Chapter Text
The Fast Lane
The cabin lights dimmed as the plane began its slow descent. Charlie blinked at the seatback screen. Still twenty-seven minutes until landing.
He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out his phone, checking for signal.
Nothing yet.
He'd typed the message an hour ago but hadn’t hit send—partly because there was no Wi-Fi, partly because he wasn’t sure what to say.
“Just landed. I’ll take a cab. Don’t worry.”
He hovered over the text, then deleted the last part. Then retyped it. Then stared at it again.
In the end, he added a little heart. Just one.
And hit send.
When the signal came back, it would go through.
Maybe.
He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the seat. Home was still a few hours away. He wasn’t sure what would be waiting.
The rooftop club dripped sex and starlight — bass-heavy music, skin against silk, teeth against lips. Bangkok’s upper crust danced in heat and luxury, but the center of gravity never shifted.
The roar of engines blurred into the thrum of music and laughter. Flashing lights, champagne fountains, and synthetic pheromones drenched the crowd like cheap perfume. Bangkok’s elite danced, posed, and paraded under neon banners bearing the name Promphaopun Motors—the country’s pride and home of the finest racing beasts.
And at the center of it all stood its golden son.
Babe Promphaopun.
Legs spread on the velvet couch, body angled to catch every flash of light. A towering Alpha was pressed to his side, fingers skating over Babe’s throat with unspoken intent. Another Alpha leaned over from behind the couch, breathing down his neck.
He allowed it — barely. Only because he was bored.
“No kissing,” Babe said lazily, not looking up. “And if you want inside, you better be gloved and silent.”
Babe sipped his drink, gaze fixed straight ahead.
Then came Sonic, sliding into the booth like a glitter bomb. “Oh my god, two Alphas tonight?”
“Three,” Babe corrected. “One’s waiting in the car.”
“You’re a menace,” Alan said, already half-drunk beside the ice bucket.
Babe tossed him a wink. “That’s why you still come to my parties.”
Dean, sipping neat whiskey, grunted, “I don’t even know how you remember their names.”
“I don’t,” Babe said.
North looked scandalized. “You’re seriously taking them both home?”
“I’m taking control home,” Babe replied. “Bodies are just accessories.”
A low laugh from the Alpha beside him. “You always talk like that?”
“No,” Babe said, turning slowly, “sometimes I don’t talk at all. Especially when my mouth’s busy.”
Everyone hollered.
Only Way stayed quiet, seated at the edge of the booth with one leg crossed, sipping something clear. His eyes were trained on Babe .
He sipped his drink, only half-listening to Way’s gossip and Sonic’s dramatic reenactment of her latest love triangle, when a discreet buzz ticked at his wrist.
“He lands tonight. 23:45. Terminal 2.”
—Mae
His smile froze.
“Babe?” Way nudged him. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Babe said smoothly, already setting his glass down. “I’m heading out.”
“What?” North blinked. “You’re ditching your own party?”
Alan frowned. “You’re not even drunk yet.”
“Exactly. Something must be wrong,” Sonic whispered, suspicious.
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Hotter hookup?”
“Colder than all of you,” Babe muttered.
He tugged his jacket on, waved them off, and headed for the exit before they could press further.
“Seriously, where’s he going?” Sonic asked, pouting. “It’s barely midnight.”
Alan’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t know. But I don’t think it’s just work.”
The elevator doors slid shut.
In the mirror, Babe stared at his reflection. Sharp. Beautiful. Unreadable.
It wasn’t love. Not really.
Just responsibility.
He tapped the terminal info again and murmured, “Damn kid... you could’ve waited for morning.”
But he was already halfway to the car.
Neon signs reflected off the polished hood of a parked car as the city buzzed in the background. The smell of jet fuel and asphalt lingered in the air, blending with August humidity. People came and went from the airport gates — lovers, tourists, tired businesspeople.
Babe leaned against the gate, one hand tucked into the pocket of his leather jacket, the other holding a cigarette he hadn’t lit. His black mask covered most of his face, but his striking eyes—piercing and feline—still drew attention from passersby. He didn’t acknowledge them.
He hated airports.
He hated waiting.
Yet here he was, standing under the harsh glow of fluorescent lights, checking the arrival board for the fifth time. The screen blinked: TG 1347 - Arrived.
Finally.
He flicked the cigarette into a nearby trash can and straightened his jacket. His boots echoed on the concrete as he crossed toward the automatic doors. The crowd was thinning now, but his gaze swept the terminal with practiced disinterest—until he saw him.
The boy stood with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a paper-wrapped souvenir in his hand. Dark hair curled around his ears, and a surgical mask covered the lower half of his face, but even after all these years, Babe recognized him instantly.
Charlie.
The Omega hadn't changed much — maybe a little taller, a little leaner. The gentle slope of his eyes, the way he blinked in surprise when he spotted Babe, the subtle shift in posture that meant he was holding back a smile.
