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Style couldn’t believe there were still people who thought Omegas couldn’t be on the prowl just as much as Alphas were. He felt like a wolf on the hunt as he eyed Fadel doing his warm-up stretches on the running track, powerful, hungry and ready to pounce.
He had asked and Bison had delivered. He looked down at the needlessly and impressively detailed drawings scribbled into the notebook Kant had handed him yesterday, each depicting a place Fadel frequented during the week.
Style couldn’t help but smile when he leafed through the notebook, taking in the sketches for the hundredth time. Kant and Bison seemed to have a very special interest in common. He really hoped his friend wouldn’t get cold feet and fuck up this opportunity he was presented.
Style sure wasn’t about to squander the generous help he had been offered along with Bison’s blessing to go ahead and “get his big brother to let his hair down.”
He let his gaze wander back over to Fadel. It swept over strong calves, corded lower thighs that disappeared into gym shorts, well-defined buttocks and the broad back Style had imagined without the obstruction of clothes more than once. Imagined his own nails digging deep into the tan skin as their bodies joined.
He was so turned on and on the verge of succumbing to full-blown fantasies just from seeing the Alpha, it was obscene. Until now, scent was what had done it for Style when it came to Fadel, but now the attraction had developed further.
Well, time to put all this sexual frustration to good use.
“Good morning, khrub,” Style drawled as he sauntered closer, swinging his hips.
Fadel pivoted and seemed to freeze on the spot, his dark eyes roving on bared skin with a breathtaking intensity to them.
Style knew he looked good. He was in a crop top, of course, this time a grey, black-striped button-up model, and miniscule, bright cerulean running shorts he had managed to procure from his admittedly massive wardrobe. He would simply display his assets until he pestered Fadel into putting his mouth on them. Despite the Alpha’s carefully blank features, Style recognized the burning in the gaze that lingered on his thighs and the strip of stomach he loved showing off.
Finally Fadel seemed to be able to divert his focus. “Are you following me?” he growled, suspicious and defensive despite the obvious yearning in his eyes.
“Oh, surely not, sir,” Style simpered in his most innocent tone. “I live nearby and wish to keep healthy and strong and breathe in the fresh morning air.”
He stepped closer to draw in more of the Alpha’s scent now that they were within proper smelling distance of each other. As he did, he tilted his head just a bit. Not a full presentation of his gland, yet. He had seen how hot under the collar the move had made Fadel before. He wanted to remind the Alpha of this feeling as soon as possible.
“Though, it gets awfully lonely, jogging by myself,” Style continued and intensified his offering with a carefully ministered, subtle pout. That shit got most Alphas going. “Can I join you, Alpha?”
Fadel frowned before completely erasing any elements of expression. He still couldn’t control his eyes, Style noted with a victorious smirk.
“It’s jogging, not badminton,” Fadel scoffed. “You can do it solo.”
Style felt his smirk widening and tilted his head just a fraction more, turning the gland just a little towards Fadel as he did. “But some things are better done together,” he murmured.
Fadel seemed to come to a decision and started unscrewing the cap of his sports drink bottle. Style still had the humiliation from the market fresh in his mind and instinctively took a step back, breaking his meticulously arranged pose. Gatorade was not the sticky substance he wanted on his self.
“Hey, what are you going to do?” he squawked, alarmed. “You wanna spray me down again?”
To his surprise, something almost like amusement flashed across Fadel’s face before he covered it up by taking a sip. “Scared?”
“‘Course not. Just don’t wanna get soaked today,” Style muttered and added with a little grin: “Not like that, anyway.”
Fadel had schooled his face into a wall of stone, even his eyes seemed to be affected much to Style’s chagrin. However, the Alpha stepped a little closer, so that they were eye to eye. He seemed to be gauging something as they gazed into each other.
“If you follow me again,” Fadel muttered finally, “you won’t only get soaked next time.”
“What will you do to me?” Style asked immediately, horny out of his mind despite the threat – or more probably because of it at this point.
