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

River dragged out a semi-circle of half-finished pieces onto the floor around her, cross-legged in mismatched pjs, and wielded her paintbrushes like weapons. She dipped and dabbed. She added petals and folded leaves. She 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 she could start something new. Not new as in a deviation from her aesthetic or preferred medium, but a fresh canvas. River flicked through her sketch book for a jumping off point.

The hard-working sprouts pushing through frost took her fancy: a nice challenge to show the delicate sparkle around spring green shoots. She had one small canvas left of the multi-pack her parents had bought her for Christmas. She peeled away the plastic wrap with reverence, trying not to think of where she 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 her live sketches. She 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 her cheeks uncomfortably. It was a throw-away comment. He probably hadn’t even meant it. She returned to her work, pushing Elliott from her mind.

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

She 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 she’d ever painted.

×

Clubbing wasn’t River’s preferred scene, she 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 her being an omega spoke volumes on behalf of her body.

But Ember, the housemate she shared the second floor bathroom with, had begged her every half hour until her 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 - she definitely hadn’t had to wear heels. She dressed up for parties where she knew she was safe, where she knew her friends would be there to coo over her outfit and she 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 her, eye-balling which would fit best. “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 she 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 her knees even when Ember adjusted the sparkly criss-crossing straps that were all she had to cover her back. She 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 her butt, bouncing against her 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 her eye. This was the time she had been planning to be in bed by. Her name was called and she leaned in for a photo. She didn’t have lectures until the afternoon, but in the morning she’d planned to go to the library to catch up on her 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 - she’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 her ankles were already causing twinges in the balls of her 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 her 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 her housemates grabbed her hand and pulled her to the edge of the writhing crowd. The energy was infectious, her heart pounded and her 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 her alpha scent, they kept her omega-ness in mind. Dominants tried to make eye contact with her, asking the unspoken question, “Where’s your alpha?”

River ignored them. She twirled her dress and held hands with her friends and danced until she was too thirsty to swing her 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 her on with a wink and a nod. River accepted it with a giggle. Down in one, and then her lemonade to chase. She 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 her bopping, River sourced a ledge to leave her glass and returned to the centre of her housemates. As she was approaching them, she glanced up at the staircase, as though someone had called her 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 her rhythm again, swaying to the music as she observed him. He reached the midway platform, like a balcony overlooking the peasants below. A slow turn, taking in the chaotic flailing and grinding. He found her. River tilted her head, letting herself smile. He rested his elbows on the railing and watched her dance, his expression unreadable so far above.

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

Ember rubbed her arm, shouting some kind of reassurance in her 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 her. A second wave hit: shame. Why should she be disappointed that some alpha wasn’t watching her dance anymore? That he was no longer locked onto her and only her?

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

Elliott turned her slowly, drawing her in close. She 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 her bare back, but never grazing her skin. River clutched his shirt in return, resting her face on his chest. She was a little taller today, thanks to the twigs she was balanced on. It didn’t quite even them out, but it felt nice to be able to hear his heart thump on her cheek. It was faster than his face would suggest. She smiled, shut her 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 her hips in a circle-

Her eyes snapped open. That was definitely the alcohol talking.

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

She… she came in the middle of a packed club dance floor.

Elliott held her steady until she’d finished squirming in orgasmic bliss. Then, without a word, he lowered her to trembling heels and she rode his leg down to the knee, leaving behind a trail of slick that caught the flashing lights. He kept a hand on her dress and used it to dance her off the floor, manoeuvring her 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, Miss 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 she was checking her alpha for permission, it annoyed her a little . She wanted to correct them. “I’ve had two drinks,” she hissed up at him.

He bent to speak in her 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. She 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 she took the seat, thanking him. Whether he could tell she had too much on her 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. She needed to let her friends know she had left. Pulling her phone from her tiny bag tucked under her skirt, she tapped out a long message thanking them for a fun night. After it was sent, she turned the screen over in her hands a few times.

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

She wanted to be out of her dress, she wanted another shower, she wanted to stroke calm the places he had sent into feverish pulsing.

“Is this correct, Miss River?”

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