Chapter Text
Virgil is an unmarried, unmated, single alpha in his thirties. Being handsome, rich, famous and generally considered the epitome of an eligible alpha, this has gotten tongues wagging over the years.
Amidst the more ridiculous rumours Virgil has heard swirling around his person are: Virgil is attracted to alphas (no), Virgil has been secretly married since he was eighteen (absolutely not), and Virgil has a thing for sweet young omegas that he keeps out of the public eye for the sake of his reputation (good god, Virgil isn’t a pervert, NO).
The truth is a lot more boring than what people would expect. Virgil simply doesn’t want to date. And when a person doesn’t date, they won’t have the opportunity to have a partner that can be introduced to the public.
As to the reason for Virgil’s reluctance to date…well, Virgil’s alpha mother had been devoted to his wastrel of an omega father her entire life, and look where she ended up. It is enough to make an alpha swear off a romantic relationship of any kind for the rest of their life.
So, let the public speculate, let the media continue to make up progressively more ridiculous theories about Virgil’s eternal bachelor status. Virgil is happy to let them guess. His life now is objectively great. He plays football for the best club in the world, surrounded by good friends and living a life of comfort and luxury that he would never have dreamt of as a little boy.
Sure, there are days when Virgil feels lonely, especially when his alpha friends casually talk about life with their omegas. He is tickled by the affectionate squabbling between Mo and Robbo and admires the easy affection between Darwin and Alexis. But Virgil doesn’t envy them, not really.
After all, he still has good friends who are single like himself, so Virgil can still indulge in conversations that are not related to how wonderful mated life is. While Virgil is happy for his alpha friends who are joyously paired off, it is nice to be able to spend time with friends who can relate to Virgil’s state of perpetual singlehood.
“Virg!”
Case in point. Virgil grins as a familiar accented voice rings out in the distance. Alisson.
The goalkeeper is a beta, and like Virgil, has been the subject of fervent speculation over his unmated status. Like Virgil, the most sordid rumours have been spread about Alisson, in the media’s clamour to figure out why someone as attractive and eligible as Alisson would be single when he is already well into his thirties.
One particularly wild take has been that Alisson is an omega in disguise. Virgil and Alisson both had a good chuckle over that because, of all of the crazy things the reporters could have come up with, this one truly takes the cake. Alisson Becker? An omega?
Alisson is tall, well-built, with a beard that many alphas would kill to have. Virgil has told Alisson a few times, only half-jokingly, that it is a good thing Alisson is a beta and not an alpha. Being a beta means that Alisson has no scent. An alpha Alisson would be dangerous to have in public. A man that beautiful, paired with the typical alpha scent? The poor omegas wouldn’t know what hit them.
Hell, even Virgil himself can admit that, secure as Virgil is in his masculinity, should Alisson ever try to challenge Virgil for something, the defender is not confident that he could actually win Alisson in a fair fight.
Yes, it is lucky alright, for omegas and alphas alike, that Alisson is a beta. A beta who has no desire to date, who just wants to focus on being the best goalkeeper in the world. Virgil can relate to that.
The man himself is strolling towards Virgil now, tilting his head and looking absurdly cute in the process.
“Dinner tonight?” he asks.
“Dinner tonight,” Virgil nods. He pulls Alisson in for a half-hug, rubbing Alisson’s back as he does so. There has always been something about Alisson that draws Virgil in. Virgil can never put his finger to it, since Alisson has no discernible scent, neither does he emit pheromones as a beta. Regardless, even having Alisson physically close to him, and being able to touch him, comforts and relaxes Virgil in a way no one else does. It is probably a major reason why the two of them are so close. Virgil definitely made more effort to get to know Alisson, more so than he did any other teammate, because he feels so good around the beta.
“Your place, eh?” Alisson says when Virgil finally releases him.
“Yes. I’ll order that barbecue you love so much,” Virgil grins.
