Work Text:
Carlos was bored.
Galerie Gasly was a lovely, airy space for showcasing art by the young talent of Paris, and this evening’s exhibition event hosted some truly remarkable pieces (as well as some pretty dire attempts at creativity).
Don’t get him wrong, he loved the art, it was the reason he was here after all.
He loved the creative atmosphere, and he loved the challenging conversations on the subjective representations of the vibrancy of three-dimensional life within the two-dimensional medium of canvas; but those interesting conversations had taken place over half an hour ago with interesting people who had long since left.
The atmosphere had since taken a distinct turn away from the creative and into the sordid, and the art was looking less like a spit in the face of convention and more like a spit in the face of his patience.
He enjoyed Pierre’s launches usually, despite their personal differences, but there was something… unclean… in the air tonight, and he wondered if he had made the right choice in coming here. Looking around the room, he took in the rich alphas with their trophy wives and boyfriends, and felt his lip curl into a faint sneer; sugar daddies and sugar babies everywhere.
Downing the dregs of his Champagne Of Questionable Vintage, he snagged a fresh glass from the tray of a passing waiter, and cocked his head minutely in interest at the impeccable form of the server. The man’s pale skin glowed in the peculiarly artificial light of the gallery lighting, and his dark hair was styled to perfection, his waiter’s apron riding low on his hips just so.
He knew that Pierre tended to use the same caterer for all of his events; Esteban, of Ocon Catering, was reputed city-wide for his ability to recruit the most attractive young artists in the area for his staff, and he always clad them in perfectly tailored, bespoke uniforms that accompanied his exquisitely hand-crafted hors d’oeuvres.
The server was a delectable piece of eye candy, and the expensive champagne that he carried around the room slid easily down Carlos’ gullet, as the server made deliciously lingering eye contact with him through his dark lashes. There was a faint, delicious omega aroma trailing around the younger man, and Carlos took a slow, indulgent inhale.
Hm.
As the server moved on, Carlos returned his attention to the artwork adorning the walls of Le Galerie Gasly, and did his best to appreciate the contemporary works that had attempted to channel the genius of their predecessors. However, he struggled to find any of the incandescent wonder that had grasped Renoir, Matisse, or Monet in what he saw.
His lips twisted in displeasure, and he redirected his gaze across the room, immediately regretting his choices as he laid eyes on Hamilton chewing on the ear of a young, blond server.
Ugh.
So distasteful.
He took an hors d’oeuvre from a passing tray carried by a pretty female beta, and gave the painting in front of him another chance.
As he cocked his head and squinted, trying desperately to take in another angle and validate his presence here in front of this painting, he heard a low murmur in his ear.
“I prefer Manet myself; it’s not quite on his level, no?”
Carlos’ French may not be immaculate, but he knew enough to recognise a fellow critic. He turned, and was surprised to find one of Ocon’s staff, the omega with the interesting scent, and not a fellow connoisseur, joining him in examining the contemporary piece in front of him. He raised a curious eyebrow and addressed the seemingly opinionated waiter standing by his elbow, half-empty hors d’oeuvres platter balanced expertly on the hand closest to Carlos.
“Yes, it is a little… how you say… contrived?”
The server smirked mysteriously, quirking an interested eyebrow, “Oui.” And then he slipped away, evidently spotting a distant bourgeoisie in desperate need of refreshment.
Carlos returned his gaze to the painting for a long moment, casting his eye over the artist’s name. Leclerc. It even sounded contrived, just as the server had implied. Straightening up, Carlos scanned over the crowd, spotting said server on the other side of the room, trying to convince another guest to sample one of Ocon’s delicious, exquisitely battered quail’s eggs. He found it peculiarly hard to look away as the other man successfully talked the guest around to tasting the otherwise foul-sounding canape.
Interesting skill.
Carlos returned his gaze to the painting, putting the server out of his mind as he examined Leclerc’s rendering in more depth.
Not too bad, all things considered; a little artless and slapdash in the execution. Had the painter received actual training, or was he one of these self-taught artists?
He was still, inexplicably, examining the painting when the server swooped by again twenty minutes later, with a drive-by comment in his ear, in French again, of, “Clumsy brushstrokes, don’t you agree?”
Yes. He did agree.
Would the man stand still long enough for him to debate the point with though?
No. He disappeared into the staging area of the gallery, along with the rest of the wait staff; their shifts were over.
Well.
That was unfortunate.
Putting the good-looking server and the painting out of his mind, Carlos bid Pierre goodnight, shaking his hand warmly, and wishing him bonne chance for the remainder of his exhibition, before heading home for the evening.
Just as he was departing and heading for the private parking where his Ferrari was being held by Pierre’s valet service, he passed by the public taxi rank. He spotted the server who had caught his eye, leaning against a railing, waiting for a bus, with a terribly cheap and unlit French cigarette hanging casually from his curved lips as he chatted with a friend. Carlos moved towards him, stainless steel lighter trickling easily through his fingers as he lit his own smoke. He offered it as the server turned at his approach, pleased surprise gleaming in his green eyes; the tip flared and the men’s eyes met over the low, orange glow.
Hm.
“Those canapes were good.” Carlos was pretty sure he butchered the French pronunciation, despite having been based here for two years; his Spanish tongue had struggled from day one to wrap itself around the complicated, rapid syllables of Parisian French.
The server laughed indulgently, taking a drag of his terrible cigarette and nodding, “Yes. Very nice. What did you think of the art?”
Carlos snorted, and offered the server a far better Milanese cigarro from inside his breast pocket, which the other man accepted with a grateful nod and pocketed, no doubt saving it for a better day. “It was passable. I would like to meet the artist; I’m sure he and I would have a few words to say to one another.”
The server twisted his lips into an unreadable smirk, “I’m sure.” The bus he had been waiting for pulled up into the bay; he put out his cigarette and nodded to Carlos, an amused smile on his lips, “Be seeing you.” And then stepped onto the vehicle without a backward glance.
Carlos went to locate his Ferrari.
It was late by the time Charles got home.
The flat he shared with Max was almost an hour out of the city by rail; Domont was the closest to the hub of Parisian creativity that they could afford.
He yawned widely and dropped his keys into the glass dish by the door. Max looked up to greet him from his position lounging on the sofa, the tiny TV in the corner glaring brightly in the darkness, “Hi, how was work?”
Charles plopped down onto the sofa beside him and snagged a piece of popcorn from the bowl Max had been munching in his lap. They spoke English at home, neither of them spoke the other’s mother tongue, but they had built a solid friendship despite this. “Interesting. I don’t think anyone bought any of my paintings, but Pierre keeps letting me show a couple of them. There was someone who kept looking at one of them, but he spent the whole time criticising it.”
“Shame.” Max returned his eyes to the movie, and nudged him with his shoulder, “I have an audition tomorrow.”
Charles grinned, genuinely pleased that Max’s grafting was starting to pay off, “That’s great! What is it for?”
Max looked embarrassed, and mumbled, “Um, an advert for haemorrhoid cream.”
Charles laughed so hard that max slammed a throw pillow in his face.
“Shut up! It’s work at least!”
Charles nudged him in apology, “I know, it’s great, really. I hope you get it.” He stood up and stretched on his way to his bedroom. He needed to hang up his uniform to take it to the dry cleaners in the morning; Esteban’s uniforms were all hand-made and tailored to the server, so he had to take good care of it. He and Max were shooting a video for Max’s socials tomorrow, he could drop it off on their way to the location.
The following day found Max hanging upside down from a tree branch in Parc de la Mairie, while Charles pointed his phone camera up at him. Max was reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy while throwing acorns at the camera, when a loud laugh sounded from behind Charles. He stopped recording and turned to face the source of the noise.
“What on Earth are you guys doing?!” It was a man in a fluorescent green hoodie, with a smiley-face bucket hat pulled down over his ears.
Charles shrugged and smiled while Max clambered down from the tree, “Social media stuff.”
Green guy grinned, “Oh! Do you have a platform? How many followers? What’s your business? Are you niche?”
Max frowned at him as he walked over to stand at Charles’ side, “You ask a lot of questions. What’s your name?”
Green guy blushed, “I’m so sorry, how rude of me. I’m Lando,” he stuck out his hand, “I’ve got an online presence, maybe I can help.”
Charles shook his hand and assessed him coolly, “Really? What’s your following?”
Lando looked up, thinking hard to recall his figures, “Uhh… six mil on Instagram, about a million on TikTok, one point five mil on Twitch, and uhh, just under a million subscribers on YouTube.
