Clean. Dry. Stinking of Elliott. Ready to cover himself in paint.

River dragged out a semi-circle of half-finished pieces onto the floor around him, cross-legged in mismatched pjs, and wielded his paintbrushes like weapons. He dipped and dabbed. He added petals and folded leaves. He filled card and canvas with slow, sometimes-certain strokes.

Eventually, the abandoned projects were complete and scattered around the room to dry in high places, and he could start something new. Not new as in a deviation from his aesthetic or preferred medium, but a fresh canvas. River flicked through his sketch book for a jumping off point.

The hard-working sprouts pushing through frost took his fancy: a nice challenge to show the delicate sparkle around spring green shoots. He had one small canvas left of the multi-pack his parents had bought him for Christmas. He peeled away the plastic wrap with reverence, trying not to think of where he would need to find the money for more. The art hub had supplies that could be used by those that had assignments that required it. But it was more the conduits: the pastels, the paints, the pencils. They rarely had spare canvases to go around. You’d be lucky to salvage a large piece of un-doodled card.

River traced grey lines in pencil first, mimicking his live sketches. He wanted no focal point, the whole piece would be a battlefield of spring versus winter. Small-but-mighty plants versus the seemingly endless cold and dark.

“For the record, I think your size suits you just fine.”

River’s brush froze. For a moment, winter won. Then the shame hit, warming his cheeks uncomfortably. It was a throw-away comment. He probably hadn’t even meant it. He returned to his work, pushing Elliott from his mind.

The layers of grey, shimmering space were a pristine shield defending against the tiny shoots. It was coming along beautifully.

He was on a roll.

Inspired.

Recounting every hushed word Elliott had spoken as they shared a bench like it was a song on repeat.

Whatever got the creative juices flowing was not to be worried about in the moment. What mattered was that this piece might just be the best he’d ever painted.

×

Clubbing wasn’t River’s preferred scene, he liked to dance amongst friends, or have the opportunity to make new ones. In a dark club with the music pounding, everything was down to body language. And his being an omega spoke volumes on behalf of his body.

But Ember, the housemate he shared the second floor bathroom with, had begged him every half hour until his newly-painted piece had dried. It was her clothes River would be trussed up in - apparently the venue they wanted to get into had a dress code. When River had gone out clubbing before, jeans and a crop top had sufficed - he definitely hadn’t had to wear heels. He dressed up for parties where he knew he was safe, where he knew his friends would be there to coo over his outfit and he could do the same back.

“This place is bougie, River, even the dominants have to wear proper shoes,” Ember giggled as she held up dresses in front of him, eye-balling which would fit best. “And you can’t wear something pretty with brogues, babe.” She settled on her decision. “We’re only getting in because Pep’s passed her probation in the restaurant they have upstairs.”

“We’re not eating there, are we?” River had a budget that would cover two soft drinks in the club and a chicken nugget meal for the way home.

“Hell no!” Ember laughed. “We’re not getting in the restaurant unless we find sugar daddies on the dance floor.”

River breathed out a soft sigh of relief and accepted the silky handful he was offered.

“This has a wrap-around waist tie so we can cinch it and make it look more your size.”

“Thanks, Ember. Give me five minutes.”

River skipped back across the hall to Ember’s room in a swath of pink shiny material. The dress hung a little lower than it was probably intended to on a beta, settling just above his knees even when Ember adjusted the sparkly criss-crossing straps that were all he had to cover his back. He had been expecting the waist tie to be a giant bow of some kind, but it was more like a glitzy necklace that threaded through slits at River’s waist and then dangled over his butt, bouncing against him with every step. Ember pulled it taught and threaded it back over itself again for both security and aesthetic.

They would be heading out in a group made up of all the submissives sharing their house: three beta girls and two beta boys and River. They passed around a bottle of rum, adding to the sweetness with cola to mix. Ember topped up everyone’s cans with the last of the rum before tossing it in the recycling. They drained the final drops as their cab arrived and everyone suddenly became less ready to go than they had been thirty seconds earlier.