He was about to slick into his underwear for the nth time in a week. They were within kissing distance once again. The leather and the tea and the spice and the metal were so deep in his nose and lungs, they almost pulled an actual keen out of him.
The air shifted then.
It wasn’t a flare of scent. Not the hot, spiking dominance Style had tangled with before. This was something tighter. Denser. Like a black hole bending space and time. Fadel’s pheromones pulled inward instead of spilling out, compressing the space between them until Style felt it in his chest, a subtle pressure that made his breath stutter.
The Omega reacted before he could stop it. Instinct whispered: Too close.
Fadel took a single step forward. There was something very dark in his expression, in his eyes. Like a shadow at the end of the bed when you wake up at night. Style found he could not move, caught in sleep paralysis while completely awake.
Fadel didn’t step into him but just close enough that Style had to tilt his head back to keep eye contact. Close enough that the choice became obvious: stand his ground against someone stronger than him, or give up.
Fadel’s voice was low when he spoke. Steady. Almost gentle.
“Don’t.”
One word. No anger in it. No threat on the surface.
But his scent tightened again, controlled and unmistakable, and Style’s Omega finally understood what his mouth had been pretending not to. This alpha wasn’t posturing. He wasn’t bluffing. He was drawing a line and making it clear how easily he could enforce it if that line was crossed.
“You’re pushing where you shouldn’t,” Fadel continued quietly, “and I’m asking you to stop.”
Style swallowed. His pulse was loud in his ears now, his body suddenly, humiliatingly aware of the difference between them. Of weight and reach and strength, of how this would end if instincts took the wheel. Not with cruelty or rage. Just inevitability.
Fadel just watched the realization settle, his expression unchanged.
After a beat, he added softly: “Listen to your Omega.”
Style exhaled slowly and took a step back. He hated himself for cowering but the fear was ingrained into his bones through both first and second hand experience.
He didn’t know Fadel. Didn’t know if he was putting himself in harm’s way with him. Style had a hunch that Fadel wasn’t actually a violent person in his day to day life but his Omega wouldn’t listen after the concentrated pheromone attack. Fadel had used the most accurate method to get it to back down and pull Style with it.
The pressure eased. The scent loosened, receding as deliberately as it came, and the space between them opened again.
Fadel turned without another word and started his run. Style stayed where he was for a moment longer, heart racing and skin buzzing.
The best way to avenge the embarrassment suffered was of course to hijack the PA system and chant Fadel’s name until even the heavens above were ringing with it.
***
The kind Beta Auntie managing the butcher’s stall was easy to persuade into helping Style with his chase. She was very sweet and understanding, even excited when Style sold her his tale of star-crossed lovers, of a gentlemanly Alpha trying to protect his fated Omega from his dark past and abstaining from a love between them that was destined. Style put all of his storytelling skills and charisma to work painting her a picture that made his ploy a necessity.
So she handed him an apron and when Fadel came to buy ingredients, took a few courteous steps aside so Style could get to wooing.
Fadel frowned at him in a way that was swiftly becoming familiar. “Don’t tell me you’re a butcher too.”
“Hey, I’m not above doing all sorts of odd jobs. Fixing cars, pushing carts, selling pork. If you refuse to stagnate in a job, you will never be poor, you know. So tell me, how much tenderloin do you need?”
“Never mind, I’ll buy somewhere else,” Fadel muttered and turned to leave.
“Hold it!” Style screeched and ran around the counter to grab at Fadel’s wrist.
The market wasn’t the best place to entice anyone with smell, least of all a butcher's stall, but Style did his very best to push out his most alluring scent. It wasn't hard for him to be smelling sexy, especially in early pre-heat when his scent turned inviting by nature. It did the job of keeping Fadel locked onto him for a precious while at least.
“You’re late to the market,” Style scolded. “Don’t you know this stuff runs out fast? You won’t find better quality anywhere else this time of day.”
“You are wasting my time,” Fadel snarled and snatched his wrist back. He still didn’t move from his spot, though, and Style saw his chest rise in a deep inhale.