Max’s jaw swung open. Charles closed it with his index finger, laughing at his state. “That’s amazing! Yeah, if you can help us that would be great.”
Lando cocked a thumb over his shoulder at a nearby coffee shop, “Let’s go get a drink and we can put our heads together.”
Ten minutes later they were sipping on fresh lattes and brainstorming ideas. Lando frowned as he said, “As you’re both creatives you’re working in a saturated market I’m afraid; it’s not going to be easy to build a presence without some investment. What are your prospects?”
Max made a face, “We live in Domont, what do you think?”
Lando stirred his coffee thoughtfully and looked them both over before speaking again, “There is a quick and easy way to get investors, but you may not like it.”
Charles grimaced, “What I don’t like is living on baked beans and ramen. What’s the deal?”
“Sugar daddies.”
Max spit his latte all over the table, “I beg your pardon?!” He grabbed a napkin to clean up his mess while glaring at Lando.
Lando shrugged, unbothered by Max’s outburst, “It’s how I did it. I had loads of ideas but no capital to make any of them happen. A friend of mine introduced me to some alpha colleagues of hers who were a bit older than me and had plenty of cash to spread around. Wealthy alphas love taking care of poor, pretty omegas; you just have to be willing to put out from time to time, and maybe suck the occasional cock.” He took a sip of his coffee and watched the other two men digest what he had said.
Charles looked thoughtful, “I could attend l’ecole or get a studio, and really improve my painting with a bit more money; I’ve been saving but property is really expensive.” He turned to Max, “You could finally afford to get an agent; you’re a great actor, Max.” He pursed his lips and eyed Lando, “How often did you have to… you know…”
Lando leaned back in his seat and smiled widely, “You make it sound like a chore, it’s actually good fun with the right daddy; mine were all really hot, so the sex was definitely not a chore.” The smile took on an odd quality as he warned, “You just have to be careful to keep a bit of a distance. It can be hard not to fall for the more attentive ones.”
Max looked at him, seeing through the rictus smile with his usual no-nonsense approach to life, “Did you?”
Lando’s smile faded, “A bit. But it passed.” He finished his coffee, “It was worth it, all of it; I can do what I want now, on my own terms and at my own pace. That’s all thanks to them.”
Charles nodded decisively, “Alright. What do we do?”
“There’s an event that I’m hosting tomorrow evening, I’ve got a line of soft furnishings to promote, and there’ll be lots of rich alphas there. You should come, and I can point some out to you.”
Max grinned his acceptance, but Charles made a face, “I have to work tomorrow night, but let me know how it goes; I hope you get some contracts.”
Lando smirked, “Oh, I will.”
As he and Max walked back to their apartment, Charles thought back to the alpha who had been critiquing his painting the night before. What would it have been like if he had been able to respond to the criticism with the fact that he was a bona fide studio artist, instead of an inadequately talented amateur working out of his dining kitchen? The man had looked like he knew his stuff, he was certainly able to see through Charles’ clumsy attempt at impressionism, and it would have been satisfying to be able to debate art with him on the equal footing that technical training would provide.
He paused.
What was it about the man that had drawn his thoughts? Yes he’d been attractive, and his scent was amazing – Charles hadn’t been able to resist making his circuit of the room as close to him as possible and taking a deep inhale of him on each pass – and he’d not hesitated to share his light and his expensive cigars, but there was something else that Charles simply couldn’t place. He wished he’d had the confidence to ask for his name.
Charles straightened his tie knot, and smoothed his hands down the front of his white shirt to eradicate any last minute creases. He made sure his black server’s apron had no white flecks on it, before draping a sharply pressed white napkin over his forearm. Esteban’s front of house manager loaded his other hand up with a perfectly balanced tray of champagne flutes, and then he made his way out into the crowd of guests.
Making a slow, smooth circuit of the room, he suddenly recognised a scent that sent an excited pulse to his gut, just as a familiar face came into view between two groups of people.
It was him.
Charles couldn’t keep a small smile from cracking his otherwise flawlessly professional façade as he approached with his tray.
“Champagne, sir?”
The man turned to face him, and a satisfyingly pleasant expression took over his handsome face, “It’s you! Hello.” He took a glass from Charles’ tray. “Have you seen the prints on these fabrics? They’re good.”
Charles allowed his little smile to bloom as the man came straight out to ask his creative opinion. “They are. Do you know the designer?”
The man’s smile turned softer, “Yes, he’s very good at what he does.” He sipped his champagne and eyed Charles, “You work for Esteban, are you an artist?”
Charles’ face fell a little, “Uh, yes, sort of.”
The man’s eyes twinkled, “Sort of? Do you create or don’t you?”
“I dabble. I’m not technically trained, and I don’t have a studio, so I don’t know if I can call myself an artist.”
The man scoffed, “Nonsense, true artists don’t need training if the skill is there.”
Charles smirked, “Sadly I’ll never find out, l’ecole is too expensive.”
“Leclerc,” Esteban had crept up on him like a tuxedoed ninja, and was hissing loudly in his ear, “Get back to work.”
The man stared at Charles for a moment, then coloured, “You’re Leclerc. It was your painting that we were looking at?”
Charles grinned brightly at him as he turned away, leaving the man flushed and embarrassed. He returned to the kitchen to swap his now empty champagne tray for a canape platter, then went back out to do a fresh circuit. He heard a familiar laugh from across the room, and as he made his way closer, he was surprised to see two more familiar faces.
Max and Lando.
The implication of their presence made him pause; there were sugar daddies here.
Glancing around to be sure that Esteban couldn’t see him, Charles swooped up to them, “Lando, this is your event?!”
Lando grinned at him, taking in his attire, “Oh hey, Charles! Looking sharp!” He pointed subtly across the room, at a man dressed in a peculiarly out-of-place sweater with ‘enchante’ emblazoned obnoxiously across the chest, “That’s one, over there.”
Max grinned a shark’s grin that bared all his teeth, muttered a, “Mine,” and in a whoosh of determined omega pheromones he was gone, making a beeline for the poor alpha who had no idea what was about to hit him.
Lando laughed, waving a hand in front of his nose to waft Max’s scent away, “Wow, he’s really keen for this.” He took a canape from Charles’ tray while guiding his gaze towards a tall, strong-looking, dark-haired alpha standing with a shorter, blonde woman, “Over there; that one is absolutely minted.”
Charles nodded, and straightened his back as he approached the couple, deploying The Dimples as he offered his platter, “Can I interest you in a poached pear and goat’s cheese tartlet? They’re very good.”
The target looked him over appreciatively, and Charles cheered inwardly; this was so easy. He lowered his lids just a little so he could gaze at the man through his lashes, his smile morphing into something subtly seductive, “The flavours are quite delicate. And the cheese,” he leaned in a little, the man leaning in too, “melts in the mouth.”
The target smiled lopsidedly and took a canape, slipping his business card into the front pocket of Charles’ apron at the same time. “Thank you, I’ll try it. I’m sure it’s…” his gaze raked over Charles’ form again as the scent of alpha increased, “delicious.”
Charles smiled demurely and moved on with his circuit, cheering on the inside at his success.
By the end of the night he had pocketed three business cards of potential daddies in his apron. He texted Lando as he left for the night, beaming, and thanked him for his help.
When he got home, Max wasn’t there. He texted to see where he was, but he assumed that Max had scored the alpha that he’d targeted at the start of the night.
Taking off his uniform and hanging it up as usual, to take to the dry cleaners the next day, he felt something stiff and flat in his back trouser pocket. Fishing out the item, he felt his eyes dilate as a strong waft of deliciously familiar alpha pheromone accompanied the reveal. It was another business card, but he hadn’t put one in his back pocket, they’d all been in his apron. Turning the card over in his hands, he realised two things almost simultaneously: the card had been deliberately scented before being slipped into his pocket, and the card held the name and contact details of the handsome alpha he’d been talking art with.
He held the card to his nose, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply, feeling something shifting impatiently inside him as he did.
Clasping the card lightly in his fingers as he sat down on his bed, he smiled and looked down at the name.
Carlos.
Hold on though, if he was giving out business cards to omegas at the event, did that mean that he was a sugar daddy too? Charles’ chest surged with a tingling warmth at the thought of being spoiled and provided for by this alpha, and a distinct stirring of interest made itself known below his waistband at the subsequent thoughts of earning said monetary attentions.
He swallowed.
Carlos rested his chin on his hand as he skimmed through the latest installation proposal from his lead designer, for a new hotel development in uptown Zaragoza.
