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Three: Scent-Drunk

Three: Scent-Drunk

Wren lost his confidence when he was halfway there. He was starting to see what Will and Adam meant by the way the boy was looking at them. An omega or a beta, seeing someone approaching them, would typically have dropped their gaze and become a little shy, or maybe tried to pretend they hadn't been staring.

The boy just kept looking, gaze steady. It made Wren's spine tingle like someone was breathing down his neck. Weird. Wren considered running back to his friends with his tail between his legs, but then told himself there was no logical reason for him to feel this way, and kept going, reaching the boy in a few more strides.

Now that he was closer, Wren saw that his assessment of the boy's age was just about right. He had to be at least a couple years younger than Wren. But his legs, extended out, were impossibly long. Wren thought Will was wrong. If the boy were to stand, he would probably be a little taller than Wren.

"Can I help you?" Wren asked, once within speaking distance, and immediately cringed. He didn't mean for that to come out as aggressive and accusatory as it seemed, really. Will's paranoia was getting to him.

Just as Wren spoke, the wind suddenly shifted so that instead of blowing against Wren's back, it blew against his front, sending the boy's pheromones right into Wren's nose.

Damn. He was an alpha. So sue Wren for not immediately jumping to a biased conclusion.

Will and Adam had been inordinately nervous about this boy, but he was, in fact, just a boy. Just a kid, younger than Wren. Surely he didn't mean anything bad by staring.

The boy shrugged in response to Wren's question, gaze falling somewhere around Wren's thighs and slowly trailing up and down. Anyone other than Wren would accurately guess that the alpha was checking him out, but Wren was not everyone else, and followed the boy's gaze. He pulled at the fabric of his pants. It was one of his spare pairs of baseball pants, the ones that were tight to his skin, gray with white stripes going down the sides. He wore them specifically because he knew he was going to be playing baseball today and these pants were the most comfortable to run in. They were also one of the most expensive pieces of clothing he owned, and he never missed a chance to upsell them to anyone in the vicinity. Wren automatically assumed the boy liked his pants.

"Do you like these? I got them from the sporting goods store on 5th Ave."

"..."

Receiving no response, except a strange sharpening of the boy's gaze, Wren continued rambling, giving the boy a rundown of all the features of his pants and why he loved them. They're stretchy and tight to the skin, but not uncomfortably so and they're machine washable so it's easy to get grass stains out. Plus, they're really durable. Wren has had this pair for two years now and they're practically new. And oh, they're super soft too, like a baby's butt – here, do you want to feel?

Wren knew, generally, about how attraction, relationships, and sex worked. You couldn't really get to seventeen without knowing something about at least one of those three things. He'd seen plenty of rom-coms, and he was confident that if someone in his actual life were to be into him, he would know it.

He had overestimated himself.

Someone like Wren, who had never even read a smutty book before, didn't know – couldn't know – that while the boy outwardly appeared to be listening to Wren's opus to his pants, he was actually imagining how Wren's legs would look wrapped around his waist.

The alpha boy was not sheltered like Wren, needless to say.

After a solid minute listing each detail of his pants that he loved, Wren realized he had sat on the bench next to the boy at some point and paused. When had that happened? Wren didn't remember sitting down. From this close, Wren could practically count the boy's eyelashes, could map out the flecks of gray in his black eyes.

Wren felt warm and flushed. It was extremely strange. Every breath he took was laden with fresh mint and wood, and his head felt like it wasn't screwed on all the way.

Looking back on it later, Wren realized that the alpha pheromones were making him lose his grip.

In the moment, though, Wren just gulped. "So, if you like them, they're a worthwhile purchase," he finished weakly.

The boy, who hadn't said a word the whole time, finally spoke. "I like them," he said casually, but Wren had this unexplainable sense that that wasn't what he'd meant to say at all.

"Wren! ...Wren!"

As if underwater, Wren finally noticed Will and Adam calling for him from afar, looking nervously at the two on the bench. He waved at them and turned back to the boy to tell him he had to leave, but when Wren did turn back, the boy had already stood up and left. All Wren saw was his back as he strolled away from the bench, hands in his jacket pockets.

Without that scent clouding his mind, Wren was briefly confused. Had he done something to offend the boy? Obviously, he thought, embarrassed. I talked about my pants for twenty minutes. Of course he would take the first opportunity to leave.

Even through the embarrassment, though, Wren knew his own behavior was a little off. He wasn't the type to ramble. He never had been. He had been really excited to talk about his pants, though. That was probably it.

Will and Adam came running over to Wren while he was still stunned on the bench. They could tell from the lingering residual pheromones that the boy had been an alpha – and that they had won the bet – but they weren't particularly concerned about that right now. Will snapped in front of Wren's face and he jumped.

...Had he zoned out?

From his friend's expressions, yes, yes he had.

"Whoa," Adam said, sitting where the boy had been before. "I've never seen someone get scent-drunk in real life."

Wren was still a little fuzzy, but he was quickly regaining clarity. "What? Scent-drunk? What's that?"

Will sat on his other side, still giving Wren a look like he expected Wren to fall over with the next gust of wind. "It pretty much only happens in porn," he said bluntly. Wren blinked slowly. Pardon?

"Basically, it's when you get so overwhelmed by someone else's pheromones that you become a limp noodle for them to play with."

Wren...became cooked spaghetti??

"Very few people come by it naturally," Adam explained, a bit more helpfully. "But some people are really naturally sensitive to strong pheromones and become all submissive and dazed when they smell them."

Wren frowned. "How do you know that happened to me?"

Will rolled his eyes. "Please. You sat next to him after talking to him for ten seconds and then let him feel your leg – what was up with that, by the way? Plus, you were leaning into him, like this." Will then comically leaned into Wren's space, practically resting his head against Wren's shoulder, making a simpering face at him.

Wren thought he was exaggerating, but also...Wren didn't remember letting the boy feel his leg. Had that actually happened? ...Will wouldn't make that up, though, and Adam wasn't contradicting him. So if that was true...the rest of it might be too.

No way. Wren felt his face go bright red. That was so goddamn embarrassing.

That's how Wren learned about his 'low scent tolerance,' as it were. Later in life, as Wren had to interact more with alphas for school and work, he learned exactly how inconvenient it was to become easily scent-drunk.

It usually wasn't as severe as it was with the boy in the park. Wren never felt quite that level of dazedness in any other alpha's presence, but he still consulted a doctor to make sure it wouldn't interfere with his daily life and aspirations. He was given advice and several books on how to recognize when he was at risk of becoming scent-drunk so that he could mitigate the effects. He learned mental exercises to center himself and was prescribed a medication that dulled his ability to process other people's pheromones.

Over a decade later, Wren had learned how to control his weakness. He eventually didn't have to use the medication, though he kept some on hand just in case. Wren had mentally prepared himself for pretty much every possible situation that could arise from his condition.

Unfortunately, Wren hadn't prepared himself for Vincent.