“Fine! I’ll sell it to you,” Style said and tried not to sound too desperate. Alphas loved to provide, right? “But you have to promise me I can eat for free at your restaurant. And no chasing me out this time!”
Fadel shot him a most unimpressed glare. “I threw you out because you were drunk and disorderly.”
Style threw his hands up in surrender. “All right, I admit, that was a bad move on my part. I promise, next time I come to your restaurant, I’ll be on my best behavior, Alpha,” he vowed, lowering and softening his voice in a semi-submissive manner. “I’ll be a lovely customer and let you serve me.”
On your knees between my legs, preferably.
“Auntie, please prepare what he wants,” Style called out jovially to the Auntie that had stood there, ears perked and bright eyes shifting between the two the whole time. “Do we offer delivery?”
“We do have special services for our regulars,” she chirped. Just as they had discussed.
Fadel turned to her finally and flashed a boyish, embarrassed smile that suddenly tugged something in Style’s chest. “No need for that, Auntie. I’m fine.”
“Hey, don’t you know it’s bad manners to turn her down?” Style chastised. He slithered out of the apron and grabbed the shopping bag from the Auntie before Fadel could protest.
The Alpha seemed to resign himself to his fate and stepped up to pay before leading Style out of the market and through the streets all the way to Heart Burger.
Fadel stopped once they were inside and turned to take the shopping bags from Style.
“We’re here, you can go now,” he said.
Style bristled. “Hey, I told you not to chase me out!” he hissed and then sat down on the nearest stool at the counter. “I’ll wait right here until you’re done.”
As Fadel turned to face him again, he was already running his mouth further: “I’d love to be the first to taste… you.” Style grinned triumphantly, pleased with himself.
Fadel just stared at him with that statue-like visage of his, but Style could see his pupils were huge, like a cat smelling fresh nip. Then he turned around and disappeared into the kitchen.
Style, already bored out of his mind, started taking orders from the customers slowly trickling in for early lunch. As he wrote down the first few, the kitchen door opened.
“Hey.” The voice was low, sonorous and friendly, and a delicate but decidedly not that sweet scent billowed over Style. Dark amber, petrichor and pandan leaves. A splash of bitter heat from something like turmeric when the scent strengthened.
Style swiveled on his stool and took in the object of Kant’s desperate affections. Bison.
No wonder Kant was smitten, he thought immediately. The scent curling through the air was very… forest-y, decidedly not Omegan. Style wouldn’t be surprised if Bison had gotten flak for not stereotypically smelling like his secondary gender throughout his life. Now wasn’t the time to commiserate about Omega stuff, though, he was on a mission here.
“Hi,” he greeted back, smiling, gently pushing his own pheromones out so that Bison could get to know him as well.
“Style, right?” Bison grinned, and he was so cute, Style could have pinched those round little apple cheeks forever. “I’m Bison, Fadel’s little brother.”
“Right, Kant has told me all about you,” Style drawled, winked, and watched how a blush crawled up the younger man’s neck. Then he gestured to his notepad. “Sorry, I thought I might help out and take down some orders for you.”
“That’s sweet of you, thanks,” Bison said, still smiling brightly. His eyes sparkled, he looked so unbearably young and hopeful compared to Fadel. It was actually kind of captivating, Style had to lean in and tilt his head to see it from different angles.
As the silence between them stretched, Bison cleared his throat and frowned. “What?”
“Now that I see you up close, I get him. How he’s so head over heels for you. You’re cute as hell, man, and your scent is so lovely. Kant has never fallen like this for anyone, let me tell you.”
The blush that had started to fade renewed its journey up Bison’s neck and to his cheeks. “I don’t think we can use the word ‘love’ yet,” he said, looking just a bit uncomfortable. “We only just met, you know?”
Style thought he might have gone overboard with the praise but it’s not like it wasn’t true. He knew Kant and could see and hear it in him whenever Bison was brought up in conversation.
Bison looked around as if afraid someone was listening in, and then leaned to whisper: “I know Kant asked you to hit on Fadel. I want you to know that I know you’re doing this for Kant. But if you actually start liking him at any point, just go for it. I really want to see my brother happy with someone.”