He had been flipping through sample books and mood boards for hours; his suit jacket hung from a hanger behind his desk, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His tailor would have a fit if she could see the state of his shirt sleeve fabric, the creases would take quite some pressing to get out. A cooling cup of coffee sat at the side of his laptop, and the late afternoon sun had turned orange as it spilled across his airy, spacious office.
He took a sip of his now cold coffee and grimaced; he’d been here far longer than he’d realised. Standing up from his desk, he stretched until his spine popped, and let out a heavy sigh. The business was successful, but success came at a price, and that price was large amounts of his time and energy.
Moving out from behind his desk, he went to his coffee machine and set it up to dispense a fresh espresso.
Sainz Interiors had been established three generations ago, and was a supplier to some of the most wealthy households and businesses in Spain. Carlos’ office was based in Paris so that he could get rapid and exclusive rights to fantastic one-off creations from the very heart of European creativity, and then ship the works out to his installation sites.
Downing his steaming espresso in one gulp, Carlos rolled down his sleeves, took his jacket off the hanger, and shrugged into it. He decided to swing by the Louvre on his way to dinner, he was meeting Pierre to discuss a private exhibition at the home of a client, but he had plenty of time, and a quick stop off to see his favourite painting and recharge his creative batteries wouldn’t take too long.
A quick drive later, and Carlos was striding purposefully through the Denon wing towards his target. Coming to a halt in front of the Raft of the Medusa, he realised that he wasn’t alone; there was a dark-haired man sitting on the bench facing the painting, with a sketchbook in his lap, a pencil between his fingers, and his gaze intently fixed on the image in front of him.
Carlos caught his breath; it was the server from Lando’s product launch.
Feeling an uncharacteristic flutter of nerves, Carlos moved forwards and sat down on the bench beside him. He leaned over to look at the sketchbook, and made a quietly approving sound at the drawing. The server looked up at him then, the sound breaking through what appeared to be intense concentration, and his delicate features split into a beaming, dimpled smile as he recognised him.
“Carlos, hello!”
Carlos smiled through the butterflies flapping through his chest, “You found my card then?”
The server nodded, slipping his pencil behind his ear in a move that Carlos found irresistibly endearing, “Yes, I was going to text you when I was finished here actually, so your timing is perfect. What are you doing here?”
Carlos gestured to the painting, “I come here when I need to reset; this painting is my favourite.” He gestured at the sketchbook, “Are you making a study?”
The server flushed and turned the sketchbook over, “It’s not very good.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow, “It doesn’t matter if it’s good, it matters that you’re trying. All the best artists started by making studies of the Old Masters.”
The server smiled shyly, “I suppose they did.” He held out a hand, awkwardly due to the angle they were sitting at, “Charles, by the way.”
Carlos took his hand and shook it, steadfastly ignoring the tingle that snaked up his arm at the contact. “Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow evening?” He bit his lip, “We could talk about how I can help you develop your art.”
Charles flushed high on his cheekbones and nodded, looking bashfully away when Carlos rose to his feet.
“I’m on my way to see Pierre. Text me when you get chance, and we’ll agree a time.” He turned to leave, and Charles looked up at him again, “It was good to meet you properly, Charles.”
Returning to his Ferrari and closing the door as he settled into his driver’s seat, Carlos wiped his sweaty palms on his trouser legs, sparing another thought for his poor tailor as he inflicted more damage on the silk of his bespoke suit. He’d been paying close attention to the low cut of Charles’ T-shirt – having not being able to see the area previously due to the collars of Charles’ smartly buttoned up shirts – and had seen no evidence of a mating bite; this was very relevant news to Carlos’ inner alpha. He felt a stirring in his groin at a faint whisp of Charles’ scent which had clung to his clothing, and he pressed the heel of his hand against himself to stop anything from manifesting. He couldn’t very well turn up for dinner with Pierre with a half-hard cock.
The meal was, as always, delicious; Pierre had an excellent palette and always chose the most interesting restaurants for their meetings.
“I saw you were chatting with one of the artists at the exhibition the other day.” Pierre said as they waited for dessert to be brought out. “What did you think?”
Carlos took a sip of his wine, “I think he has promise; with a bit of guidance he could be good.”
Pierre hummed in agreement. “How was Lando’s launch?”
The food came out, and Carlos waited for the waitress to leave before he replied, “It went well, his designs are definitely popular.”
Pierre popped an edible flower from his dish into his mouth, “Is he over you yet?”
Carlos ducked his head, a faint blush dusting his cheekbones, “I think so. He misread the situation; I won’t be making that mistake again.”
Pierre eyed him knowingly, “Just be careful with Charles, he may be lacking in confidence but he is definitely not lacking in passion.”
Carlos locked a sharp eye on him, “What is that supposed to mean?”
Pierre smiled and held up a defensive hand, “Don’t worry, I haven’t been there, but I know your type, Carlos. These young, struggling artists do something googly to your Spanish anatomy.”
Carlos huffed a laugh and finished his dessert. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he checked it under the table.
Charles.
Pierre smirked at him when he’d finished replying to Charles’ text and returned his gaze up above table level, “Was that him?” Carlos flushed, and Pierre laughed, “Oh, Carlos, you’re already gone.”
Maybe he was.
And wasn’t that just the most delicious thing?
When they met for dinner, it was at Le Cinq, and Carlos was more nervous than he had been for a long time.
As an alpha he was strong, confident, and powerful, but when a worthy omega came into his orbit, his instinct to provide and protect came surging forth. His inner alpha had apparently decided that Charles was one such omega, and it was desperate to see him fed the best food possible, in a location that screamed ‘I can take care of you’.
Charles was looking around them in poorly concealed awe at the splendour of the hotel dining room, and the alpha in Carlos growled in satisfaction, ‘look, look, look at what I can give you’.
Pulling his seat in closer to the table, Carlos folded his hands in front of him and said, “I have something for you, if you’re interested.” He took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over the table to Charles.
Charles unfolded the paper and frowned in confusion at the pictures printed on it, “An empty loft?”
Carlos smiled indulgently, “A studio.” He felt his heart flip over in his chest when Charles looked up from the paper to fix him with a startled expression. “Your studio.”
Charles mouth opened and closed comically, like a fish. “My-?”
“If you want it.” Carlos sat back in his seat and took a sip of water. “I can’t imagine that a wait-staff salary leaves much spare for creative space once rent and bills are paid.”
Charles shook his head in silent agreement, his fingers tightening around the page as he looked back down at the photos of the clean, bright, airy loft space.
“So do you want it? It’s near to my showroom in Montmartre.”
Charles’ head almost fell off his neck with the speed and eagerness of his nodding.
Carlos smiled, his alpha joyously purring in satisfaction at being able to provide space for its chosen omega. “Excellent, I’ll call my agent now.” He pulled out his phone and dialled, holding it to his ear as Charles watched him, his eyes bright and his cheeks adorably dimpled. “Nando? Organice el espacio del loft per favor (Nando, organise the loft space please).” Watching Charles as he spoke with Fernando, Carlos noticed that the other man’s breath had shortened, and he was watching Carlos’ lips as they moved with intense interest.
Was Charles turned on by him speaking Spanish?
He leaned more heavily into his natural accent to test his theory, “Pero negociemos una mejor tarifa, ¿eh?. (But let’s negotiate a better rate, eh?).”
Charles licked his lips, and Carlos felt a surge of arousal; if speaking his mother tongue was going to excite in this way, that opened up a whole treasure trove of possibility.
“Bien, gracias. Adiόs.” Carlos ended the call, and slipped his phone back into his pocket, “There. All done. I’ll have the keys for you tomorrow”.
Charles swallowed before husking out, “Thank you, Carlos.”
The alpha purred happily.
The next day, Charles rang the buzzer of the address in Montmartre that Carlos had given him. Carlos hadn’t been free to meet him there himself, so his agent had sent his own assistant, Lance.
Climbing the stairs to the loft, Charles beamed from ear to ear when Lance met him at the entrance, “Hey, you must be Charles.” He shook his hand, “So what do you think of the place? Nice huh?”
Charles nodded as he walked slowly around the space, already picturing it in his head filled with easels holding half-finished paintings. He’d have a comfy little sofa in the corner under the skylight, with blankets and throw pillows. Maybe Carlos could come to visit and they could sit on the sofa together drinking wine and talking art. Maybe they could snuggle under the blanket together when it’s chilly, and move closer, and-
“So here are the keys,” Lance broke him out of his daydream just in time, “You definitely got a good one then, huh?”