“Thanks,” Alisson smiles. He pats Virgil on the back, then strolls off. Virgil watches him for a moment, absentmindedly taking in the way Alisson’s jeans hug his thighs and calves. He catches himself, and firmly puts that thought away at the back of his mind before it can get out of his hand.
Alisson is a beta. Virgil is an alpha, and should absolutely not be thinking about a beta like that. End of story.
Training passes by uneventfully. Virgil and Alisson shower at the dressing room before driving to Virgil’s home in their respective cars. It is a practiced routine for them by now, doing dinner together at Virgil’s place twice a month, driving over in separate cars, Alisson staying on after their meal to indulge in drinks, dessert and idle chitchat with Virgil, usually leaving to go back to his own house by nine or ten.
There have been several occasions when Virgil asked Alisson to stay the night. Virgil’s house is massive and there is plenty of space for Alisson. And admittedly, some primal part buried deep inside of Virgil gets uncomfortable at the thought of Alisson making the hour long commute back so late in the night.
Logically Virgil knows that the beta is big and strong and not at all easy to take down. Unfortunately, this does little to stamp down on the very inconvenient feelings of overprotectiveness that tend to arise around Alisson. Also unfortunately, Alisson always turns Virgil down.
Something else that Virgil has noticed is that, despite all the invitations Virgil has extended to Alisson to go to his place, Alisson has never once reciprocated. The goalkeeper always seems delighted to accept Virgil’s invitations, and he is the perfect guest, offering his own contributions either in the form of beers, an excellent bottle of red, and occasionally even arriving at Virgil’s place with a spectacular homecooked meal in tow. But he doesn’t invite Virgil over, ever. Virgil doesn’t think anyone on the team has been to Alisson’s place before, in fact.
Well, if Alisson is, for whatever reason, uncomfortable with having Virgil in his home, so be it. Virgil knows that betas can be protective over their living spaces, similar to the way omegas are. Besides, Virgil does quite like having Alisson in his home. It is strange, how quickly he took to seeing Alisson comfortably sprawled out on his sofa, munching on Virgil’s stash of snacks and laughing with the alpha at whatever trashy YouTube video had just popped up on the television. It is also a big reason why Virgil tries to have Alisson come over regularly. And Alisson seems happy enough to spend many of his evenings with Virgil, which works out well for both of them.
They have barbecue for dinner, ordered in from Alisson’s favourite Brazilian restaurant, which is pretty standard fare for them. This is followed with brigadeiros that Alisson had made himself for dessert, again something that is pretty common for them at this point.
What is out of the ordinary today is the storm that erupts at precisely the moment they finish the last brigadeiro on the plate. This city is known for its erratic weather, but this is the first time that Virgil has experienced a storm this terrible. He hears the fierce platter of the rain on his roof, and winces. This is going to be a bad one.
Alisson doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even twitch. But something tells Virgil that the beta will still be trying to drive himself home that night despite the storm. Virgil decides not to push it for now. It is still early in the evening and many things can happen in span of a few hours, so if the rain miraculously lightens by then, Alisson can go home as planned.
If it doesn’t…well, Virgil will just play it by ear.
One movie later, the rain has most certainly not let up. If anything, it sounds like it has gotten heavier. From his window Virgil can see the trees being whipped around like they are made of matchsticks. It is all around miserable weather, and yet Alisson is calmly packing his backpack as though he has every intention of driving home in this rain.
Not over Virgil’s dead body.
“Ali, it is crazy to drive in this weather. Please just stay the night.”
Alisson jerks, as though he hadn’t been expecting Virgil to urge him to stay. When he looks up at Virgil, the alpha is taken aback by the look of abject fear in those eyes. It might be his imagination, because it fades as quickly as it appears.
“I have some stuff to do –” Alisson begins to say. Virgil, already sensing the excuse forming, cuts off Alisson.
“Ali, you are not hearing me. You are going to get yourself killed going out there now. I won’t allow it. I need to keep you safe. Just stay with me. I will set up the guest room for you.”