Style sighed, an uncharacteristic melancholy sweeping over him despite the overdone dramatics in his voice. “It seems so unlikely that we’ll ever be together. He’s very… resistant. Cold, even. He uses pheromones and presence as deterrents. Is he like that with everyone?”
“That’s Fadel for ya,” Bison admitted, sympathetic and fond. “He’s tough on the outside and on the inside. But don’t give up yet. You just have to give him a good beating. Outlast him, you know – that’s what I always do.”
Bison tapped Style’s shoulder gently with his fist and they shared another smile that felt surprisingly genuine despite this being their first meeting.
***
Fadel had expected to step into the gym and see Style there.
He was not disappointed that this wasn’t the case. It meant his routine could continue as planned. It meant not falling apart on the inside while thinking about the suppressing technique he had used on Style at the running track. He had felt sort of guilty about it after. It wasn’t classified as violence but he knew it could be intense and strike fear and distrust even into the hearts of the brightest, most trusting individuals.
He had used it while on the job before. Once on Bison (gods above, he still felt so bad about it but he didn’t think he had a choice at the time).
But it had worked as intended. Style would probably feel too uncomfortable to even think about coming into any contact with Fadel anymore.
So he used the burn in his muscles to process, forget and move on. It was for the best.
Until Fadel suddenly caught the scent as he was doing bench presses. At first he thought he imagined it, as scent memories tended to be vivid for him and could often show up seemingly out of nowhere.
But then there were hands. Strangely familiar hands (did he really look at someone’s hands that much?) that grabbed a hold of his bar and assisted it back onto the rack. Then those brown, doe-like eyes were looking at him upside down, blinking lazily.
“If the next set is too much for you, let me spot,” Style said and Fadel fought not to let his gaze linger on those thick lips. He was surrounded by Style’s soft scent, the Omega obviously pumping out calming pheromones on purpose. Placating, as if afraid that Fadel would react with suppression again.
Fadel blinked once and sat up. “I know my limits. Don’t worry about me,” he murmured, feeling defeated already. Hanging hopelessly between disappointment and an airy sort of elation that he hadn’t scared the Omega away.
Style stalked around the bench to look at him. And wouldn’t you know it, there was a new sporty, sleeveless crop top that showed off sharp hip bones and wiry biceps. And motherfucking grey college shorts. Fadel was quick to swivel his head the other way.
“Wow…” Style’s voice was breathless again, that debauched quality to it that should have felt fake especially after what had happened, but somehow didn’t. “Your veins look so cool. I love an Alpha with veiny… appendages.”
“How did you find out about my gym?” Fadel asked, deadpan. He might have been relieved that Style hadn’t scattered into the winds after his stunt but he would not give in either.
Style frowned and swung from the rack in a slight arc. “Hey, this is a public gym,” he grumbled, almost offended. “Open 24/7, 799 baht a month. As if I’d miss out on such a good deal! I’ve been trying to build muscle, you know. Maybe I’ll look as good as you, someday.”
He winked and flexed his arm, once again showing off his already impressive bicep.
Fadel rolled his eyes so that they wouldn’t get glued on to the display. “If you plan to frequent this place, come during the day. I’m here at night.”
“Huh? Why can’t we show up at the same time?”
“It’s less crowded at night. It’s better for me.”
Style leaned in and made an approximation of whispering, only to get a long, appraising look from a nearby Alpha woman lifting her free weights. There was a third scent permeating the air, probing, ocean salt and holy basil.
“But I get frustrated at night, you know. I need to let off some steam, to sweat it out,” Style continued to rave as if he didn’t notice.
Fadel caught the other Alpha’s stare over Style’s side and glared murderously at her. Her nose crinkled and she rolled her eyes while turning away as if to say “all yours, man.” The salt and the basil faded as she retreated. Fadel felt like telling her it wasn’t like that, but at the same time his Alpha huffed, pleased with its own conduct.