Charlie blinked up, catching sight of Babe. He stopped for a second—like he wasn’t sure it was really him.
“...Babe?” Charlie said softly, voice muffled by his mask.
Babe’s eyes softened under the mask. “You look different” he muttered, stepping forward.
Charlie laughed, the sound gentle but worn. “You came.”
“You expected a cab?”
“No,” Charlie said, voice lower now.
Babe didn’t smile. He never smiled. But something in his shoulders relaxed.
“You're late,” he muttered.
Charlie blinked. “My flight landed early.”
“Exactly.”
A beat passed. Then another.
He reached for Charlie’s suitcase without asking, took the handle from his hand. Their fingers brushed. Charlie’s scent curled faintly—omega, a little frayed at the edges, like old paper and crushed gardenia.
Babe ignored the way it made his rut twitch.
“Come on,” Babe said, turning. “I’ll drive.”
Charlie followed, silent. The distance between them wasn’t cold. Just cautious.
Babe turned and walked toward the car without another word. Charlie followed, still not quite used to the way this Alpha operated — silent, cold, distant. But not unkind.
When they reached the car, Babe opened the trunk without looking and took Charlie’s bag. He placed it inside carefully, then opened the passenger door.
Charlie hesitated. “You don’t have to pick me up, you know.”
“I didn’t,” Babe said, getting into the driver’s seat. “I just happened to be nearby.”
Charlie rolled his eyes behind his mask. “Thanks anyway.”
They drove in silence for a while, the city blurring past. The radio was off. Babe didn’t speak, but his hand reached out at one point and turned the air conditioning away from Charlie, angling it toward himself instead.
Charlie noticed.
He also noticed the way Babe kept checking the rearview mirror, eyes flickering toward him when he thought Charlie wasn’t looking.
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
Home was still a long drive away.
The soft chime of the security system deactivating greeted them as they stepped into the penthouse. Cool marble. Dim lights. The scent of bergamot, suede, and something sharper—perfume that didn’t belong to either of them.
Charlie blinked slowly.
There were boots near the door. pheromones-stained glass by the counter. A black jacket on the armrest—Alpha-sized, not Babe’s.
He didn't ask. He just stepped around them and pulled his suitcase in like a guest in his own house.
“You can use your room,” Babe said, already walking toward the kitchen. “I didn’t let anyone in there.”
Charlie nodded once. Of course. “Thanks.”
It came out dry. Automatic. He slipped into the hallway briefly, dropped his bag off in the room he hadn’t seen in months. Clean. Empty. No photos. Just the faint smell of lavender—his scent, artificially preserved by the maids.
Back in the kitchen, Babe was tapping on his phone while waiting for the food to heat. One earbud in.
“Yeah, I left early,” Babe said casually into the call. “Had to pick someone up.”
A pause. Then a chuckle. “No, I’m still down. I’ll swing by after he sleeps.”
He turned slightly, catching Charlie’s eyes mid-sentence, and lowered his voice—barely.
“Yeah, same place. Text me the room number.”
Charlie didn’t flinch. Just pulled out a stool and sat quietly.
The microwave beeped. Babe hung up. No apology, no excuse.
He placed the food in front of Charlie: stir-fried rice, grilled pork, a slice of fried egg. Still hot.
“Eat,” Babe said, leaning on the counter. “Then rest. Mae wants to meet you.”
Charlie picked up his fork. “I’ll visit her tomorrow."
Babe nodded. Then checked his watch.
“I’ll be out late. Don’t wait up.”
Charlie paused, fork hovering mid-air.
“Okay,” he said, then hesitated. “Thanks for... picking me up.”
Babe didn’t reply at first. Just stared at him, gaze unreadable.
Then, as he turned to leave, he stepped closer—too close. Charlie tilted his face up instinctively.
But instead, Babe leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his forehead.
A single second. No more.
Charlie froze. His hand clenched on the fork.
By the time he turned to say something—anything—Babe was already walking out the door, jacket slung over one shoulder, perfume clinging faintly to his collar.
And Charlie sat there, alone, with a warm meal and a heart that didn’t know what to do with itself.
TBC
Author’s Note
This story takes place in an ABO universe where secondary genders—Alpha, Beta, and Omega—define most social dynamics, far more than sex or gender assigned at birth. In this world:
- Gender roles follow ABO hierarchy, not biological sex.
- Alphas are traditionally seen as "husbands" in a bonded pair.
- Omegas and Betas, regardless of body, are socially treated as the "wives" in marriage.
- Same-rank or non-traditional pairings (like Alpha x Alpha or Omega x Omega) are legal but still often labeled as “gay” relationships, especially in elite society.
- Switching roles in intimacy is rare—and frowned upon by purists.
In short: this isn’t a world that cares if you're a man or a woman—just what you are, and who’s on top.
But what happens when a notorious Alpha and a seemingly delicate Omega dare to… switch?
Welcome to SWITCH.