Charles blinked at him, “I’m sorry, what?”
Lance raised his thick eyebrows suggestively, “You know…? A sugar daddy?”
Charles choked, spluttered out something along the lines of that not being it at all, and felt himself blushing furiously in mortification at the implication that Carlos had arranged this for him in expectation of payment.
Lance leaned casually against the balustrade and folded his arms lightly across his chest, “Hey, I don’t judge, man. I didn’t get this sweet job through my skills in sales technique you know.”
Charles had managed to return his breathing to normal, and gasped out, “What do you mean?”
“Fernando. Mister Sainz’s estate agent? He’s my sugar daddy alpha. I wanted to get into real estate, and he gave me a way in.” He grinned, “It’s great, you know? He pays my rent, buys my suits, takes me out for fancy dinners,” he winked suggestively, “and he’s great in the sack. It’s a good deal, you should consider it.”
Lance’s pocket started playing the GigaChad theme, and he pulled his phone out, showing Charles the picture on the screen before answering, “See? He’s a real Chad.” He turned away to take the call, and Charles couldn’t help but overhear the fondness in Lance’s voice as they spoke about his next property viewing.
After Lance had departed, Charles sat in the middle of the floor of his lovely new studio, and looked around at the gift that Carlos had given him.
It was a nice space; he could at least say thank you.
Charles was at home, in the process of packing up all of his art supplies to move them to the studio, when the long lost Max Verstappen finally reappeared. Charles took one look at him and burst out laughing, “Mate, you look like you’ve been shagging every day since the product launch.”
Max collapsed onto the ratty sofa in their small living room and gazed dreamily up at the ceiling, “Charles, he’s amazing. He gets me anything I want, like literally anything; we can be walking through a salon and I’ll just look at something, the next thing I know he’s ringing it up on his platinum card.”
Charles sat down next to him with an indulgent smile, and watched him gush over his new alpha.
“And he loves sex, he loves it; he has a whole team running his business, so we just shop, eat and fuck all day long.” He sighed dramatically, “He’s incredible.”
Charles’ indulgent smile morphed into something more concerned, as he reminded Max, “He sounds great, but don’t forget what Lando said. You can’t fall for him.”
Max made a disgruntled noise, “Pff, Lando doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Daniel loves me.”
Charles grimaced, not liking where this was headed, “And didn’t Lando think that his alpha loved him too?”
Max scowled, standing up and stomping off to the bathroom without another word. Charles sighed and got back to packing.
It only took a day or two to get the studio set up, and Charles had even found a small, comfy, overstuffed sofa for €5 on Facebook Marketplace that he’d placed under the skylight, just like his little daydream.
He was prepping a canvas with a fresh pot of gesso when the buzzer rang; he picked up the intercom and was delighted to hear Carlos’ voice on the other end.
“It looks great, Charles, very comfortable.” Carlos said as he walked around the space, taking in all the little details that Charles had arranged.
Charles was bouncing on the soles of his feet, his inner omega preening gleefully at being praised by his alpha for making a nice space. It wasn’t a nest of course, far from it, Charles hadn’t had the space to nest properly for years, but the omega still basked in the appreciation. “Thank you so much for arranging this, Carlos, it really is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
Carlos smiled at his excited state, “It was my pleasure; if you’re going to create good art, you need a nice space to do it in.”
Charles took a step closer to Carlos and calmed his bouncing, “You really should let me thank you properly.” He let out a low level burst of pheromones.
The smile slipped from Carlos’ lips and was replaced by a calculating look as he breathed in Charles’ increase in scent. “Oh really?”
Charles took another couple of steps closer, taking him into Carlos’ personal space. From here the concentration of his pheromones was much higher. He watched as Carlos’ hands tightened into fists at his sides, and breathed deeper as he scented an answering increase from the other man. One more step took him into Carlos’ intimate space, and the alpha’s nostrils flared as he got an absolute lungful of Charles’ pheromones. Charles leaned in, ghosting his lips over Carlos’ pristine mating gland, and thrilled in the shudder that went through Carlos’ entire body, “I think I should be paying you what I owe…
Carlos froze.
“Paying me… No! Charles!” He stepped firmly back and wrenched himself away from Charles’ intoxicating lips, gripping the artist by the shoulders and gazing earnestly into his confused eyes, “Charles, I’m your patron, not some kind of…” his lips twisted distastefully around the words, “sugar daddy.”
Charles blinked at him in genuine confusion, “But Lando said-“
Carlos’ eyes darkened in a sudden swell of fury; if that misguided omega had put this idea into Charles’ head there would be hell to pay. “What did Lando say?”
Charles blinked again at the edge that had sliced into Carlos’ voice, “He said the launch was full of wealthy alphas who wanted to spoil poor omegas. Three of them gave me their cards, and then I found your card in my pocket, and I thought-“
“Oh Charles.” Relief swept through him and he crushed Charles to his chest in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry that I gave you the wrong idea.” He pulled back and looked him in the eye again, “I honestly think you have potential, Charles; real potential. I just want to help you reach it.”
A dry sob broke out of Charles’ chest and he fell into Carlos’ arms again as tension broke within him. As much as he was attracted to Carlos, he really didn’t like the idea of having to pay him in kind for setting him up with resources. “Oh thank God. Carlos, I’m so sorry.” He pressed his nose into Carlos’ silk tie, not able to meet his eyes in his embarrassment. “I have a heat coming up soon, I think my hormones might be frying my brain a bit.”
Carlos guided them to the sofa, still holding Charles in his arms, his alpha very displeased at having upset its omega. He combed his fingers through Charles’ hair to soothe him, “When is your heat? Who are you sharing it with?”
Charles sniffled and pulled back to look at him, “I’m not; I haven’t shared a heat with anyone in years, I usually just work my way through it alone.”
Carlos frowned, “But isn’t it uncomfortable? Don’t you have a chosen alpha?”
Charles shook his head, “No, my omega never chose an alpha, so it’s quite content to just make me grumpy, crampy, and antisocial for a few days.” He shrugged sadly, “I’ve never felt the drive that I’ve heard other omegas talk about; just not met an alpha yet who flips that switch in me.”
Carlos stood up and paced the small distance from the sofa to the nearest easel and back again, thinking out loud, “I would much rather you have someone with you, Charles, even if it’s not to mate. You’ve just experienced two big changes back to back, your omega might be unstable for this heat.”
Charles chewed on a thumbnail; Carlos was right. With the move to the studio, and the paradigm shift in his view of the alpha closest to him, his omega could do anything during the heat. “What about you?” He swallowed as Carlos stalled in his tracks. “We don’t have to… you know… but you could still take care of me.”
Carlos shook his head and resumed his pacing, “That would be a conflict of interest; having a patron means that you need to avoid being seen to be favoured by them above others, that’s how misunderstandings like this happen in the first place.” He stopped, and looked Charles again, “I have a friend, a good man who is unmated and would be able to help you. I’ll call him and see if he is free. Check your calendar and send me the expected dates.”
Charles nodded silently, his omega sad at not having Carlos for his carer.
Two days later, on the appointed date, Carlos brought Charles to his apartment in Montmartre to meet the alpha that would be helping out.
“Charles, this is Nico.”
Charles shook hands with the tall, blond alpha, but frowned lightly when he felt nothing from his omega at the touch. Carlos looked at him curiously.
“My omega is silent; maybe this is a good sign?”
Nico nodded, “Probably. Are your heats always quite mild?”
“Yes, I’ve never had much problem. Thank you for being here, hopefully it will be a false alarm.”
Nico smiled warmly at him, “I’m sure it will.” He turned to Carlos, “I just need to check in with my boss and then we will be good to go.”
Carlos gestured for him to use the home office, then turned back to Charles when the taller man had gone. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Charles nodded, but Carlos narrowed his eyes at him, “You look pale, has it started?”
Charles did a quick interoceptive check; he did feel a little warm and weak. “I think so.”
Carlos nodded and stepped close to hold Charles loosely by the upper arms, “Alright, as soon as Nico gets back we can… Charles? What’s wrong?”
Charles had suddenly gone blank, swaying on his feet as Carlos held him up. His eyes roamed Carlos’ face before blinking slowly, as if treacle was stuck to the insides of the lids. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a thin, “Alphaaa.”
Carlos went cold. “NICO!” he bellowed, holding tighter to Charles’ arms in a panic.
Nico came thundering back into the room at Carlos’ terrified shout, and his face drained of all colour at what he saw. “Oh shit.”