Fadel knew he wouldn’t be able to drive Style away or shut him up without doing the suppression technique again, so he just laid back down on the bench and prepared to start another set. Suddenly there was a knee between his legs and Style was leaning over him, keeping one hand on the bar for support.
It looked and felt so filthy, the way the Omega was looking down at him, Fadel felt the familiar stirrings of lust. Vanilla and citrus pressed like a physical thing on the roof of his mouth, like a coating of sugar from a sweet treat.
“If you need a spotter, just call me over,” Style murmured and met his glare with the sultriest look he had ever seen on anyone. “After all, you did just stake a claim. Don’t waste it, Alpha.”
Fadel swallowed a groan of pure frustration, both personal and sexual. He watched, as if under a spell, as Style sauntered away from him to do his own workout, smiling brightly at the Alpha woman in the mirror as he passed her.
***
Fadel felt his muscles melt into relaxation as he leaned on the upper sauna bench. He had managed to slip away for a while and was thankful to let his nose and his Alpha rest from Style’s constant presence at the gym. The scent made him so restless and the Alpha generated some hopeful, lewd imagery that interfered with his concentration. He couldn’t speak of control anymore, there just seemed to be none when he was around Style.
The Omega was strong, and delightfully feisty, Fadel had to admit. Great qualities in a mate, and he’s pretty as sin to boot, the Alpha added helpfully, and he truly wished to slap it across the face for always diving head first into the nearest gutter.
But yes, pretty was the word. Divine was another. Fadel was hard pressed to think of anyone who rivaled Style in looks. Just thinking of the curve of his lips or the glimmer of his eyes behind a thick curtain of lashes… It did set a fire in him. Not to mention the Omega’s scent had been enough to make him lose control completely. In a public place no less.
This shouldn’t happen again, was what he thought just as the sauna door opened and closed.
And there he was. Fadel’s very own personal tormentor, old scent washed off in the shower, new pheromones just bubbling under the skin, ready to burst forth once he started sweating. Fadel’s eyes began wandering completely without his input, tracing the soft swell of Style’s chest, his pebbled nipples, the sharpness of his collarbones, his long thighs that had droplets of water dripping down (remember how good his slick smelled when you rubbed your face into it, the Alpha purred, and he did, he did remember and his mouth watered so much he had to swallow several times).
“Hot, isn’t it?” Style rumbled and had the gall to try and look surprised at seeing Fadel there.
Fadel tore his eyes away as best he could. Unfortunately, Style seemed to take offense and yanked his towel off his hips. Fadel was so close to shouting at him to have a goddamn sense of self-preservation for once, but the words wouldn’t come. His traitorous gaze tried to pry itself from his control and settle between those pale, long legs and the modest length nestled into a thatch of dark, trimmed pubic hair. He caught just a hint of the tight folds behind them as Style took a long step forward.
Style laid himself on his stomach on the top bench, putting his head down on his arms almost next to Fadel’s, closing his eyes with a carefree, relaxed sigh. Like he instinctively knew Fadel’s presence in front of him would warn off anyone that would try and get familiar, as it so often went when Omegas used unisex facilities.
Fadel was used to being protective over Bison, sometimes even complete strangers if a situation called for it. But Style was in a league all of his own. A potential companion, someone he could actually guard and have it be well received. Maybe when Style was in heat, sleeping off the fatigue between rounds – Fadel could see himself sitting at the edge of a messy nest, organizing water bottles and quick snacks, warding off unwanted visitors from Style’s space.
Someone he could fight for, someone who would fight for him…
No. What a stupid thought to have. The Alpha was really just doing whatever it wanted right now.
He already knew how a relationship would end. He had gone through one ending, one sudden fizzling out that left him raw and bleeding inside. And who was to say what Style actually wanted out of this? He didn’t know Style. At all. Fadel had to be more careful. For Bison. For himself.
Compatibility didn’t mean shit against survival.
But his eyes were still wandering over Style’s form, lingering on the droplets that covered him like decadent body jewelry, on the thick lashes resting over high cheekbones. Insanely beautiful.
