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"Hey there, hot stuff."

Poe sidles up with this slanted half-smile, this award-winning-publication-producing-grin that just makes you grip the flute of your champagne glass a little too tightly. He's all confidence in a grey suit; hair slicked and brown eyes that never give a thing away. If you were getting that much money on grants, who knows? Maybe you'd be half as cocky as this guy.

Fucking engineers.

You down the fizzy liquid, cocking a brow. There's some sort of weird celebratory gig for the new Vice-Chancellor on: the champagne is comped, which almost makes up for the very average company and very dreadful funding proposals.

"Did you say something?" you scowl.

Poe's smirk just tilts up further - all Alpha, no humility. He's not a bad guy, he's just...a lot. And judging by the way his gaze strokes your throat, he's got some pretty big notions about Alpha-on-Alpha pairings. Maybe it'd turn him on if you threw him onto the buffet table and broke his skull: break him out in a rut if you bit his stupid hand off.

Decisions, decisions.

"I hear you tore Solo a new one at the Union. Really tore his balls off." Poe shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, shrugging. "Pretty hot."

"Yeah," you sniff. "He bothered me with inane shit while I was trying to have a quiet drink."

Poe doesn't take the hint.

"Yeah well, guy thinks he's the next Big Thing. Every cross faculty meeting with the guy about the faculty mergers is fucking--"

Poe's smirk dies down as Rey's heels click on the marble floor, her hair curled at the ends in pretty flicks that catch the low lighting just so. Sunshine orange scent swirls in the warm air, and you're immediately perking up. It's just so...so easy with her. Maybe it's biological, or maybe it's just the way she is. But there's a simplicity in things around her - it's refreshing. Nice.

She wraps you in a tight hug, and your heart picks up just a little. Can't help it - Omega scents just do that.

"Sorry. Parking was terrible. Ran out of spare change and then the machine ate my ticket." Her eyes dart to Poe, her throat bobbing. "Dameron."

Poe's pupils dilate just a little bit.

"Rey."

The balance in the conversation is thrown off just a little bit by the dynamic: Poe's scent sitting on the roof of your mouth and making your hair stand on end. It's something you get used to in some ways, but there's an atmosphere that literally can't be worked around. Nature is a bitch.

Poe leans back a little further against the wall. "Saw your paper in the Cambridge Archeological Journal last week. Looked good. Congrats."

Oh. This is unbelievably awkward.

"...Oh. Thanks."

Instinctively, you scan the room for the nearest tray of champagne. Any excuse to make a dash, any excuse to just--

Poe beats you to it.

"Cool, yeah. I'm just..." he gestures at something, steps sloppy as he pushes off and strides away as though he's searching for any bastion he can in a storm of stunted conversation. Rey's wide eyes slowly meet yours...

And you both burst out laughing.

"What was that?" you gasp, eyes beading from laughter. "Is he okay?"

Rey blots her mascara with her finger.

"Ever since we went to that networking conference last year he's been totally emotionally constipated around me. Think walking in on me getting changed might've had something to do with it?"

You grin, puffing up your chest mockingly and putting your thumbs up. "Saw you in the nude in Amsterdam. Looked good. Congrats!"

Rey swats you with her palm, but her resulting laugh lights up her face, pushing crinkles to the corners of her eyes. Somewhere off in the background, a delicate piano solo plays: the room is starting to fill out and God, the scents in here are swirling enough to make your mind start to jumble. It's always like this - what's with academia and hiring so many damned Alphas that don't get how to use spray blockers?

"Ugh." Rey gags, hiding her face. "Prick at 6'oclock."

The smile on your face fades as you swivel, leaning over your shoulder across the packed ballroom to get a look through the crowd. Through the sea of pretty formal wear, there's one man standing taller than the rest: charcoal suit hugging at his thick muscles, tie loose around his collar.

Ben Solo.

He looks like a damned movie star - he's got these eyebrows that are so strong, lips that are so full. Hell, his hair is just like that? Where is the humanity?

Ben adjusts his cufflinks, smiling politely as one of the older lecturers leans in to say something brief. A strand of his hair flicks over his face, and you've got this sudden compulsion to just--

"Are you ok?"

Rey is staring at you as you whip back around, the look on her face crinkling into worry. You realise you must've been staring for a lot longer than you thought.

Crap. Crap.

"Uh, yeah." You lick your lips, regaining composure. "Just been a long week."

You don't know if you're imagining the feeling of dark eyes on your back. You're not sure you want to.


 

The rain is relentless.