Carlos was freaking out, “What is it? What’s wrong with him?”
Nico’s lips pressed into a thin line, “This explains why there was no reaction from his omega when we touched; it’s claimed you instead.” He sniffed the air around Charles and wrinkled his nose, “Yep, those hormones are definitely not for me.”
Carlos looked from Nico to Charles and back again, “What are you talking about? He smells amazing.”
Nico rolled his eyes; for such an adept businessman, Carlos was as thick as two short planks sometimes. He spoke slowly, as if talking a small child out of shoving a pencil up his nose, “Yes, Carlos. He smells good to you because his pheromones are designed to entice you, not me.” He looked Charles over and raised an eyebrow at the soppy smile that was spreading over the younger man’s face the longer that he stood in Carlos’ grip. “How do you feel, Carlos?”
“Like I want to tear my skin off and wrap him up in it.”
Nico blinked, “Well that was graphic.” He pinched the bridge of his nose; honestly, could he go back to dealing with Germans please? “Look, you’re going to have to help him through this, he clearly can’t be left alone, just look at him.”
Carlos pressed his lips together, “Alright. Yes, you’re right of course. Thank you, Nico.”
Nico patted him firmly on the shoulder, “I’ll let myself out. Do you have everything here that he’ll need?”
Carlos’ voice had a slightly dreamy quality to it as he replied, gazing adoringly at Charles, “Yes, I have everything he needs.”
Nico rolled his eyes and left the two heat-struck idiots to it.
Charles spoke, his voice a dazed sing-song whisper, “I’d like to make a nest for us please, Carlos.”
Carlos’ alpha scrambled to obey, helping Charles to his bedroom and gathering as many soft throws and cushions as he could lay his hairy fingers on. Charles made grabby hands at the cashmere sweater that Carlos was wearing, and Carlos immediately yanked it off over his head, holding it out to his omega like an offering. Charles smiled happily as he took it, and placed in it pride of place in the middle of the nest. Stripping down to his underwear, Charles motioned for Carlos to do the same. “Clothes off, pants on.”
Carlos frowned in confusion, pausing in his undressing, “Pants on? But won’t you need my… ah…”
Charles shook his head and climbed into the nest, sighing happily as he nestled in and pressed his nose into Carlos’ cashmere. “No thank you, just cuddles.”
Carlos felt the release of a knot of tension in his chest that he hadn’t even realised was there. As attractive as he found Charles, and as much as he was coming to like him as a person, he balked at the idea of mounting him out of necessity. If their friendship-slash-relationship-slash-whatever the hell this was happened to take them in a carnal direction, then he would much rather it happen when they were both fully cognizant and not in the grips of their respective biological urges.
Joining Charles in the nest, Carlos wrapped himself around his warm body, letting Charles’ happy purring lull him to sleep.
As heats went, Charles’ had been the softest and sweetest that Carlos had ever experienced; it actually tugged his heart to think of it. He had spent the few days together making sure that Charles was comfortable, that he had plenty to drink, and delicious food to eat; his alpha was overjoyed at the amount of provision and protection that he had been able to give. When Charles had needed physical touch, it had been warm cuddles and sweet nuzzles into scent glands. There had been none of the frantic copulation that had come hand in hand with other omegas that he had nursed through their heats; they hadn’t even kissed.
It was… lovely.
A part of Carlos had been quietly hoping for some frantic sex with Charles towards the end; his scent had wound itself so tightly around the animal parts of Carlos’ brain, that if he hadn’t been so intensely focused on tending to Charles’ need for gentle reassurance and protection, he would have been walking around with a raging erection for the whole time.
Charles had left as soon as he was able, pressing a soft kiss to Carlos’ cheek and whispering a gentle thank you against his neck.
Carlos missed him.
It was Sunday and the showroom was closed. Without work to distract him he found himself dwelling and moping and wishing he’d asked Charles to stay a little longer.
Charles let himself into the flat in Domont and sighed heavily as he sank into the ratty, old sofa, feeling sleepy but content. Carlos had been perfect, he’d never had such an enjoyable heat before. His scent was all over Charles, and as he breathed it in, he felt an interested twitch in his groin.
Now this was the unusual thing.
Charles had admitted to himself from the very start that he was attracted to Carlos, so why hadn’t his omega tried to claim the alpha on a primal level? Why had it gone for comfort and protection instead of sex and satisfaction? He would have happily, happily got on his knees and presented for Carlos, after all the man was gorgeous, generous, and smart, but his omega had clearly had other plans.
He scrubbed his hands through his hair. He had an inkling as to what it meant, but he wasn’t quite ready to admit it just yet.
Tucking the cashmere sweater, that he had slyly pinched when Carlos wasn’t looking, under his pillow, Charles stripped off and ducked into the shower. He had to go to work tonight.
At the wine label launch event that Esteban had him working tonight, Charles spotted Lando and was able to corner him out of sight of his grumpy boss.
“What do you know about Carlos, Lando?”
Lando bit his lip and looked at the other man for a moment. “Why? What did he tell you?”
Charles glared at him, “Nothing, but he was very put out at being labelled as a sugar daddy.”
Lando barked a loud, uncontrolled laugh before clapping a hand over his own mouth to keep Charles from getting into trouble, “But he is a sugar daddy, Charles! He’s the one who helped me get my brand off the ground. He’d pay for a photo shoot, or a production run, or something, and then we’d sleep together. He didn’t tell you this?”
Charles stared at him, “No. He didn’t.”
“I heard about your new studio, and the exhibition that he’s lined up for you; hasn’t he asked you for anything in return yet?”
“No.”
“Ah.” Lando eyed him sympathetically, “He will do.”
Charles decided not to mention the time they’d spent together during his heat, nor did he want to ask if Lando had shared a heat with him.
Returning to work before he could be missed, Charles spent the next hour circulating in silent contemplation. Things weren’t adding up. All the evidence seemed to be in favour of Lando’s story, despite Carlos’ protestations on the point, which meant that he would be called on to perform sugar duties for his alpha at some point, possibly sooner rather than later. He didn’t quite know what to make of it, after all Carlos had given him a massive hand up, but for what? Friendship? Carlos seemed to think he’d not done it in expectation of a return, but he didn’t know of any friends who were as generous to each other as Carlos had been to him.
He was still deep in thought when a hand snagged his sleeve, almost making him drop his tray. He turned on the person who’d grabbed him, ready to give them hell, but then immediately relaxed with a grin when he saw who it was.
“Max! What are you doing here?”
“I’m here with Daniel,” he gestured to the tall, dark, curly-haired man at his side, “Daniel, this is my housemate, Charles.”
Daniel gave him a big, friendly smile, “Ah, you’re the artist right? Max showed me some of your work, you’re pretty good!”
Charles blushed prettily and looked down at his shoes shyly, “Thanks.”
“Charles has his own studio in Montmartre, you should check out some more of his work.” Max was the best wingman ever, Charles bloody loved him.
Daniel’s smile grew, “Yeah that would be great! I need some originals for my culinary school. I’ll come round tomorrow with Max if that’s okay?”
Charles nodded brightly and shook Daniel’s hand. Esteban was glaring at him from across the room, so he gave Max a quick punch on the shoulder and moved away to carry on with his rounds.
The next day, Carlos was visiting while Charles worked; he sat with a coffee on Charles’ little sofa. Charles had been unusually quiet, and Carlos was trying to work out why, when the buzzer sounded.
“Ah, that will be Max.” Charles hopped up from his stool and went to the intercom, exchanging a quick word with Max before buzzing him in.
Carlos rose to his feet as Max and Daniel entered the loft. Daniel he knew, they had crossed paths several times when Daniel had needed an interior designing for the Valencia branch of his culinary school, or when Carlos had needed to commission a wine for a client. They shook hands, and then Carlos returned to his spot on the sofa while Charles showed Daniel around his latest works.
“These are really good, Charles.” Daniel stood close to the artist as he looked over a canvas that Charles was part-way through. He reached past Charles to point at the piece, placing his hand warmly on Charles’ lower back. “I’ll definitely take that one when it’s done.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow at the exchange, a nasty feeling of cold, angry jealousy rolling through him as a rival alpha touched his chosen omega.
They weren’t mated, they weren’t even in a relationship, so Carlos’ alpha shouldn’t be reacting in such a way, yet here he was, grinding his teeth and one step away from launching himself across the room to tackle Daniel Ricciardo to the ground with teeth and claws. He heard an unhappy whine to his right, and turned to see a distressed look on Charles’ housemate’s face.