“What are you doing?” he blurted finally, desperate to have something – anything else to focus on besides his own thoughts.
He drew in a sharp breath when Style opened his eyes and blinked at him lazily. “What? Does my naked body make you uncomfortable? There’s no rule against being naked in a sauna. I just need the heat to seep through every pore in my body.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” Fadel hurried to reassure. “Do whatever you want. Just leave me alone.”
Then, finally, he found the strength to turn his eyes forward. He immediately missed seeing the vision that Style was but smothered the feeling under annoyance as quickly as he could.
“All right,” Style laughed. “But you’re allowed to look, you know? I don’t mind, Alpha. I know I’m irresistible.”
Fadel chose to keep his mouth shut.
Trusty as ever, Style soon filled the resounding silence he left. “Why burgers, man? Why not larb, or mookata, or mala, or dumplings? Those are all trending right now.”
“No talking in the sauna. Be quiet.”
Style shot him a look and grinned. “Love your name, by the way.”
Fadel looked at him, disbelieving. How did Style have the energy for this each time?
“‘Fadel’,” the Omega rolled his name off his tongue like it tasted amazing. “It has such a nice ring. And a good meaning, too. ‘Someone who is generous, virtuous… and pure.’ Well, to be honest, that meaning doesn’t really fit. You’re not generous, and you’re definitely not…”
Fadel was mesmerized by the audacity and could only watch as a beaming Style pushed himself up from the bench and sat down right next to him, pressing as close as he could without actually touching yet.
“I don’t think you’re ‘pure.’”
Then the touch came, before Fadel could yank himself backwards and run out of the sauna as he should have done. Style pressed up against him, all smooth wet skin and strengthening scent and blazing, wanting eyes behind heavy lids. Fadel couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move a muscle as Style’s hand wandered to his lower stomach.
Long, slim fingers traced his hip tattoo, the touch light and tickling. Style flicked his gaze back upwards to Fadel’s eyes, once again just performing a vacuous semblance of submission but in reality just being as insubordinate as an Omega could be to a strange Alpha.
Fadel saw a warning glimmer in those deep brown eyes, and then Style’s fingers dipped under the towel, boldly stroking the soft skin and the trail of hair on his lower abdomen as they went.
Fadel couldn’t form thoughts anymore, there was just the incessant, pleased purring of the Alpha that vibrated inside his skull. The gravitational pull between them was too strong. Resistance seemed unimportant, futile even, in the face of Style looking up at him with those endless, starry eyes. Fadel’s nose detected the familiar smell of slick, the musky note to Style’s aroused smell.
Then the door opened to let in an old Beta man, and Fadel was up and out of there faster than he could think with his brain that had turned molasses-slow.
If he thought that was the end of it today, he was sorely mistaken. Style actually followed him into the Alpha dressing rooms (which were blessedly empty that time of night).
Fuck.
Fadel could have screamed out loud. Did this Omega have zero self-preservation skills? Was there truly not a single thought in that pretty head that told him it was so stupid and so unsafe to walk into Alpha-only social areas anywhere smelling like he was ready to get railed into the wall?
Fadel pounced. He had to make this stop.
He didn’t really mean to grab Style by the throat but that was what happened. At least it shut Style up for a precious few seconds.
“Who sent you?” he growled. Maybe he could try his hand at intimidation again. Nothing like work-mode to kill the pesky half-erection that pressed against the inside of his towel.
“No one did. Who do you think you are, a celebrity?” Style chuckled. His eyes sparkled when Fadel tightened his hold on his neck.
“You’re lying. You suddenly live at my pace. Morning jogging, grocery shopping, showing up at my burger joint, and now frequenting the same gym? Do you expect me to believe that this is all a coincidence?”
“Of course not,” Style said, voice just a little bit strained by the pressure of Fadel’s hand but still grinning like a lunatic. “I deliberately follow you.”
“So you’re finally admitting it. Who sent you?” Fadel pressed.
