Bond Brothers

Robbie loathes Mark-fucking-Peterson

A/N: I'VE FINISHED THIS STORY! Yay! I'm going to post chapters as I edit them (about once a week - definitely not less than that). This is my first time using Wattpad, so bear with me!

Robbie didn't hear about it at first.

He was a fourteen year-old kid from Kent caught up in the middle of his parent's divorce at the time. So why would he have given a flying parsnip for the headlines about some sort-of-famous alphas who turned out to be bond brothers?

Well, he didn't.

His Mum had gone out for groceries one morning, met his mate, and two days later he was joyously divorcing Robbie's dad. It didn't matter that Dad had been a loving, doting husband. It didn't even matter that they'd had and raised a kid together. No, the moment Mum met Mark-fucking-Peterson, boring alpha accountant at a mid-level firm who smelled sweetly sour, like limes and coconut, Robbie suddenly had a new step-father.

His dad tried to make it all okay. He'd insist that when it came right down to it, Mum didn't have a choice in any of it. He'd say alphas and omegas were biologically drawn to their mates, "and we can't fight our biology, kid." He'd point out that, legally, an alpha could render his mate's previous marriages null and void anyway, "so Mum couldn't have stayed married to me even if he'd fought it."

Not that Mum fought anything though. The fucking traitor.

Mum just disappeared for two days, out of the blue, driving Robbie and Dad into a frenzy of worry. The police were called, search groups were sent out, and family were rounded up to help track down their beloved missing wife and mother. Then Mum returned to them, rosy cheeked and wrapped up in the arms of a gangly, silver-haired alpha who turned up his bulbous nose at their eclectic, cosmopolitan flat and tried to glare Dad right out the front door.

Robbie insisted on staying with Dad. He absolutely refused to call Mark Peterson's stuffy country house his home, especially since the man would cringe away from the sight of him as if the evidence of his mate being bred by another alpha would disappear if he just wanted it badly enough. It didn't help that Mark was a considerably older, boring-as-shit alpha who would try to tell off Robbie for spending too much time playing video games or for not dressing conservatively enough for a proper, young omega. Robbie would flip him the bird and Mum would twist his hands anxiously but never say a word.

So at fourteen, Robbie was a resentful child of divorce who would soon be moving to his dad's hometown in the States to keep the lonely alpha company and, just as importantly, to escape the snotty old pillock his mum had shacked up with.

Naturally, it made sense that he totally missed the fleeting celebrity gossip about Leon Clarke, the newest shiny thing on some German football team and a rising star whose name got thrown around like oxygen by diehard football fans. Robbie cared about soccer balls almost as much as he cared about being a "proper omega" (fuck you, Mark), so he only knew anything about one of the top players in the league because Brian, his best friend since primary school, never actually shut up about FIFA.

Brian had a pool though, and Robbie didn't have to listen to football stats or complaints about his choice to leave the country while he was working towards the world record for underwater handstands as your friend was unknowingly talking to himself.

So when one of Clarke's many die-hard fans connected the spotty, twirly, nonsense birthmark that was nearly always proudly visible at the hollow of Clarke's throat to some picture of a gorgeous, shirtless Russian supermodel named Mikhail Volkov in Esquire magazine who had a matching mark next to his (very) sculpted navel, Robbie was too busy swimming in teenage angst to notice or care - even as the rest of the world went sort of nuts over it.