амега (peterick)

dix-sept.

At work, Patrick doesn't do much work, and I can neither confirm nor deny that that may or may not be entirely my fault. Let's look at this logically: It's his first shift since I lost my virginity to him, and that's... it. In a nutshell, I can't drag him off the stage any faster, and he and I barely make it to the dressing room before we're attempting to rip each others clothes apart. He smells great. But then he always smells great. And I always want to fuck him. I've had too much to drink.

At least there's nobody around to disturb us.

Except Buzz, but, you know... he's the guy who's been desperate for this to happen, and it's finally happening. In his club, of all places. He should be honoured and proud. There's no judgment between us here.

Ok, maybe there's a little judgement. For a start, there's a perfectly useable bedroom upstairs, which we've decided not to use. Buzz has every right to want to murder us.

"Christ almighty!" I hear him yell. "The restrooms have locks on the doors, you know."

"Oh, we know," Patrick slurs through immature giggles. Something of his has managed to sneak its way into my mouth. A thumb, I think. I suck it lazily.

"Allie," Buzz says, his tone much firmer this time. "Step away from the Alpha."

A spot of uncomforting cold blooms on my thigh when Patrick takes his hand away from it, presumably to swipe at the Beta, but his messy mouth colliding with mine diverts me from the disappointment. All I want to know is where he plans to put it next. "Hold on, hold on, just give us a second," he mumbles wetly, and I feel his smirk pressing into my lips as he returns his hand to my hip.

"Do not make me fire you, because I will," Buzz growls, about the same time I gasp from the coolness of the Omega's palm. "Take your hand out of his pants," Buzz demands, accentuating each syllable as slowly as possible as I begin to fuck Patrick's fingers involuntarily. Sober me would listen to Buzz and stop. Probably. "Now, Allie," he bellows.

Our mouths are no longer touching because I'm too busy moaning, eyelids glued shut and jaw agape like a blind sparrow hatchling waiting to be fed by its mother. It allows me the air I need to speak, however. "You should probably listen to your boss," I inform Patrick. (Probably.)

"Nope," he says. "Why should I? He's not you."

"Allie-" Whatever I'm about to say to him gets cut off; I'm half a second away from coming, but Buzz doesn't let me have the satisfaction.

He grabs the boy by the shoulder and yanks him off of me. "I'm not going to ask you again, Patrick."

Woah. I've never heard anyone else but me use Patrick's real name before. What that means... actually, I have no idea what it means. Right now, I care about nothing more than Patrick's hands. I want his hands. Somebody give me back his hands. Or his mouth. I'd even settle for an incoherent slither of words granting me permission to finish what he started. I don't mind which of the three methods he wishes to use. So long as his eyes are watching. I just want to fucking come.

Patrick writhes, one flailing wrist enclosed in Buzz's hand. "B, you can't-"

"You work for me, young man," he dictates. "I'm no Alpha, but to you a Beta is still of a higher power. You should count yourselves lucky I haven't dragged Dallon out here to slap some sense into the both of you." He let's Patrick go and shoots me a displeased glare before going back to staring the Omega down. "Open up," he orders.

"No," Patrick snaps. My fingertips twitch. Angry Patrick turns me on.

Buzz groans. "A little help would be appreciated, Pete. He'll only answer to you."

My hand freezes in its venture toward the hem of my pants. Patrick looks at me pleadingly, while Buzz continues to glare, waiting impatiently for my input. I cough once. "Do as he says," I say finally, and reluctantly, Patrick opens his mouth, Buzz nodding abruptly in thanks as he leans in to... do something... to determine something else.

"When was the last time you took suppressants?" he questions after a few moments of inspecting Patrick's mouth. Apparently it is now possible to smell whether somebody has or hasn't taken them, which I was not aware of. "Pete?"

Fuck. Why does it always have to be me? "Well, I thought we might benefit from not-"

"So neither of you have been taking them like I asked," he says. He shakes his head. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? Even for you, Pete. You're supposed to be protecting him, not letting him jack you off in my dressing room."

"Jesus, calm down. We're bonded, for God's sake. I'm perfectly capable of warding off our enemies."

"You're fucking drunk," he accuses. I mean, he's not wrong. "God, if it weren't for Allie being here I wouldn't hesitate to throw you out onto the goddamned street." He then turns to the Omega in question. "Break times over, pretty boy. Get back to work." And just like that, Patrick switches on his porn star smile, and leaves the dressing room, with no kiss goodbye and an unfinished handjob.

Buzz massages his temples and turns to me, sighing. "I care about you two, you know?" he says to me. I say nothing and nod. He looks tired. I'm not going to say that out loud, though. I'm not sober enough to stand to his attention, so for now I think I'll keep my mouth shut. "Just... belt up and shut up. And maybe use the bathroom next time, yeah?" he concludes. I just keep on nodding as he trudges angrily after the Omega. "And don't jizz on my carpet!"