Style looked at him like he was the complete and utter lunatic out of the two of them. “I like you, Fadel. I’ve liked you since I crashed into you that night. Love at first sight, straight out of a movie.”
Fadel shoved him back against the lockers and resolutely ignored the excited whimper Style let out. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t believe me ‘cause you’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” Style murmured, breathless and desperate. “Neither have I. You smell how much I want you, how much I like that you’re pinning me down? I’m so wet for you.”
Fadel did smell, had been smelling since the first whisper of slick had welled up from inside Style.
They were kissing, suddenly. Fadel had hazy memories of trying to step back, of Style following and claiming his lips with his soft ones, licking the seam of his mouth until it opened, then groaning straight into Fadel so hard his throat resonated with it. His head felt floaty, his eyes were dropping shut against his will. His senses shut out everything that wasn’t Style’s velvety mouth or the heavy cloud of his scent.
He would have loved nothing more than to give in. To grab Style by the thighs, lift him and press him against the lockers and slide into him right there, where everyone could see. He wondered dazedly if Style was slick enough for that. Or would he have to finger and jerk Style off first, maybe even push him down onto the nearest bench and bury his face so deep between those thighs that he couldn’t breathe. The thought of having that smell, that taste, fresh on his tongue made his cock give a hard, painful throb.
“Wanting is dangerous, Fadel. We do important work. Things like lust are merely a distraction, and you know what we do with those”, his Mother’s voice surfaced. She had said this when they had talked about Fluke disappearing on him.
Another kind of pain took over quickly. Fadel felt suddenly unmoored, and so, so angry, even with Style there kissing him silly, offering himself. But having that outlet was too easy, he knew, and too dangerous.
The reality of it gave him the strength to shove Style backwards again.
“Stop following me,” he tried to growl, but the words came out weak and brittle.
This time when he left, Style let him go.
***
Bison was playing the video of him dancing with that fishy Alpha. Fadel could hear the music and his little brother singing along. He knew Bison was being obnoxious on purpose, as revenge for his earlier scolding. But what else was he supposed to do? Bison was being willfully stupid and blind because of his hopes for a normal life and it was putting them both in danger.
You just made out with an Omega at the gym, and I’m not allowed to dance with someone? noted a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bison in his head.
But Style was different. Fadel wasn’t going to risk anything. Nothing would become of them. Style would get bored and move on once Fadel ignored and stonewalled him enough.
Fadel dug out his earplugs and popped them in. It would be no use to try and get Bison to quiet down yet, he obviously wasn’t feeling tired enough. Let him dance and sing the romance out of his system first.
Problem was, Fadel wasn’t tired either even though his usual time for sleep had come and gone as he’d waited for Bison to show up. He was wired as hell, tense all over, and… horny. No use denying it. Images of Style floated in his head, unbidden, making the sound of heated blood rush in his ears.
It didn’t take long at all until Fadel was hard again. Painfully so. There was nothing left to do but to slip his hand into his pants and make it go away.
Style laying on the top bench, eyes closed, relaxed and dripping wet (in more than one way). Style stroking Fadel’s tattoo. Style looking up at him through his lashes, those smirking, plump lips parted to flash a hint of teeth and pink tongue. Even adopting a submissive position, ducking his head under Fadel’s or offering up his throat in mock surrender, Style radiated the confidence of someone undefeatable, someone wild and free like the wind.
And it was so easy to recall that scent again and feel it coating the back of his throat. Taste the bite of the lemons and the mellowness of the vanilla and the cool graze of jasmine. And under them, the cloying musk of arousal intertwined with Style’s body heat. A promise of shared pleasure.
Shit, what had Fadel ever done to deserve the attention of someone that gorgeous?
To his embarrassment, he popped a knot into his own hand with just a few heated minutes of stroking. The orgasm ripped through him like it had teeth. He was biting his own knuckles to keep quiet, his back was bowing and his thighs were spreading from the force of it, and he came a lot even though it was quick and unsatisfying.
At the end, there was nothing left but the acid of shame at the back of his throat and a wad of dirty tissues clenched in his fist.