 It beats down on the concrete as you lean back in the marble alcove, staring out across the city skyline. Clouds obscure the stars, the smell of cold night air lingering on the roof of your mouth. You're far enough away from everyone now: far enough away that you can catch your breath for a moment. Give yourself a short reprieve before you head back in.

Nobody will come looking for you out here - it's out of the way. Rain will scare them off.

Good.

This feeling in your stomach won't abate: it curls up there, something of an unease that makes you feel off. You scratch at the back of your neck, your gland twitching and sending tingles through your skin. The weather does this: makes you all nervous, all out of sorts when the storms roll in.

You shiver with the weight of it.

The sound of boots on the wet concrete make you snap up, folding your arms and rubbing to maintain warmth as you shimmy deeper into the alcove. There's a splash: the sound of someone rushing through a puddle. 

Ben.

His hair is dripping in the darkness, running rivers down his cheeks and setting little droplets on his lashes. The white of his undershirt sticks to every crease of muscle, and you just want to...

"Nice night," he huffs against the drumming of the rain, shoving his hands in his pockets and standing alongside you. He really is huge. Huge, for a--

"Don't tell me," you thumb at the sleeve of your dress, sucking your lip. "You're escaping the speeches."

Ben chuckles, and you realise--fuck. He has a damned nice laugh. Low, baritone: it reverberates deep in his chest as he kicks a stray pebble with the heel of his boot.

"What gave me away?"

"Well it's not like you're here for the pleasure of my company."

Ben's smile dies down, his face hardening as he swallows. For a few brief moments, he follows your gaze out across the skyline: then, with a slow movement, his eyes shift over to you. Lingering on the side of your face. Lingering on you.

When you turn to him: he snaps away again.

A shiver finds its way at the base of your spine - your feet shift.

And he slowly shrugs off his jacket.

"You're cold," Ben licks his lips, shuffling closer to you. "Here."

You make a move to protest, but it dies in the wake of the warmth embracing your shoulders. The charcoal suit jacket is far too big for you; the sleeves drape limply at your hips, the collar dipping low.

But God, the smell of it. The smell of it.

It's like everything wonderful rolled into one--intense, so intense. Warmth and cinnamon and richness, tart and lightly spiced and homely. Instinctively, you sniff the collar, and Jesus. You're never giving this jacket back. Ever. To anyone.

You hug the shoulders closer, bringing it in to your core. Has anyone ever smelled this good?

Ben's lips part, his expression unreadable, eyelids heavy with something. He seems to be just...lingering next to you. The rain hammers; you inhale his gorgeous jacket, and he's just...there. He runs a calloused hand through his hair, the watch on his wrist glinting in the far-off light.

Nervous. Excited. Nervous.

His scent flickers between emotions that seem to sharpen and falter with every breath he inhales. His mind is racing in time with his pulse: he's caught somewhere else.

You can smell it on him.

You can...smell it on him?

"You..." there's a lump in your throat, and shit, this is inappropriate, but at this point... "you stopped your suppressants?"

Ben's eyes flit out into the distance. After what seems like an eternity, he gives a subtle nod.

"Four days ago."

Oh. Wow.

His brow quirks, and he inhales sharply as he does a little half shrug.

"I've wanted to change them for a while. This was just...proof. Proof they've run their course."

He doesn't sound quite so certain. His scent fluctuates with fleeting anxiety, tart on the roof of your mouth in a way that makes you antsy, makes the hairs prickle on your neck. The rain drums harder still; Ben stares at his shoes, swallowing hard enough that you can see his throat bob in the dim light.

You sigh.

"I do feel a little guilty..."

"--Don't."

And he says it with such certainty, such conviction, that oh: it's gone. Just like that.

"You know," you fold up your arms, letting his suit jacket envelop you in its delicate scent "Poe tried to come onto me earlier. In the middle of the damn crowd. Ballsiest move."

Ben's brow furrows, his eyes darkening.

"Dameron?"

"Mmmmm."

Ben runs a palm through his hair: this time, it's a quick, irritated thing.

"Asshole" he mutters.

You try to hide your smile by stretching out your lips, but it's a fleeting victory as it crinkles at the corners.

"You don't approve?" you jest, picking your heel up off the floor and giving him a playful, soft kick on the thigh.

He almost growls.

"No," he spits, gritting his teeth. "Not exactly."

You flick your wrist dismissively, earrings jingling. "He's not really my type."

Ben's head snaps around: wet shirt clinging to his muscles in the low light. A trail of water drips down his cheek, falling to his collar in a way that makes him look so devastatingly handsome. There's something in his stare - something hopeful.

