Bond Brothers

Robbie wants his mates to piss off

In the weeks following the talk show, Robbie couldn't go anywhere without hearing about the four bond brothers and their epic search for love. The video of Ryder setting eyes on Wright's bondmark for the first time was a viral sensation that was definitely played on every news station in the country. And worst of all, now the whole bloody country, and probably half the fucking world too (thanks a lot you rotten, internationally famous alphas), were following every detail of the brother's search for their mysterious omega mate.

Polly was thrilled, of course. Her dad's campaign was bleeding the polls dry, so intrigued was the public with his drama-packed announcement to run for the senate and the four immensely famous bond brothers that had captivated the voters and endorsed Harold's campaign personally. Not only that, but now that Polly was no longer invested in being the beloved mate of the awesome foursome, she was rooting for their so-called romance just as hotly as any teenage girl.

Meanwhile, Robbie was getting increasingly paranoid that even in a city this size, with so much space and so many people to cover his scent, that somehow one of those stupid alphas would still catch his scent.

It wasn't so impossible. It had happened twice now, after all.

So it was safe to say that he did not handle it well when he walked into his living room with Matt one night after a dinner with his favourite coworker, Becky, and her date (because of course their partners had to attend a dinner between Matt and his omega coworker; they might have had hot, public sex right there on the table if someone hadn't been there to monitor them), and found a large alpha sitting on the couch of their formerly locked flat.

"Bah!" Robbie screamed, turning right around on his heel and smacking his head straight into Matt's. He'd never been bothered by their equal heights until that moment.

"Fuck!" he and Matt groaned in tandem, both keeled over and grasping at their sore heads.

"Uh, sorry about that," Carter called from the couch, and Robbie finally noticed who had broken into their flat to scare the living shit out of him.

While Carter was clearly laughing at them, because hey, it must have been pretty comical after all, Robbie quickly noticed that there was also something wrong. Carter's chuckles were subdued - not the boisterous, often booming, laugh that Robbie was used to hearing from him. His eyes and nose were red, his hair mussed, and most concerningly of all, he had a bottle of unstoppered vodka hanging from his fingers.

Vodka. Ew.

Robbie immediately snatched the bottle from him. "What are you thinking," he tutted, not at all like his mum, thank you very much. "You never drink when you're sad. Sad drinking is for people who are too afraid to cry sober, or Polly on the Fourth of July." It was a direct quote from Carter himself, and Robbie had deemed him the wisest wizard in the realm when he'd said it. They were both pretty high at the time, come to think of it.

Carter let him snatch the bottle away, but he was too busy making passive aggressive eye contact with Matt to respond.

Robbie sighed in disgust at them both. "Give us a minute, love?" he said to Matt as reasonably as he could.

Matt's face was twisted with disapproval, and Robbie had no doubt that things would be tense between them for days after this, but he also knew that Matt wouldn't start an argument in front of somebody else. So just like that, Matt was nodding tersely and striding into their bedroom, leaving the door between the two rooms distinctly ajar.

Robbie sank down next to Carter with as little touching as he could bear when all he wanted to do was wrap the big lug up in his arms. "What's up, buttercup?" he prompted gently.