That was enough.
“Daniel,” Carlos stood, suddenly commanding the attention of everyone in the room, and flexing his not inconsiderable alpha presence, “I’m sure that Charles can send you a catalogue of his finished works, and Max here looks hungry.” He clapped a friendly hand onto Max’s shoulder, not missing the way that Daniel’s eyes snapped to where he was touching him. He herded the two men towards the door and down the stairs, “We’ll be in touch soon,” making sure the door was firmly closed behind them, and returning to the loft at a pace, taking the steps two at a time. The sight that met him, however, was not a happy one.
Charles looked murderous.
“What was that?”
Carlos tried to look innocent and ignore the furious souring of Charles’ usually delicious scent. “He was distracting you, I just-“
“He was about to buy my work!” Charles threw his arms wide in anger, his face turning red with rage. “Why am I even here if I can’t sell my paintings, Carlos?” He sniffed the air and then turned even redder, “My God, you’re jealous! Are you going to chase off every alpha who tries to buy from me?”
“Charles, I-“
“No, Carlos, just no.” He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and shrugged angrily into it, “If I’m quick I can still catch him.”
Carlos was fast, he stepped into Charles’ path, blocking him from leaving. “You can’t leave.” The edge of Command had slipped into his voice, not enough to force Charles, but enough to make him pause.
Charles narrowed his eyes at him, “Get out of my way, Carlos.”
“He can’t have you.”
Charles stepped back, his eyes widening in surprise, “He can’t have me?! Is that because you have me?! What the hell are you doing?!”
Carlos felt desperation thrum through him,. They had never clashed like this before, and his alpha was panicking that the omega would leave and not come back; so he did something desperate. He stepped into Charles intimate space and brought a hand up to cup his jaw. Charles leaned into it despite himself, his omega just as confused by the heated exchange as Carlos’ alpha.
He whispered hotly against Charles’ lips, “You owe me, Charles.”
That broke the spell.
Charles shoved him away angrily, putting space between them as he snarled, “So that’s it, here it comes.” He paced a small circle before pointing an accusatory finger at him, “Lando warned me about this, he warned me.”
Carlos stepped towards him again, “Charles-“
Charles stepped back, not letting Carlos touch him despite his omega screaming at him to allow him to, “I’m not sleeping with you to advance my career, Carlos, I’m not. I’m not your sugar baby.”
All of the colour drained out of Carlos’ face, and he froze as Charles pushed past him, throwing his keys on the floor at Carlos’ feet. “And you can keep your filthy loft, Sainz. I am not for sale.”
And then he left.
Charles didn’t answer his calls.
Or his texts.
Or his DMs.
Or his emails.
Carlos tried to throw himself into his work, but as the days ticked by with no contact from Charles, he found his focus faltering. He started to struggle in other areas too; he went to the gym and lost count of his reps in the leg press; he attended a family party and forgot the name of his favourite aunt; he had lunch with Pierre and forgot the French for ‘please’.
He was a mess.
Charles wasn’t faring much better.
After leaving the loft, he had gone back to the flat and cried into his pillow like a teenage girl whose crush has told her that he’s just not into her. Eventually picking himself up and drying himself off, he changed for work and set off for the event that Esteban had booked him for, for that night.
He forgot the name of the canape he was serving; something to do with pears? Cheese? He decided to play it safe and just circulate without talking.
Whenever he thought of Carlos he felt a pull in his belly button, a most peculiar feeling, like it was trying to guide him across the city and back to Carlos.
Damn weird omega physiology.
There was a Carlos-shaped hole in his daily life now.
Charles kissed an alpha called Oscar in an attempt to fill the gap and make himself feel better.
It didn’t help, and it just made Lando angry at him.
It also gave him a terrible stomach ache.
A couple of days later, Charles couldn’t ignore his aching omega any longer, it constantly nagged him that it needed to see its alpha. With a resigned sigh he left his flat and set off across town towards Montmartre.
He buzzed for Carlos’ apartment and was let in a moment later, which was unusual; Carlos usually spoke through the intercom before buzzing visitors in. He shrugged it off and took the lift to Carlos’ penthouse.
The sight that greeted him at the door almost made him fall to his knees.
He reached out a trembling hand towards the haggard looking, unkempt, unshaven alpha before him. “Carlos? My God.” His eyes were red and puffy, with dark circles underneath, and his expression was one of terrible remorse. His pheromones, which usually smelled so good to Charles, had a sour, unpleasant tang to them.
Carlos turned away from him, his eyes darkened with shame. His voice was hoarse when he mumbled, “You shouldn’t have come, Charles.”
Charles sniffed, his omega senses coming back online with an urgent jolt after the initial shock.
Rut.
Carlos was in rut.
“Carlos…”
Carlos didn’t look at him, he scrubbed his fingers through his puffy, unstyled hair and waved a hand behind him, towards the door, “You should go.”
Charles ignored him, closing the gap that Carlos had tried to put between them, and wrapping his arms firmly around his broken alpha from behind. Carlos stumbled and moaned, a tortured sound that came from deep within his chest.
“Charles… please, no…”
“Yes, Carlos.”
Carlos shuddered in his grasp, his knees threatening to give as his voice dropped to a whisper, “Omega… help…”
Charles nuzzled his nose into Carlos’ unwashed, unbrushed hair and purred a reassurance against his scalp, “Yes.”
Carlos whined in defeat and fell to the floor. Charles cushioned him as he went down, releasing a shot of comforting pheromones into the air around him. He pressed his lips to Carlos’ scent gland in a gentle kiss. Carlos whimpered, turning around in his grasp, and burrowed into his arms.
Charles held him closer as Carlos sought out his own scent gland, pressing his face into it. “Come on, Carlos, let me nest you.” He helped the alpha to his feet, and they shuffled together to Carlos’ bedroom. Depositing him on the end of the bed, Charles quickly set to work building the softest nest he had ever made. He pulled off his jumper and T-shirt to line it, stripped them both down to their underwear, and then guided Carlos into it, and into his arms. Carlos had an erection, but Charles ignored it, following his omega instinct to just cuddle him close and let him nose against his mating gland instead. Eventually, Carlos calmed and so did the bulge in his underwear. He curled into Charles’ embrace and slept.
Charles stayed awake and watched over him all night.
Working through Carlos’ rut without sex, however, proved to be a lot harder than it had been to work through Charles’ heat. Carlos was a strong alpha, and his need to mate was equally strong. His scent of desire for Charles was almost overpowering, and as he pawed at Charles’ nearly naked body, the latter had to fight a gargantuan battle to not just roll over, let Carlos tear off his underwear, and take him. His own slick production had long since been triggered, and Carlos kept pushing his nose as far between Charles’ legs as he could, to take regular scents of it.
During one particularly intense burst of pheromones, Carlos bared his teeth and scraped over Charles’ mating gland. Charles cried out and arched against him, instantly hard and slicking more as his blunt nails dug into Carlos’ back. Carlos growled against him, “Mine,” and then licked a strip of fire over Charles’ gland. Charles closed his eyes in bliss, pressing his hardness up against Carlos’ until they slid together, moaning, the thin barrier of their underwear all that was standing between them. Carlos’ cock stood out in his looser boxers, and he was able to manoeuvre it between Charles’ willingly parted legs and press against his slick hole. Charles angled down against him, letting Carlos’ tip poke into him through the now wet fabric. They rocked together like that, finding each other’s mouths and panting into them, but not kissing, not yet.
Charles summoned all of his strength and pushed Carlos off him. They couldn’t do this if they had any chance of salvaging their friendship; they couldn’t rub each other to mindless orgasm while gripped by a biological imperative. Carlos was frantic though, trying to get back on top of Charles, but Charles stopped him with a sharp, “No.”
Carlos calmed, his alpha obeying the chosen omega’s boundaries, and letting Charles pull him close, nest him down and comb through his hair until he softened and fell asleep again.
When the rut finally broke, Charles pulled Carlos into the shower with him, and let the alpha sag tiredly against the wall while he thoroughly cleaned him. Any concerns about being nude together were overridden by Charles’ overwhelming omega urge to care for Carlos, to clean and groom him, and make him strong again.
When he had finished, and they were bundled up in soft, fluffy robes on the sofa while Charles fed Carlos small pieces of fruit with his fingers, a comfortable silence fell across the luxurious apartment. Carlos was the first to speak, his voice soft and mournful.
“I’m so sorry, Charles.”
