October 10th, xxxx (Night)
IN BOUTS OF A fitful sleep, Alpha North concluded a strategy for the whole sticky children situation. A pretty shitty strategy but a strategy nonetheless. It's no wonder the nagging headache woke up with him.
Groggy, he flickers sleep crusted eyes open to find two Alphas in the room, one hovering above him, the other leaning against the door, arms crossed.
"It's evening already, North Star. Wake the fuck up," with pausing, the waker who turns out to be Alpha Ulo River continued, "Some of us are going to the bar lounge, you know, to take the edge off. Come with."
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he yawns, stretched and rolls away, glancing over Ulo's buzzcut head to the mute Alpha watching.
She catches his eye and says, "Manor Alpha wants to talk to you about the proposal,"
sharp angular stern face shined when she smiles. "I still can not believe you will make her brother your mate. A constellation marriage. How cool is that?"
"Believe me, I'm jealous of you. But you can not argue with what's written in the stars."
Pause for effect and then, the trio laughs.
"Give me a moment to freshen up. Be right down."
"No problem, take your time."
The reflection staring back at him in the mirror looks feral—haggard, no thanks to his crumpled suit. He shouldn't have slept in it.
Bloodshot eyes, face painted with sleep and untidy hair, he makes a quick work of rinsing his face, finger combing his hair before tying it back with a hairtie.
But as he leans forward on the sink appraising his reflection, he feels something isn't right, is missing. Musing, his sight lands on the crooked tie and rumpled suit. Ah. It's the suit.
Makes a feeble attempt of ironing it with his hands but of course, nothing straightens. In fact, he thinks he made it worse. It'll have to do, he convinced himself as he knots the loosened tie.
He meets sleepy, bloodshot eyes in the mirror and thinks of something blue but chuckles, waves it off and rifles through the medicine cabinet for his headache and is thoroughly disappointed when all he sees are herbal medications.
"North Star, I didn't mean to literally take your time," Alpha Ulo River, a.k.a Rivers raised his voice. "Those drinks won't drink themselves."
"Nor would the girls fuck themselves."
"Nor would the girls fuck themselves," he echoed.
Swallowing the pills and hoping for the best, he appeared and Alpha Regina—a.k.a Regent—loops an arm around his neck and ushers him out. Taller than his six two that when she bounces on her toes, it seems as if she'll hit the high-beamed ceiling.
Precious can understand their excitement. The bar lounge—a ten minute walk/two minute drive—is owned and operated by the Constellation Pack, a sort of haven hangout for local or itinerant Shifters either looking for a permanent refuge or a fun place to loiter without the pressure of humans stifling presence.
When two or a lounge of Shifters come together, there is bound to be a riot. A party riot. And when the Alphas are in town—he subtly shakes his head—everyone regrets something the next morning.
"Golden boy!" Regent exclaims, arms spread wide when they see Alpha White Gold sitting at the fully stocked wet bar nursing a drink. He hides a wince when she slaps him on his back.
"Drink up. Then join us for a drink and a fuck! We're going to the lounge!"
"Some drinks and some fucking," River boy corrects, grinning. "What do you say?"
Precious remains passive when the Alpha whirles around on the high stool and glances at him, something akin to annoyance flashing in his eyes but it's gone before he can pick up on it.
Alpha White Gold to Precious' observation is a constantly annoyed Alpha. Not grumpy or stoic just annoyed. Reticent in nature, Precious thinks at least some of the annoyance has to do with the hair he keeps braided (tight plaits that drops past shoulders) and the fact that his territory is perpetually hot.
Great for tanning like the Alpha has done and other summer activities but horrible for other things.
"I have a mate," he deadpans.
"You have a human. Come out with us. You never have fun anymore. Ever since her."
"Neither does Alpha Ulu."
"She has a mate."
"So do I."
Rivers and Regent roll their eyes, grunts and stalk off, speedwalking towards the car parked. Precious chuckles after them, stalling—jealous of the quiet Alpha White has created for himself.
A quick glance around notes that the manor is settled, quiet but not empty—the continuous buzzing of staff keeps the place alive.
He looks back at the Alpha who looks back and to his surprise says,
"You shouldn't keep good friends waiting."
Saying nothing, he nods in his direction and leaves, feeling eyes on his back. Precious doesn't want to admit that they're more alike than otherwise.
They both want silence, wants to be left alone but where the Alpha is withdrawn almost to the point of reclusion, Precious doesn't mind being around the hum of activities as long as it hums around him.
And because they are alike—almost so much so, it has become a shame that they can't, you know, shoot the breeze. He wonders how Golden boy would react if he's made privy of his own inclinations.
