Eight: Courting Behaviors

*thanks to michelllle, sphinx2030, B, em_195, Niya, Carsgovroom, Pat77, and Entity for your support!!*

Slight mature content warning.

***

Wren was ashamed to admit how hard his heart was pounding as he waited for his taxi. He stood in the lobby of his office, watching the rain outside the window, and wondering if he had just made a terrible choice.

He comforted himself with the fact that even if Vincent did pick him up, it didn’t mean anything had to happen. Wren was just getting a taxi to go home. It certainly didn’t mean he was accepting Vincent’s advances. Absolutely not.

Anyone who could see the way Wren was pacing would disagree with that statement.

A few minutes later, a taxi pulled up outside the front doors. Wren could only see a vague outline of the driver, not enough to say for sure that it was Vincent. Heart in his throat, Wren grabbed his bag, held an arm over his head to shield his eyes from the rain, and made to go outside.

However, before he could push open the doors, a second taxi came to a stop right behind the first. Wren paused. Had someone else in the office called for a taxi? Wren was one of the last people here, but given the weather, it wouldn’t surprise him if one of the department managers had also stayed late and didn’t want to go home in the rain. There were also other offices on this street, so it may be someone who worked nearby.

Except, as Wren watched, the driver of the second taxi got out of the car and walked up to the driver’s side window of the first taxi.

Who else could the second driver be but Vincent? Wren could clearly see that it was him through the rain, and his nerve endings began to tingle. Whether it was fear or anticipation, he couldn’t guess.

But why had he gotten out of the car? Vincent was bending down to say something to the other driver. Maybe saying hello to a coworker?

That didn’t make any sense. Wren certainly wouldn’t get out of his car in the rain just to say hi to a colleague.

After talking for only a moment, Vincent straightened up, and to Wren’s eternal bafflement, the first taxi peeled away from the curb with its tires screeching loud enough to wake the dead, disappearing around the corner.

Wren remained frozen, watching this and wondering what you could possibly say to a person to make them do that. Vincent calmly got back in his taxi, waiting. Wren had no choice but to ignore all the warning bells going off in his head and venture outside.

He was starting to think he had been the only one to order a taxi.

Wren closed the back door, shaking his rain-drenched bangs out of his eyes. He didn’t dare look at Vincent, feeling like he had walked into a room filled with bombs.

Surprisingly, the conversation that Wren expected never came. He thought Vincent might bring up what he said the other day about going out together. Or maybe he might tease or flirt, like he had before when he gave Wren his number the first time (even though Wren didn’t get that that’s what he was doing at the time).

Instead, the two rode along in silence. Wren honestly couldn’t tell if that silence was companiable or tense. He felt strange, and for about five minutes, he had no idea why his breaths were getting shorter, or why his skin was thrumming like a live wire.

Then he thought: Vincent smells - different. It wasn’t a bad smell, but it set off the small, animal part of Wren’s brain. He really couldn’t place how it was different, trying to think past the fog in his head. It was familiar but foreign at the same time.

The rest of the ride was completely silent. Vincent didn’t say a word, and since Wren didn’t know what to say, he didn’t say anything either. However, the longer Wren spent in the car, the weirder he felt.

He barely noticed when Vincent pulled up outside his apartment. He felt lightheaded, his mouth was suddenly too full of saliva, and when he shifted to open the door, there was a sticking sensation between his pants and the seat.

Then, with a blast of cold air coming in from where Wren had cracked the door open, Wren suddenly knew why Vincent smelled different.

Rut.

He hadn’t smelled an alpha in rut before, which is why it took him so long to connect the dots. But the off-scent of his pheromones plus the way he was staring rigidly forward, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands, gave Wren the impression that he had only a thin thread of control.

Maybe it was instinct that told Wren what was going on, or maybe it was the effects he was feeling in his own body.

Startled at the realization, Wren bolted out of the car and into the cold rain, too frantic to leave to think about the slick stain he had just left on Vincent’s leather seat.

Inside his apartment, Wren fell back against his front door, out of breath, rain-drenched, pupils blown wide. Wrecked without even trying.

Wren trembled against the door, feeling his inner thighs slide together from how wet he was, after only a ten-minute car ride with an alpha on the verge of rut.

How…wanton.

Off-kilter and way, way too hot, Wren stumbled to the bathroom to shower. He had to get the lingering alpha pheromones off his skin before he lost it completely.

After the shower, Wren felt a bit more stable. A bit more in control of himself. He felt like he could breathe again, at least. Out of pure curiosity, Wren pulled back his bedroom curtains, peeking down at the street – only to see Vincent’s cab, shut off, still parked by the curb.

Wren hadn’t been in the shower that long – maybe only five minutes – so it wasn’t necessarily that odd for him to still be there. Under other circumstances, Wren would be concerned, maybe even concerned enough to go out and check on him.

Clearly, that wasn’t an option. Not unless Wren wanted to repeat what had just happened. But Wren wasn’t worried. He had a feeling that Vincent was doing exactly what Wren had done.

Regaining control.

As Wren watched, the cab started up again, and drove away.