Charles hummed his acceptance of the apology and slipped a piece of mango between Carlo’s lips, his fingers lingering as he made eye contact. “Why did you do it, Carlos?”
Carlos’ ears disappeared into his fluffy robe as he shrank into it in shame, “I- Daniel- I thought he was going to take you away. He’s always been a very charismatic alpha, he doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants, and I thought he wanted you.”
Charles raised an eyebrow, “You do realise that he’s been spending almost every waking moment with Max, right?”
Carlos nodded and looked away.
“When did your rut start? You should have called me, I would have helped even though we’d argued.”
Carlos waved away the last piece of fruit and folded his arms across his chest as he recalled the events immediately following their argument. “It’s hard to say, it didn’t come on as fast as it usually does, and I wasn’t due for one for a few weeks anyway; it was really odd.”
Charles watched him speak, with a slowly dawning alarm, as Carlos walked him through the steps of his symptom presentations. The systematic changes that Carlos had experienced had correlated almost to the hour with the issues that Charles himself had been facing.
There was too much going on here for this to be a coincidence…
When he’d finished talking, Carlos looked to Charles again, but blinked at the worried expression on the other man’s face. “Charles? What is it?”
Charles eyed him, taking a steadying breath before speaking, “On Thursday, at about 7:30 in the evening, how did you feel?”
Carlos furrowed his brow as he cast his mind back, the days had become something of a blur when the rut kicked into higher gear. “Thursday… That was when I threw up. I was confused by that because I hadn’t eaten anything, and my ruts don’t usually make me nauseous.” He shrugged and leaned towards the coffee table to pick up the small glass of water that Charles had poured for him before sitting down.
Charles’ face had gone completely pale.
He reached over towards the collar of Carlos’ robe, moved the fabric to one side, and touched his fingertips lightly to Carlos’ mating gland.
Carlos hissed, dropping the empty glass and whipping his head round to face Charles, his eyes suddenly fully dilated. “What are you doing?” His voice went deep; rich; and a surge of hot, heady pheromones immediately filled the air between them.
Charles swallowed hard.
“I have to go.”
Carlos got to his feet, confusion written clearly all over his face as Charles moved to put as much distance between them as possible. “Okay, but-“
“Don’t worry, we’re okay, I just… I need to go.” He scrambled into his clothes and all but ran for the exit.
Carlos watched the door close behind Charles, with a heavy weight of uncertainty sitting uncomfortably in his gut.
Charles twiddled a teaspoon anxiously between his fingers, and stared at his steaming cup of chamomile tea. His tea-time companion watched him in silence from across the coffee shop table, sipping from his own cup, and waiting patiently for him to speak.
“Talk to me about mating bonds.”
Sebastian licked his lips and returned his cup to its saucer. He tugged self-consciously at his collar where it lay half-covering his mark. “What do you want to know?”
Charles’ lips twisted in concentration as he tried to organise his thoughts. He’d asked Seb for this chat because he was the longest-lasting and most stably bonded of all of his friends. “Did you notice anything before the actual biting?”
Seb frowned and picked up his cup again, “What do you mean?”
“Like,” Charles poked at his tea with the spoon, “did anything feel… off, or weird before?”
The Beta nodded, finally understanding what Charles was getting at, “Ah. Yes, it was like a very faint feeling of warmth when he was happy at something, or cold when he was angry or sad.” He sipped again before continuing, “And the one time when he strayed while getting cold feet, it felt like my stomach had been turned inside out.”
Charles nodded forlornly, then braced his elbow on the table and put his chin into his hand. “I think it’s happening to me.”
Seb’s eyebrows raised, and his mouth shifted into a small smile, “Oh! But you don’t look happy. Do you not like your partner very much?”
He scrubbed at his mouth, “I don’t have a partner.”
Seb frowned, “Then how can you-“
Charles made a noise of frustration, “It’s complicated.”
Seb put down his cup, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed the other man. “I don’t think it is. Alpha and omega functioning is pretty straightforward. What does your alpha think of all this?”
“He doesn’t know about it.”
Seb scoffed, “I’ll bet he has an idea of it, Charles; an alpha doesn’t choose a mate and then just decide one day to ignore them.”
Charles sagged, hearing the truth in Sebastian’s words. He nodded resignedly, then finished off his cooling tea. “Thanks, Seb.” He stood up and shook the other man’s hand.
“What will you do now?”
Charles smiled mirthlessly, “I guess I have a mate to claim.”
Things had come full circle in the most peculiar way.
Carlos had arranged for Charles’ first solo exhibition to be held at Galerie Gasly, and of course he’d lined up Ocon Catering for the refreshment service. Charles smirked to himself as he set up his latest pieces around the space, he was going to be on edge waiting for Esteban to chase him down and make him serve drinks all night to his own customers.
Charles was pleased with his newer work; his style and execution had come on in leaps and bounds since working from the loft. He’d reclaimed his keys from Carlos the day after speaking with Seb; Carlos had retained the space and left it untouched, like he’d known that Charles would be back.
It had been difficult to be in the same room as him, knowing that his omega had claimed Carlos’ alpha. The pheromones that hit him when he’d entered Carlos’ office, and the other man had looked up from his desk and seen him, were so strong that he’d had to physically hold back from just sweeping the desk clear and laying himself out for Carlos to claim there and then.
He stepped back from the last painting and gazed proudly around the room; it was an indescribable feeling to see his work displayed like this, in the place where he’d spent so many hours serving drinks to support other people’s work.
He just hoped now that he managed to sell a couple of paintings.
Charles sank into the chair facing Carlo’s office desk in shock, his knees giving out and leaving him thankful for the seat being there to catch him.
“No. Carlos, you are joking.”
The alpha’s face was stern, his gaze sharp, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m afraid not, Charles.”
“But-“ he looked from the paper held in his trembling hands to Carlos, and then back again, “But that’s not possible.”
Carlos levelled him with a look, daring him to question his professional acumen, “It is, Charles.”
“ALL of them?”
“Yes.”
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Charles was absolutely, positively speechless. He struggled to process the information that he’d been given, and his face was a mask of bafflement.
Carlos stood up from his desk chair and came round to kneel in front of him, between his spread knees. He took Charles’ hands in his and looked up at him in earnestness, speaking softly, “Charles, your exhibition was a huge success; every single painting was bought, and that figure there, at the bottom of the page, is your final takeaway.”
Charles’ voice, when it finally returned, was little more than a whisper, “But… but I never attended l’ecole; why would people buy so much of my work?” He focused on Carlos, and frowned, “Did you buy them all?”
Carlos smiled indulgently, “No, Charles. I did buy one for a client in Madrid, but I didn’t pay you much for it. Your profit has all come from outside buyers.”
Charles’ heart throbbed.
His omega shrieked.
“I want to kiss you.”
Carlos huffed a laugh, not catching on to Charles’ suddenly urgent need to claim him. “Of course you do, I just helped you sell all your paintings.”
“No.” Charles’ expression was serious as he locked his gaze onto Carlos and released a burst of pheromones, “I want to kiss you.”
The smile slid from Carlos’ face and his eyes widened. “Charles?”
“Now.”
Carlos took a breath, getting a lungful of Charles’ demanding omega scent. His eyes dilated and a low growl tickled his throat. “Not here.” He rose smoothly to his feet, rounded his desk to shut down his computer, picked up his keys, grabbed his jacket, and led Charles out to his Ferrari.
If Carlos drove a little faster than the speed limit to get to his apartment, he could always blame the sensitivity of his car’s accelerator. It certainly had nothing to do with the burgeoning hardness below his belt, or the demanding omega scent pouring silently from the man belted in beside him.
The door to Carlos’ apartment closed behind them, and Charles turned to him, “Before anything happens, I need to tell you something, Carlos.”
“Is it about the bond?” Carlos took off his suit jacket and hung it on a hanger in the hallway.
Charles deflated, “Yes. How did you-?”
“Your heat. You rejected Nico but latched on to me. That was a big clue. I also spoke to Lando; he told me about Oscar. I worked out the rest for myself.” He turned to look at Charles again, “I’ve wanted you since that first night at Pierre’s, Charles. The fact that my alpha already claimed you doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” He took a few slow steps towards him, “What does surprise me, however, is why you are all the way over there instead of coming over here and claiming me as yours.”
Charles approached him slowly, “I’ve heard that mating tends to be frantic. Desperate.”
Carlos watched him, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he pushed down the overwhelming urge to just jump on him and mount him there and then in the hallway.
