schedules aligned, and even with the pills he understood what the betas were about: she radiated raw summer, an ancient mother goddess, a deep well of pure fertility that had him thinking about it, and he did not like girls.
That pull between omegas, to yield and just join each other already? To come together and solve the world's problems with sex? Silly, but real. Dangerous, but extremely real.
Only, usually, he could ignore it if he wanted.
He'd been bathing in it for almost an hour, sugar-on-sugar straining to dizzying heights, and he couldn't quite remember why he needed to wait for something so, so good. And Frank needed it so badly: Clu's chest ached with the urge to banish that hurt, to kiss it better, to love the sad right out of him--the same urge that had him crying at shampoo commercials. The bitter sugar pill that let omega mothers lift burning cars off their young.
Under that same power Clu had bundled Frank tight and dragged them both the whole way here. It was awkward. It was risky. He'd brought a strange omega into their territory, a newcomer whose desperate heat was all over him.
He owed his brother one hell of an explanation.
He did not get further than, "Babe, I--"
Because Frank made eye contact. Frank got one good breath of Clu's mate and staggered like he'd been struck. He buckled and nearly fell. They almost ended up on the floor, Clu caught before he could catch him, snagged at by burning hands that grabbed anything they could reach. Frank was on him like a drowning man, like if he could touch Clu everywhere at once that might keep him in place, might save them both, scrambling bodily for contact.
Words spilled out of him, a torrent of, "I'm sorry, please, please don't go," quick and soft, sliding in clean as knives. "Don't leave."
Clu was done for.
"Got you," harsh with the rumble, pawing him right back, "I'm here, I'm here, shh--"
But reassurance wasn't what Frank needed, sweating and blank-eyed in his grip, hips snapping a desperate piston rhythm that would bruise them both if he kept it up. Except he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He'd just keep going if Clu held him down.
And Clu did not know what to feel for that, except the first inescapable pulse of slick.
He bit down hard on a whimper. He had to get a grip. He had to pull it together. Someone did.
Alpha sidled up behind him, pressed firmly up against his back, arms stretched up under his and folded across his chest, gentle and secure. Clu shivered and tried to relax, as best he could with Frank trying to straddle him standing up on the one side and his mate on the other. He couldn't just melt in place. He had to focus, had to at least try to listen, because alpha was talking to him.
And alpha had the best advice.
"Yeah," perfect omega agreement, instantly--and then really hearing him. Understanding. "Yes," passing right by his title and landing on, "come on, brother."
He had his example, and simply folded Frank into a bear hug of his own: tight and absolutely inescapable.
"We," hot against Frank's neck, nipping him just faintly to keep him distracted, "are all, going, that way."
no subject
And as for beta curiosity--
He was one half of the only brother pair in the building. They weren't forbidden, but they were rare, and that made for some truly eye-watering questions out of left field, ones they were too scared to ask his mate. Some of them even wanted advice, like there was a secret formula to landing an alpha that would let them pull someone way outside their alignment. And then there were guys like Kyle, determined to land the double jackpot: an omega girlfriend.
Clu laughed off most of it. They meant well, or at least didn't mean him harm, and what else was there to do? He knew he was lucky, blessed even before he'd known what he'd become, gifted with a kindred spirit who'd helped him see the light. Who very much wanted him back, and who was, right now, a firm anchor in a sea of gentle, inexorable hormonal gauze.
Even with effort and suppressants and sensitivity coaching, alphas tended to sit at opposite desks and carve out their own little fiefdoms. Most omegas either had, as he did, an uneasy truce with the beta contingent and polite, remote interest from other omegas, or an inside seat on the deepest ring of the all-omega gossip pool.
Emily ruled that roost with a French-tipped iron fist. No way was he ever getting in, except he bow before her. He was plenty ready to tell her to go pound sand most of the time. But once every few months, their schedules aligned, and even with the pills he understood what the betas were about: she radiated raw summer, an ancient mother goddess, a deep well of pure fertility that had him thinking about it, and he did not like girls.
That pull between omegas, to yield and just join each other already? To come together and solve the world's problems with sex? Silly, but real. Dangerous, but extremely real.
Only, usually, he could ignore it if he wanted.
He'd been bathing in it for almost an hour, sugar-on-sugar straining to dizzying heights, and he couldn't quite remember why he needed to wait for something so, so good. And Frank needed it so badly: Clu's chest ached with the urge to banish that hurt, to kiss it better, to love the sad right out of him--the same urge that had him crying at shampoo commercials. The bitter sugar pill that let omega mothers lift burning cars off their young.
Under that same power Clu had bundled Frank tight and dragged them both the whole way here. It was awkward. It was risky. He'd brought a strange omega into their territory, a newcomer whose desperate heat was all over him.
He owed his brother one hell of an explanation.
He did not get further than, "Babe, I--"
Because Frank made eye contact. Frank got one good breath of Clu's mate and staggered like he'd been struck. He buckled and nearly fell. They almost ended up on the floor, Clu caught before he could catch him, snagged at by burning hands that grabbed anything they could reach. Frank was on him like a drowning man, like if he could touch Clu everywhere at once that might keep him in place, might save them both, scrambling bodily for contact.
Words spilled out of him, a torrent of, "I'm sorry, please, please don't go," quick and soft, sliding in clean as knives. "Don't leave."
Clu was done for.
"Got you," harsh with the rumble, pawing him right back, "I'm here, I'm here, shh--"
But reassurance wasn't what Frank needed, sweating and blank-eyed in his grip, hips snapping a desperate piston rhythm that would bruise them both if he kept it up. Except he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He'd just keep going if Clu held him down.
And Clu did not know what to feel for that, except the first inescapable pulse of slick.
He bit down hard on a whimper. He had to get a grip. He had to pull it together. Someone did.
Alpha sidled up behind him, pressed firmly up against his back, arms stretched up under his and folded across his chest, gentle and secure. Clu shivered and tried to relax, as best he could with Frank trying to straddle him standing up on the one side and his mate on the other. He couldn't just melt in place. He had to focus, had to at least try to listen, because alpha was talking to him.
And alpha had the best advice.
"Yeah," perfect omega agreement, instantly--and then really hearing him. Understanding. "Yes," passing right by his title and landing on, "come on, brother."
He had his example, and simply folded Frank into a bear hug of his own: tight and absolutely inescapable.
"We," hot against Frank's neck, nipping him just faintly to keep him distracted, "are all, going, that way."
And he used his height to start their march.