How the Alphas would react; definitely someone like Regent and Rivers will probably make fun of him but maybe Golden boy might understand as they are similar. But maybe not. After all, he's an Alpha.
[So are you.]
It's different. I'm an imposter.
***************
Bright strobe lights temporarily blinds him as he walk through the doors of the two storey building, the blasting noise almost knocking him off his feet.
He stands, stares captivated at the green, pink, blue and red of the twinkling lights, their dotted reflections on the sparkling glass floor.
He tracks the rapid changing of the dots to a raised stage starring scantily-clad strippers performing, sweaty exposed skin a centerpiece of money but that's not where his gaze rests.
It wanders between the crowd—the barefooted waiters/waitresses effortlessly weaving through the crowd serving things stronger than drinks, the red occupied booths full to the brim that the occupants sit so close they might as well be attached.
To the left of him, cheers erupts for the bartender turning tricks with fire, food and alcohol but two stools after them lay someone naked and wet, salt(or something else) trails her neck to her navel, nipples, rings of ice-cream?
Someone, somewhere is either naked, half or fully enjoying the company and being enjoyed, their laughter lost to the throbbing music but the joyous freedom on their faces is relaxing to see.
The bar lounge is away from the prying eyes of the city but close enough for a safe escort to those who need it but for those who really need it, they're always welcome to spend the night here.
Considering the excited look on Rivers and Regent, they are one of the half willing to endure back pain and neck cramps—willing campers.
They've been spotted, Precious notices the sudden shift in the air—the immediate leering, whispering, excited chatter and it might be his imagination but the spotlight on the strippers podium seems brighter, their dances more lurid, their smiles more seductive.
Skirting through the crowd, Precious smiles at the attention but Rivers and Regent bask in it—leaning to accept pecks, to offer fleeting kisses and touches but neither don't stop moving the back where the staircase spirals upstairs.
Where downstairs is blinding lights and thundering music, upstairs is muted colours, low classical music, upstairs curved downwards like a bowl, the darkened tall glass windows a secret to the outside world.
The Alphas have definitely started before them. His attachments leave him instantly, jumping in the fray but he hesitates preferring to watch the play in front of him.
Most notably that of Manor Alpha fully clothed, black locks of hair drapes her back stepping on the naked collared boy on the floor, her mate draped around her legs: half of a pale torso hidden in the skirt of the Alpha.
Regent, Magnolia and Snowdust can't easily be discerned behind purple velvet curtains but he notes upon a beta spreading her legs for Alpha Vermillion, the latter's fang buried in a nipple, both watching Rivers undressing.
Like a scene from porn, Precious can take his pick but his eyes keeps wandering to kneeling collared boy arched on his back—bite marks mapped on his skin, lips bitten raw, erection dripping precum.
What gets his cock stirring is the sight of the helpless boy surrendering to the whim of the Alpha—of his Dom—cries for release ignored.
"Not until after I come but sweet Indigo is taking her time," she fists her mate's hair, head entirely buried between her legs, hands cuffed behind her.
Constellation has completely restricted movement for both the boy and the woman, her being the only driver permitted to direct however she damn pleased.
And when her body tensed, she pries the woman's lips from her legs and a whine—that delicious, frustrated whine darkens his eyes making him see things that aren't there.
His vision changes, the images changes and suddenly, it's not the woman on her knees or the boy arched on his back. It's him.
He is stripped naked and flogged, collared and disciplined, ecstasy dangled in front of him but taken away over and over and over again until he's completely helpless, spent but taut, driven completely mad with unadulterated passion.
Precious must've made a sound because Manor Alpha snaps her head to him—identical lust clouded eyes meets, heat choking them speechless.
Like a thief caught stealing, he turns around and she finds her voice, the strength of it sapped, stolen by the boy on the floor and her mate on her knees.
"Don't leave. We... We have things to go over."
Tomorrow, I'm tired he thinks he says but he can't be too sure because he's already jogging down the stairs and stomping out the building, embarrassment dazzling like shame on his chest—constricting, painful—and he hopes the walk back to the manor fixes his brain to working shape.
But by the time he's pounding up the stairs, door slamming shut, he doesn't register he's in the bathroom unzipping and by the time he comes to, he's slumped against the cold wall fisting dry, hard cock.
Precious doesn't stop, doesn't pause to make the stroking any easier because as far as he's aware, he doesn't deserve pleasure like anyone else—it should be uncomfortable, stinging, red raw faster, faster.
Maybe then, he'd learn that fantasies no matter how nice, no matter how blue or gruff or commanding isn't meant for him.