“I don’t think I want that with you, Carlos.” He moved into Carlos’ intimate space, resting his hands on his chest and breathing against his lips. “My omega has claimed your alpha, as yours has claimed mine.” He licked his lips and watched as Carlos’ pupils dilated. “I want you to love me, Carlos; I want you to knot me.” He paused and blinked slowly. “And I want you to bite me.”
Carlos’ breath was punched out of his lungs. He fought back the territorial growl that tried to burst into his throat from deep in his chest, and managed to choke out one word. A word that hadn’t seemed important up until now, but was suddenly all-consuming. “Pups?”
His heart hammered in his chest as an agonising silence stretched between them.
Charles smiled softly, an adoring glow lighting up his face as he replied gently, “Pups.”
Carlos dropped his head onto Charles’ shoulder and panted harshly, his control almost shattering as the need to breed flared to life and seared through him at Charles’ acceptance. He controlled himself though, he knew that he had to earn this, all of this, and the first step towards doing so was to respect any boundaries set by his omega. Charles’ hands came up to cradle his head, angling his face so that he could press his nose into the mating gland. Carlos whined in relief and curled his hips into Charles’, shivering at the answering pressure pushed forth by his soon-to-be mate.
His mate.
Carlos stepped back, took Charles’ hand gently in his, and led him to the bedroom. The door closed softly behind them, and then all bets were off.
Charles became a man possessed; his fingers tore into Carlos’ shirt, sending buttons pinging as he ripped it open, and he shoved the ruined garment down Carlo’s muscled shoulders, stopping at the elbows to pin his arms down. Carlos’ hands flexed uselessly at his sides as Charles went to work on his trousers, popping the button and dragging the zip down, yanking underwear as he went, and pushing the whole bunch of tangled fabric to Carlos’ feet. He stepped out, but could go nowhere because Charles had already dropped to his knees and swallowed his cock in one smooth, terrifyingly efficient motion. Carlos shouted out, his knees threatening to give, and his trapped arms giving him nothing to balance with. Charles, however, was unrelenting in his need to pleasure his alpha, moaning desperately around Carlos’ length as it slid down his throat, and reaching round to sink his fingers into Carlos’ firm glutes in order to pull him closer, deeper.
With great fortitude of control, Carlos managed to drag himself back from the focused centre of his pleasure that originated in Charles’ hot, wet mouth. Struggling his way out of his shirt, he pulled free of Charles’ lips before dropping to his knees and joining him on the rug. Sinking his hands into Charles’ hair, he held him still for a moment so that he could gaze into his wild, green eyes, before crushing his lips to his mate’s. Charles groaned into the kiss, his hands also moving to hold Carlos’ face as they kissed; their tongues sliding together and their frantic breaths melding into one.
Carlos pulled back just long enough to growl, “You’re wearing too many clothes,” before diving back into the delicious softness of Charles’ eager mouth.
Charles managed to strip without breaking the kiss, letting Carlos hold him steady when he had to balance on one knee and then the other in order to get his trousers off. His balancing act wasn’t perfect though, and he managed to accidentally break the kiss and poke Carlos’ cheek with his nose. He laughed softly while Carlos rearranged them on the rug, Charles on his back and Carlos over him, cradling Charles tenderly in his arms. Charles gazed up at him and smiled, sighing softly, “Carlos.”
Carlos dipped down for another kiss, softer this time, and smiled into the kiss when Charles sighed again, parting his legs and making space for him. Carlos sank down between milky thighs and groaned when the tip of his bare cock touched against Charles’ slick.
Charles gasped, moving his lips from Carlos’ face to his neck, and kissed wetly over Carlos’ mating gland as Spanish fingers moved to his entrance to assess readiness.
Carlos shuddered as Charles gave attention to his gland, the action sending urgent fire to his cock. His probing fingers were wet with slick, and Charles smelled ready, but Carlos wasn’t happy yet. He was desperate to just push into Charles and claim him, bite him, make him his, but Charles had asked to be loved, and what kind of alpha ignores a request like that from their omega? He moved, sliding down Charles’ body, licking a path over his chest and down his belly, past his weeping cock, and down to where Carlos most wanted to be right now.
Charles jolted when Carlos licked into him, his mouth falling open into a loud moan, and his head rolling against the rug. He felt hands behind his knees, and then his legs were being lifted over Carlos’ shoulders, opening him up for the hot tongue of the man below. Carlos’ mouth was skilled and strong, and it wasn’t long until Charles was curling a leg around his head, trying to urge some sort of deeper contact.
Carlos got the message, and slipped one finger into him, aided by slick and his own spit. Charles groaned and rocked against his face, trying to get more from the finger, so Carlos slid another one in. Charles cried out, his hips bucked, and his cock blurted pre-come onto his abdomen. Carlos growled into the hot, wet lips where his fingers had disappeared, and rotated his hand.
Charles’ eyes were squeezed shut as Carlos carefully pleasured him; the pressure and friction within him was pushing him closer and closer to an end, and when Carlos slid a third finger into his body, curling into his prostate, Charles arched his back and felt his mouth fall open into a silent scream.
Carlos pulled away.
Frustration flopped through Charles as Carlos pushed him right up to the edge of bliss, only to pull him back again. But then, the man responsible reappeared over him, his weight pressing him down and his hips resuming their original position between Charles’ thighs. He panted weakly, “Carlos, please,” and then his lips were snared into a searing kiss as Carlos angled his hips and entered him.
Slowly.
Charles thrashed; the slow penetration was delicious, terrible torture, and he cried out as tears sprang to his eyes. Carlos finally bottomed out and Charles wrapped every available limb around him, clutching him close with a fierceness he didn’t know he was capable of. He babbled in broken French, his lips moving over the delicate skin of Carlos’ throat, and his teeth nibbling teasingly across the mating gland.
Carlos, for his part, was on the verge of losing his primal, fucking mind. Charles was hot, wet, welcoming, pleading, desperate, and pouring every last drop of his desire for Carlos into the pheromones that had pooled in all of his most intimate areas. Carlos shook with the strain of holding himself back, of fulfilling his promise to love Charles slowly and not just fuck him into the floor.
He really wanted to fuck him into the floor.
Charles nipped his mating gland.
Fu-
Carlos lost it, he pushed deeper into Charles, prompting a startled groan from the man beneath him as he speared his prostate, and then pulled out to hold himself in a teasing position at the entrance. A growl that he didn’t recognise emerged from between his gritted teeth, “My omega. Mine.”
Charles whimpered, twitching on the end of Carlos’ cock as he growled his possession. He felt himself moan in response, “Yes. Yes, alpha. My alpha.”
And then Carlos blew his mind.
Carlos’ hips surged against Charles, filling him deep, and thick, and hot; then they snapped against him, again and again, setting a punishing rhythm, pushing them both higher and higher, closer, and closer, and closer to a kind of completion that neither had ever experienced.
Carlos felt his knot begin to swell; he pushed deep into Charles with a groan, caught the knot, held…
And bit down.
Charles screamed and thrashed as Carlos filled him. Pleasure raged through him from his spurting cock, pumping cum untouched between his body and Carlos’; from his spasming hole where it locked tight around Carlos’ knot; and from the gland that Carlos held tightly between his sharp teeth.
Carlos’ eyes had rolled back behind his eyelids as he staked his claim to his omega, finally marking him as his own after all this time. Relief and pleasure rolled through him in waves, and he released Charles’ mating gland from his mouth, shuddering as his balls pumped, and pumped, and pumped his virile seed deep into his mate. With his eyes still closed, he felt movement, and then he roared as a second orgasm tore through him when Charles bit into his own mating gland.
When the violence of hormonal completion had eased, Charles and Carlos lay tangled together on the soft rug, purring happily and licking each other’s fresh mating marks.
Charles was the first one to speak, “We mated on the floor.”
Carlos laughed, burying his face in Charles’ shoulder, “Yeah.”
“You have a massive, very soft-looking bed, right there, Carlos.”
“You wouldn’t let me get you there!”
“You never asked!”
“Well… you sucked my cock before I could.”
“If this is your idea of pillow talk, Carlos, it is terrible. We are on the floor.”
They laughed together, picking themselves up and getting into the massive, very soft bed, before re-tangling themselves.
“You’re rich now, Charles; does that mean you’ll be treating me?”
Charles huffed a laugh into his mate’s hair, “Is that what you want, alpha? Your wealthy omega to provide for you?”
Carlos growled, rolling his mate over and pinning him to the bed, already geared up for another round.
After all…
There were pups to be bred.