Bundled into car, for which River owed two pounds to someone for booking, the dashboard clock caught his eye. This was the time he had been planning to be in bed by. His name was called and he leaned in for a photo. He didn’t have lectures until the afternoon, but in the morning he’d planned to go to the library to catch up on his required reading. The car rocked on a turn and the submissives giggled, clinging to each other dramatically. Their driver, a submissive, as requested on the app, apologised and they all assured him it was fine. They were having fun. River needed to do the same, there was no point worrying about the next day, it was going to come either way.

×

Their names were on a list. River’s name had never been on a list for a club - he’d never even been to a club that had a queue! Luckily, the all-powerful list dictated that they didn’t need to queue. Pepper had saved River’s feet a lot of pain. The heels strapped up to his ankles were already causing twinges in the balls of his feet.

The inside was dark and moody with VIP booths ringing the dance floor and multiple bars spaced around the far edges of the room. The material that lined the seats and stools didn’t look easy to clean, it was velvet-like. Lights glowed from the floor like an airplane, leading River and his group to the almost-full floor ahead of a DJ booth blasting bouncy, hip-shaking songs. In the centre of the dance floor was a black, metal staircase reaching upwards in a spiral. River could guess it lead to the highly exclusive restaurant that Pepper worked in. When a couple descended, it drew the eyes of all those gathered around the bottom, dancing, but keeping their attention on those that arrived from above.

One of his housemates grabbed his hand and pulled him to the edge of the writhing crowd. The energy was infectious, his heart pounded and his instincts became frantic. Fun, and intense. Their small group danced their way further and further into the floor, with River ringed by the others.  Even with his alpha scent, they kept his omega-ness in mind. Dominants tried to make eye contact with him, asking the unspoken question, “Where’s your alpha?”

River ignored them. He twirled his dress and held hands with his friends and danced until he was too thirsty to swing his hips anymore. They squeezed their way to the nearest bar as a group. River ordered a lemonade, and was gifted a shot from the bartender alongside it. A fellow submissive, cheering him on with a wink and a nod. River accepted it with a giggle. Down in one, and then his lemonade to chase. He sipped on it all the way back to the dance floor and carefully kept it from being smacked by flinging hands and overexcited hair swishes.

When all that remained was half-melted ice cubes clinking in time with his bopping, River sourced a ledge to leave his glass and returned to the centre of his housemates. As he was approaching them, he glanced up at the staircase, as though someone had called his name.

Oh, there’s my alpha.

With each step, Elliott folded his sleeves back on themselves, rolling them to just beneath his elbows. The top button of his shirt was open, the bottom remained tucked into tailored black trousers. They fit him perfectly, accentuating his long, strong legs.

River found his rhythm again, swaying to the music as he observed him. Elliott reached the midway platform, like a balcony overlooking the peasants below. A slow turn, taking in the chaotic flailing and grinding. He found him. River tilted his head, letting himself smile. Elliott rested his elbows on the railing and watched him dance, his expression unreadable so far above.

A bump against River’s back. A dominant beta too stupid, or too drunk, to read the scent mark emanating from his very pores closed in on him from behind. He jerked back, enveloping himself back into his friend group, already mobilising to guard him. The beta was easily shaken off, stumbling away to rub himself against someone or something else.

Ember rubbed his arm, shouting some kind of reassurance in his ear, or maybe an offer to go home? River’s concentration was taken with the act of searching the platform for Elliott. Gone. Disappointment flooded him. A second wave hit: shame. Why should he be disappointed that some alpha wasn’t watching him dance anymore? That he was no longer locked onto him and only him?

Another bump. This time a large hand curled over his waist, holding him in place. His friends gave him coy smiles instead of worried words, turning away. More of his own scent clouded the area. They suddenly had a lot more room. The frenzied feeling fell away.

Elliott turned him slowly, drawing him in close. He was burning hot from the dancing, the body heat all around, the drinks. Elliott’s touch was cool, not that he adventured far. He kept his touch to the dress, stingy with his scent tonight. Stroking the shimmering strings that patterned his bare back, but never grazing his skin. River clutched his shirt in return, resting his face on his chest. He was a little taller today, thanks to the twigs he was balanced on. It didn’t quite even them out, but it felt nice to be able to hear the alpha’s heart thump on his cheek. It was faster than his face would suggest. River smiled, shut his eyes, and let him guide their dance.