Virgil feels bad the moment the words leave him. Alisson is being unreasonably stubborn about this whole not staying the night at Virgil’s business, but that doesn’t give Virgil the right to speak to the beta like this.
Surprisingly though, Alisson doesn’t push back, simply nods meekly and sets his backpack down. They stay like that for a while, Virgil not sure how to move on after that unintentional rant, and Alisson standing awkwardly beside Virgil’s sofa, staring down at his own clasped hands.
Finally, Virgil speaks up. “Look, I’m sorry. I just want to keep you safe. I can’t in good conscience let you risk an injury going out in this weather. Jurgen will have my head if he knows I sent you out in a storm like this.”
Alisson smiles, but it looks forced, nothing like the usual sweet, wide grins he gives Virgil. “It’s okay…you are right.”
Virgil lets it drop. Whatever this is, whatever Alisson’s hang-ups are, he will find a way to talk to the beta about them soon enough. The important thing is that he has talked Alisson into staying the night at Virgil’s, where the goalkeeper will be warm, safe and protected from the rain.
They don’t talk much after that. It doesn’t take long for the heater to do its magic, turning the usually cold and unused guestroom into a nicely heated little nest for Alisson. The bed is already made with clean sheets, and Virgil passes Alisson a spare set of sleeping clothes and toiletries, all of which Alisson accepts with a timid little “thanks, Virg”.
Sleep doesn’t come easy to Virgil that night, although he generally sleeps like the dead when it rains like this. Seeing Alisson waving goodnight to him while wearing Virgil’s own T-shirt and boxers is making the alpha feel things that he very resolutely chooses not to think about. And the thought of Alisson snuggling down under Virgil’s comforter, in Virgil’s bed, is frankly making it difficult for him to go to sleep.
Despite the perplexing thoughts tumbling around his head and all these confusing emotions building up in Virgil, it has still been a tough day of training for the alpha, and he eventually falls into a fitful sleep.
Virgil isn’t sure what time it is exactly, but at some point in the night, he is stirred awake by what sounds like a whimper.
Immediately alert, Virgil sits straight up in bed, straining to hear where the sound is coming from. It sounds way too close to him to have came from the neighbours. In fact, it seems to be emitting from the direction of Alisson’s room.
Oh, fuck.
Virgil is on his feet and out of his room even before his own brain can register what is going on. He is running purely on instinct now. Bad enough that someone might have broken into Virgil’s home, but if the intruder has gotten into Alisson’s room, has hurt Alisson somehow…
Thankfully, Alisson’s door is closed. The entire house looks as spotless as it did when they had went to bed. Zero signs of a break in. That is a relief then. Maybe that whimper had just been part of Virgil’s dream.
Virgil goes up to Alisson’s door and presses his ear against it, trying to listen for any signs of distress. Not his finest moment, he has to admit, but he would feel much more at ease if he knows Alisson is sleeping well.
There is nothing but silence. Satisfied, Virgil is about to return to his own room when he hears it again. That same whimpering noise that had jerked Virgil out of his sleep. It sounds muffled, as though Alisson’s mouth is covered.
Once again, Virgil’s reflexes kick in before he has time to analyse the situation. His hand is on the door in a split second, swinging it open.
There had been a couple of mental images that Virgil’s mind had cooked up about what could possibly be going on in Alisson’s room. From innocuous ones of Alisson having a nightmare, to more disturbing visuals involving an injured Alisson. But this wasn’t one that Virgil would have expected, ever.
Alisson is sprawled out on top of the bedsheets, writhing in obvious discomfort. His T-shirt is raked up all the way to expose his pale belly and pert nipples. There is a tell-tale bulge in his boxers and he is clawing at the bed, biting his lip in an effort to keep his moans from escaping.
And the scent. The scent is what Virgil had least anticipated. It is sweet and rich, reminiscent of honey and vanilla.
It is the scent of an omega in heat.