"Because he's an asshole?"

You lick your lips.

"That's not the main reason, no."

Ben takes a step towards you: his boots splashing on the concrete. His scent dances in the air, and crap, it's good, it's so good.

His nostrils flare, and yes. You can see he's caught yours: see how his eyes darken and his cheeks grow rosier from the pounding in his veins.

"Because he's an Alpha?"

You hug his jacket close, your heartbeat speeding up. Somewhere off in the distance, thunder illuminates the sky in a flash of white.

"I've got nothing against screwing an Alpha."

Ben steps forward, and Christ: his nose is almost skimming the curve of your jaw as he leans in. The thick, rich waves that roll from him now cause you to shudder - cause your gland to ache and tingle with something you've never felt in all your life.

Compatible. He's so compatible.

"Ben..."

He breathes in--this shaky, pained breath--and a quiet groan leaves him. His entire body trembles, every muscle suspended.

Waiting.

"Me." It's breathless, it's almost soundless: punched from him in the darkness like the weight of the stars is pushing down on his chest, "this. You--oh God, I--you want this. You want me."

Your veins ignite as you nod, desperate and keening, and in one fluid movement: you crush your lips to his.

If the scent of him was incredible, the taste. God, the taste makes you whimper against him and wind your hands through his hair, pulling at his dark locks hard enough that he pushes closer to you, closer still. Eventually your back hits the marble column, and Ben can't help himself: his body pushes flush to yours as your neck cranes against the smooth marble. Through his thin suit pants you can feel a hardness--your brain reels at the thought of it.

Omega cock. So close.

Holy shit.

"Please" Ben groans against your mouth, fumbling as his lips slide to push against your jaw. "Please, please."

"You're so good, Ben. So good--"

He thrusts against you, and your whole body burns with the weight of his scent, his touch, the thick muscles that push against you. This is electricity, it's lightning, it's fire incarnate.

"I've..." Ben's hair licks at your cheek, his nose tickling your jaw "...I've stayed up every night, every fucking night since that day at the Union. Christ, every night I've pumped my cock raw to the taste of your scent on the roof of my mouth and I--" he shudders, and fuck, fuck, you might just cum here, just cum here if this incredible Omega just keeps pushing you like this "--fuck, there's slick in my jeans. I haven't made slick in...I don't know but God, I can feel it, feels so fucking--"

Your gland is starting to itch like crazy; it's wild and it's confusing and you're losing sense and time and all semblance of reality.

"Kiss my gland." You're keening to him, tilting your neck "I need you to, Ben."

And it's the Alpha voice: it's there in your chest. Ben's whole body stiffens, his heart picking up as he gives in to the command that speaks to his very bones. His lips find the ridges and whirls of your gland, the patch of skin on your neck...

Eagerly, he sucks.

And everything turns bright white.

You cum like that; pressed against that archway. His cock hard against you, his lips hungrily sucking as he groans like a parched man finding water in the desert. You writhe and keen and sob from it; too far gone to cover the noises that fall from your lips. Ben's body arches over you, and his scent is rolling with it: yes, yes. His teeth can't help but move against you, making your legs threaten to give out as the rain pounds in time with your blood.

Somewhere over the sounds of the rain; a door opens. Chattering growing closer, filling the air as you bathe in the afterglow, underwear soaked and eyes drooping as Ben sucks rhythmically.

"We have to go" you whisper huskily "Ben, we have to go back. I have papers to pick up from Kaydel--"

Ben slowly moves from your gland, breathing sharply from the effort. He seems to ache in every movement: uncontrolled and wanting, pulling away with such reluctance that your heart burns.

"I'm sorry," you murmur quietly, leaning your forehead against his "I want to keep going. I want--"

"If I had cum now," he whispers urgently, kissing your cheek "It might've...crap, I felt like I was going to...it was going to..."

Oh.

Oh, God. You know he doesn't want that.

Know what that would mean.

You tear your eyes away, out to the pouring rain, and it physically hurts you.

"Go." Ben swallows. "I'll be fine."

"What about you?"

He laughs breathily.

"There's slick in my jeans and my gland's up. I'll take my chances in my apartment."

Slick in his jeans. Fuck. Fuck.

"I'll call" you swallow thickly "I'll...I'll call you."

Ben kisses you once more: plush lips red and swollen as he licks into your mouth. When he pulls away, you groan in protest. He backs off like every step is agony, like every moment is acid in his veins.

"You'd better."

And then you're left alone in the little alcove: smelling of Omega, dripping wet with cum and rain...

Ben Solo's jacket draped around your shoulders.