The song wasn’t slow, but it was a perfect background noise to sensual acts. The singer listed off suggestions like someone was taking notes for their next orgy. River hadn’t done anything. In the song or otherwise. If this enormous man had a seat, however, River would be climbing into his lap, throwing his hips in a circle-

His eyes snapped open. That was definitely the alcohol talking. And absolutely the alcohol making his dick hard.

Elliot rolled against him with the leverage of two handfuls of pink, silky material. One at his neck and one at his behind. His knee slid between River’s legs, offering a perch to be ground on. River accepted, letting his weight rest on Elliott’s thigh. The pressure of it against his underwear was satisfying in a way he had never felt before. He was so thick and filling and firm. The grip on his dress tightened and he was rocked up, higher, the toes of his shoes left the ground momentarily and the drag of Elliott’s trousers against his thin briefs pulsed through him. He felt swollen. Every movement against his erection catching him with sparks. Up, down. His thigh muscles twitched either side of Elliott’s. He agreed, he wanted more. Up, down. His slick had breached his underwear. Elliott would have a wet patch on his trousers. For some reason, that turned River on more. Up, down. He was sliding freely along him now. Something was buzzing between his legs, pulsing. Up, down. The DJ kept the volume high, thankfully, since River was whining into Elliott’s shirt like it was soundproof. Up, and he bounced him in tiny thrusts, keeping him at the top, feet dangling, fuelling the rushing sensation running up his body. He was so close. He fisted more of Elliott’s shirt, the urge to do something overcoming him. He kicked his feet. He shifted his hips. He screamed brokenly.

He… he came in the middle of a packed club dance floor.

Elliott held him steady until he’d finished squirming in orgasmic bliss. Then, without a word, he lowered him to trembling heels and River rode his leg down to the knee, leaving behind a trail of slick that caught the flashing lights. Elliott kept a hand on his dress and used it to dance him off the floor, manoeuvring him with hips swaying from side to side. The doors were ahead. To leave. River turned to question him but he had already caught the attention of a man dressed in all black with an ear piece nearby. Security, maybe? This man called another, a submissive beta, and Elliott shook both their hands. Afterwards, they both shoved those hands in their pockets quickly.

“Hello, Mr River.” The submissive offered his hand and River shook it, too. “My name is Linden and I will be driving you home now.”

River looked to Elliott. They probably thought he was checking his alpha for permission, it annoyed him a little . He wanted to correct them. “I’ve had two drinks,” he hissed up at him.

Elliott bent to speak in his ear. “And we’re both covered in your slick.” River’s skin burned. Not in the sensual way it had earlier. “I’m leaving, too. But I can’t be in the same car as you.”

River nodded. He had no argument to that.

Linden was waiting with a polite smile glued on. River walked to him and was led through a freezing back corridor that circled the side of the building. In a covered parking garage, he opened the back door to a silver car and River took the seat, thanking him. Whether Linden could tell he had too much on his mind to make chit chat, or he just didn’t want to get involved in the seemingly tangled love life of an alpha and omega, was unclear, but he put the radio on to a classical station and drove silently to the address Elliott must have given him. From the outside looking in, it must appear that they were feuding. Or the alpha has someone else he would like to visit before the night is over…

River withheld a sigh. He needed to let his friends know he had left. Pulling his phone from his tiny bag tucked under his skirt, he tapped out a long message thanking them for a fun night. After it was sent, he turned the screen over in his hands a few times.

He should offer to pay for Elliott’s dry cleaning. Omega slick was a nightmare to get out of fabric… Could he afford that? Could he even bear to offer? The humiliation of admitting to his body’s omega… abilities… might just finish him off for the night. He decided not to send him a text while tipsy, he’d only embarrass himself further.

He wanted to be out of his dress, he wanted another shower, he wanted to stroke calm the places Elliott had sent into feverish pulsing.

“Is this correct, Mr River?”

“Hmm?” River sat up. He was home. “Yes. Thank you, Linden.”